We hopped in the 1986 convertible car looking forward to the few moments of solitude we’d have all day. Ana Capri would be packed like Disney World by the time the old taxi made it’s way up the winding roads that displayed beautiful landscapes of blues and purples. Colors spilling over the sky like acrylic paint on a busy canvas. Hues of blue from the sea, purples from the wisteria, shades of greens from trees in bloom and tones of grey from the jagged mountains that engulfed little homes resting on it’s plateaus.
Our driver, a young man possibly in his 30’s, points to his home along the winding road. I smile and wonder what it must be like to live and grow in such a beautiful place during the high seasons of touristy ignorance. How many worlds have stepped into his car. How many languages, political view points, high powered positions, backpackers, and movie stars have opened the handle to this door; into his life? How many of us will he remember? How many of us will he want to forget? We have but 19 minutes from the port at Capri to the top of Ana Capri to leave with a story. 19 minutes to find out that he commutes to school in Naples and drives this car on the weekends for extra cash. 19 minutes to find out that he has a new daughter with a woman he loves but is not yet married to. 19 minutes to share snippets of our lives, to exchange gestures of happiness under what some would argue are the bluest skies.
I step out of his car at the top of Ana Capri. Our 19 minutes have come to an end and as my hand lingers on the handle of the car door, I wonder if we’ll ever meet again under a blanket of blue skies and overgrown wisteria.