Refugees

I'm sitting here listening to Yo-Yo Ma as a cool breeze brushes the organza drape next to my bed across my leg and wisps of drying hair across my face. I'm drinking a cup if tea and watching the lights of the quaint town below flicker. I'm waiting for the sounds of the next round of church bells clanging reassuringly in the distance, or the dogs playfully scuffling in the courtyard. Needless to say, the place we are staying is beyond decadent... especially given the last 24 hours.

My patron saint of the day, though there were several, must be Lucia -- the owner of this place. After we finally made it to the train station in Sorrento, only to discover the cell phone we bought in Naples isn't working, I borrowed a cell phone from the girl at the travel kiosk to let her know -- as instructed -- that we had arrived. Strangers have been kind to us today, and Lucia did not buck the trend. She offered to come pick us up. While we waited, I went on a fruitless search for sustenance, as neither of has eaten since early this morning. It's now 3:00 pm. 

When Lucia arrives, she does so with flamboyance anyone would appreciate. A woman of large build, she's sharply dressed in white slacks and a shirt in hues of blue with thong sandals adorned with jewels. She comes bearing a huge hug, and I swear -- I just about melt in her arms. She whisks us off in the car, not just showing us the place we are to stay, but going so much further -- taking us to her own house to explain the bus schedule, to the grocery store and even to an Internet cafe and phone store to get us all straightened out. 

I actually may be in love with Lucia at this point. I'd like to think it is some of my good Airbnb karma coming back to full circle. 

Although mom is exhausted by the time we get back near sunset, I insist we salvage some of the day, taking a beautiful bottle of white wine and cherry tomatoes -- gifts from our new friend and hostess -- and a plate of antipasto to the roof deck to watch the sunset. We decide to just pour half the bottle in each glass. Makes sense, right? We sip wine and nibble as we watch the sun sink into the horizon just right of Capri. The buffalo mozzarella, salami and olives are like nothing we have ever tasted. It is magnificent.

Mom keeps calling us refugees, as she washes her clothes in the sink and I take what-- hand to God -- is the most amazing shower of my life. We've both got airline-issued white T's on. And that's it. 

Heres hoping our bags come tomorrow.

It is before 9:00 pm here, but I've now been up for about 38 hours. I think I'll turn in.