I am infatuated, in love actually, with the black-and-white photograph before me. Simply titled, “Pasta Time,” the photograph — which hangs near plush red velvet chairs, curvy art-deco sofas, and drippy chandeliers — in the lobby of Capri’s Hotel Punta Tragara was captured in 1939 by photographer Hamilton Wright. In it, three Sophia Loren-like women — svelte and perfectly coiffed — sit on a floaty raft in the sea; Capri’s famous Faraglioni rocks (just outside the door of this hotel) their backdrop, as they joyously delve into heaping plates of spaghetti. To me, the photo epitomizes everything I have come to love about this romantic, flower-filled island off the Amalfi coast: its beyond-chic designer style, fantastical (lemon) pasta, unequivocal beauty, and its natural spa elements — the salt air and seawater, cliff-to-sea staircase, endless walking paths, and truly stellar spa treatments.
But no one told me any of this.
Debunking the Stereotype
“Capri? Too touristy,” a friend had cautioned me. And upon arrival, my first impression is exactly that. Access to the island is by water — be it private boat, superyacht, or communal ferry — and disembarkment for all is into a seemingly endless sea of people. Many are daytrippers, in and out for only a few hours, obediently snaking in single file behind tour guides holding colorful flags; others have come to the marina in the hope of boating to the famous Blue Grotto, a sea cave known for its illuminating blue glow.
But, for my partner and I at least, there is order to the chaos. Once on land, we are greeted by a lovely woman, a Capri native, who sends our luggage on its separate journey to the hotel and escorts us to a waiting car and driver. A twisty, hairpin ride along jaggy cliffs — past magenta-pink bougainvillea, lemon trees, and oncoming cars too close for comfort (at one point, a woman in a passing car taps on my window in greeting) — and we are delivered to the pedestrian-only piazza. No cars, not even the island’s signature convertible taxis, are permitted beyond this point.
“There’s only one road in and out — from the port to the piazza and back,” our driver tells us. Everything else is entirely by foot. Don’t come to Capri if you don’t want to walk. There are hills and steps everywhere.”
Walking on Sunshine
And so we walk. At first the crowd is thick, and we maneuver with it through the limoncello and chocolate shops, pausing to watch shoemakers pound leather sandals bedazzled with rhinestones, and musing over aperol spritzers under festive canopies. Only the more serious shoppers venture into the designer zone of Prada, Dolce&Gabbana, Chanel, Valentino. And once through the designer boutiques, the landscape changes even more. There are suddenly more flowers than people, we pass resident dogs being walked, and on our way through a narrow cobblestone alleyway, spy business signs of the residents living here: an architect, a dentist.
Every so often a golf cart-like buggy purrs past us laden with suitcases: at one point, we spot our own. Whispers of Chilean poet Pablo Neruda’s life (he exiled here in 1950) also appear like Taylor Swift Easter eggs. An unexpected tiled tribute on a stone wall; a placard on the villa where Neruda stayed and wrote The Captain’s Verses, earning him the Nobel Prize for Literature in 1971 — later inspiring Michael Redford’s film, Il Positino, (The Postman) starring Italian actor Massimo Troisi (postman), and Philippe Noiret (Neruda).
Hotel Punta Tragara: Slim Aarons Style
Finally, at the end of the same flower-hewn street, past a few more gated cliffside villas, small restaurants, and unassuming hotels, we spot it — the majestic, terracotta-hued Hotel Punta Tragara — overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. Designed by Modernism pioneer, Le Corbusier, as a private villa for Count Goffredo Manfredi in the 1960s (at the height of La Dolce Vita), the now 45-room hotel remains in the Manfredi family.
In our chic-meets-retro suite, a modern platform bed draped in white juxtaposes against a vintage dresser and Marshall radio; in the corner stands a deep-soaking tub, while off the bedroom, a balcony, with cushy chairs and wide umbrella, offers seemingly endless sea-and-Faraglioni-rock views. Next to us, the newly renovated, multi-level Art Suite — uber-modern in its sea of glass and marble, and white-on-blue hues — offers the same Faraglioni sea stack views from both the bed and the stand-alone curvy bathtub. The suite, featuring rotating art pieces and a rooftop terrace overlooking the sea, is reportedly a fave of a major (household-name) professional athlete who stayed recently.
