|Blogs > smeraldina > Emerald|
Sorrento Italy is the bouncing off town. It is pretty but very busy with tourists getting ready to skip, like a pebble on water, down the coastline. Either you drive the winding coastline, blue sea on your right, walk or take the ferry. I've done all three and have visited the area at least eight times. The Hotel Excelsior is the hidden Grand Dame of Sorrento. You enter a guarded gate and pass down a lane that is flaunted on each side with wisteria, orange and lemon trees. I usually get to my hotel a day early coming in from the States and resting before I meet my fellow walkers. I have only ever visited the Amalifi Coast as a walker. Two times I have gone alone, all the other times, I have met my lover and we have walked and partied together. He is English.
A bull of a man, strong, with chestnut hair.
Sorrento is a walker's paradise as are all the towns along the coast. One must prepare one's legs and lungs for the thousands of steps rising into the mountains and along the coastline. The back alleys of Sorrento are timeless filled with ceramic, lemoncello, fruit, postcard, clothing, shops. One, the same after another.
Hotel Excelsior leans her breast out over the sea. The patio as if you've taken flight hovering the Bay of Naples. Vesuvius casually smoking to your right, Capri dead center and to the left the curve down the coastline to more industrial cities that do not abide the magic created by the Sorrento Peninsula.
The Hotel is Baroque design and has been added on many times. As you come down the fragrant lane, you see the entrance down a row of steps, to a glass enclosure with palms trees everywhere. It is a tropical feeling. The lobby is marble and crystal chandeliers, there is an imposing marble staircase and marble busts of women and men of ancient times accompanying you on the climb. The restaurant done in cherub fresco and looks far down the cobbled switchback that leads to the ferries. A window table gives you a perfect view of Capri shrouded in mystery. In two days, you will take the ferry and climb the steps to the Piazza and then walk to Tiberius' retreat.
My lover and I had a room near the orange groves, never overlooking the sea. The seven times I've stayed at the hotel, never once did I get a room leaning out towards Capri. I don't mind because the morning screech of birdsong, in Italian of course, races through my veins and lifts me to the time when Wagner, James and Caruso visited too with their lovers.
As the night slips away, my lover must climb over the railing and then over the high iron gate to give him time to prepare as our guide through the lanes and trails of Amalfi. We will have to pretend that I am just a female traveler, not his lover, which builds arousal to the day and by the time the last walker is tucked into bed, we can not live without each other, go down to the local bar, dance, drink, sing and then I walk back in front of him, swaying my hips, no panties beneath my dress, the moonlight shining through so that the outline of my rump and legs are visible.
I get ahead of myself. This night is my own, before he arrives and I sleep and retreat into the hotel to gaze at the Bay and sip my wine. I have a small bowl of seafood pasta, take a walk around town and then sleep.
Next morning I'm served breakfast poolside, a shiny sweet roll and plenty of pungent coffee. I am not alone this morning. There are four people dressed in bathing suits, speaking Russian. I immediately suspect they are Russian Mobsters. The men have on ridiculously small speedo suits and gold chains around their hairy necks. The ladies have on tiny wisps of cloth barely covering their small breasts and ample rumps. They have on diamonds and emeralds and walk as if barefoot even though they balance back and forth to the breakfast table on very high mules that are tied at their ankles with slips of ribbon.
I sip my coffee and watch them create a little world of luxury and new found wealth as magazines and bottles of water, suntan lotion and nail polish are placed near them so that when they have had enough of facing the sun and dipping in the pool, they can fuss with themselves and read.
To be continued.....
8/20/2006 3:34 pm
After reading your posts I can honestly say that you paint beautiful pictures with your words. Eroticism creates pictures in the mind that pornography can never approach.|