My World of Islands by Leslie Thomas

My World of Islands by Leslie Thomas

Author:Leslie Thomas [Thomas, Leslie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Random House
Published: 1995-10-15T23:00:00+00:00


ENGLISH CHANNEL ISLANDS situated between latitudes 48°52’–49°43’N and longitudes 1°49’–2°35’W; total area 75 sq. m (194 sq. km); approx. population: Jersey 82,000, Guernsey 55,000, Alderney 2,000, Sark 600, Herm 37, Jethou 8; Britain. Chausey, approx. population 110; France

Capri

An Island in Autumn

Only by coming back to the island people can understand what rewards life grants to those who stay.

EDWIN CERIO, On Capri

October morning came to the Bay of Naples with a soft brush of sunshine touching Sorrento, the great mountains hung with cloud, Naples itself still wet from an overnight thunderstorm, and the islands calm and composed in the pale sea. Ischia and little Procida blinked in the new sun and on Capri I opened my windows, stepped out on to the terrace and, looking around, knew at once that all that is said about Capri is true. It is one of the world’s beautiful places.

I had arrived on the previous black night in the very clutch of the thunderstorm – Wagner rather than the expected Rossini. The ferry from Naples plunged and jumped through the surprising waves, lightning smacked the sea and heaven rolled horribly. It was impossible to remain on deck and stay dry, so, with my fellow travellers and sufferers, I sat stoically trying to watch an ancient cowboy film on the saloon television. It was so old even Gabby Hayes looked young. To see him do his famous monosyllable-and-spitting act in dubbed Italian might have been engrossing had not the small ship been going up and down like a rocking horse. The Italians have an apt way with words for useful things – the vomitario on the vessel was well patronized.

All through the bumpy voyage of an hour and twenty minutes the land was never far away. Sorrento’s stationary lights seemed within grabbing distance and Capri itself, upon hopeful investigation, appeared only a couple of cable lengths ahead of the ship. What could we be doing out on that bumpy sea for so long?

Eventually, in the full sense of the word, the pitching eased and our little vessel emitted a relieved toot, high like a hunting horn. Stepping out onto the deck I experienced that incomparable feeling once more, that sensation known to those chosen people who love islands and can go to them. There it was directly ahead of us, 10,000 lights climbing the black form of a hillside. The mole of the harbour slipped by, the waves quietened at once like chastened children, the air felt warm, the scent of pasta drifted from the port. All was well.

Twice happy now, for being there and for escaping the ill-temper of the sea, the passengers hustled ashore. I had made no definite plans, but my immediate future was fixed for me by fate and a young man with a pencil moustache and a peaked cap sporting the legend Savoy Hotel. I am, as I have previously confessed, a traveller who can stand anything but discomfort and the name on the cap was the reassurance I needed. I handed him my bags and we set off at a good gait along the quayside.



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