Away from the crowds and immersed in this romantic hotel and natural beauty of the island, we are in heaven. And even more so following a late lunch of homemade lemon pasta eaten alfresco by the hotel’s iconic, cliff-side pool, made instantly famous when photographed by Slim Aarons in 1974. Later, on our terrace and wearing robes (and me, fuzzy slippers), we continue our eating bliss with caprese cake, the island’s signature Neapolitan dessert created accidentally in the 1920s when pastry chef Carmine di Fiore inadvertently forgot to add flour.
The next morning, awakening to bird song and lemon trees, we opt for a leisurely beach day. In Capri, like most of Italy, the beaches are not sand, but pebbles (public beaches) or rocky, carved-into-the-cliffside private clubs, complete with wait staff, restaurants, and sun loungers. A phone call from our concierge confirms our day at Da Luigi ai Faraglioni, located below the hotel on the sea (and next door to Capri’s famous Fontelina beach club, which was closed during our stay).
Winding our way past twisty pines and flowering cacti, down a stone-and-brick, step-filled walkway we are happily greeted with Da Luigi’s sun-yellow bathhouses and blue loungers and umbrellas. Ladders lead bathers directly into the natural sea pool just opposite the Farglioni rocks and sea stacks, while a restaurant (part of the club’s all-day admission fee) offers fresh salads and pasta dishes — caprese with fresh mozzarella, tomato, and basil, seafood risotto, and signature linguine alla malafemmina, a traditional dish (pasta with baby tomatoes, capers, olives, basil, and hot peppers), created by nonna Assunta in the 1950s. Following a languishing lunch, more ladder plunges into the sea, and rounds of people watching, the reality of returning to the hotel sinks in. There’s only one way back. And it’s up.
“I am 62,” the lithe, dark-haired Italian woman collecting our towels, tells us. “Every day I walk from Hotel Punta Tragara to here and back. In Capri, we walk everywhere. You can, of course, take the water taxi which is beautiful and I can arrange. But still, you will walk.”
Nature’s Spa
And walk we do. After a picturesque boat ride along the craggy coastline (highly recommended for the photos alone), we arrive at a local beach, climb our way up rows upon rows of steps, and catch one of the colorful purple, pink, blue, convertible taxis which takes us, hair flying, to the same pedestrian-only street — “there’s only one road in and out” — where, once again, we begin our twisty, step-filled walk back to Hotel Punta Tragara.
The next day, we soothe achy muscles in the hotel’s tiny spa, GILI Wellness & Beauty, framed by pink bougainvillea; he, with a deep-tissue massage, and me, a 120-minute signature Scents of Capri, a fusion of salt culled from the Mediterranean Sea and a blend of avocado and apricot oils.
The experience, featuring one of Italy’s most coveted skincare lines, INSÌUM, includes an exfoliating body scrub, massage, and relaxing vanilla-scent facial. As I am scraping myself off the table in bliss, my therapist, Annarita, stops me. “Oh, but you are not finished.” Smiling, she leads me to a beautiful space with all-white chairs and sleek lines for the ultimate (read: best-ever) blowout.
Channeling my inner Jennifer Anniston I parade my perfectly styled hair (and new Prada bag) into Le Monzù, the hotel’s Michelin-star restaurant renowned for its tasting menu. Each course is better than the last, but it is still the casual, yet extraordinary, lemon pasta served al fresco by the Slim Aaron’s-photographed pool that steals my heart, along with the unexpected, pristine beauty of the island. Private. Exquisite. A natural wellness and fairytale setting. But shush…don’t tell.
Let the world (and my friend) think Capri is forever ‘too touristy.’
Feature image, courtesy, Manfredi Fine Hotels Collection
