Window Wednesday - Bathroom, Positano, Italy

Hotel Dimora Fornillo. Positano, Italy 2014.

I was supposed to be in the dust and red roofs of Florence but I hadn’t wanted to leave.

How lucky I was that the owner of my favourite pensione knew people, had friends about, and though he had no rooms available, he knew of someone who might. 

An older gentlemen arrives to collect me — slim and fit, as you have to be with all those steps. He’s on his way back from his morning shop and carries his bags in his hand. He offers to take my pack, but I’m already strapped in, and he tells me the hotel is down the steps. Meglio, I think. Better. Better than going up. And down and down and down we go, surrounded by the sound of grasshoppers, and the heat of the sun, down wide steps between whitewashed walls, down towards the beach.

Before we reach the bottom, there’s a gate. A lock and keys. Oh what trouble I have with keys and locks. I can never get them to work. But my gatekeeper knows the way. He tells me the room hasn’t been advertised yet and it’s not completely ready, but he opens the final door and there it is – an expanse of cool tiles, a perfectly made bed, and a view I will never forget.

My gentlemen helper leaves me then. He’ll see me in the morning for breakfast in the garden below. I remove my shoes, peel off my socks, feel the cold of the tiles beneath my feet, and make my way outside.

The terrace too is laid with tiles — pale blue, as if the sky and the sea have no end. Deckchairs, red hibiscus, and agave plants in terracotta pots. To my left is the cliff, and white walls with arched windows cling to its side. Below there’s green, so much green — citrus trees, olive trees, and vegetable gardens held up by sticks. And to the right, the blue and silver of the sea, and small white boats.

I breathe in. And out. Just me. Again. 

Early that morning, before the town had risen and when the clouds were hanging low, I’d had to say goodbye. Goodbye to a man who’d been a stranger a couple of months before, but was now my present and forever — if he wanted to be. We knew there were no certainties. We didn’t know when we’d see each other again. 

Now, I had to look out — out at what was in front of me. Through that window in the turquoise bathroom with fluffy white towels and the bougainvillea creeping in, was an ocean and sky reaching out to infinite possibilities, and a path that I had walked many times, that was my path to walk alone.

So then and there I grab my bathers and my courage. I flip flop down the steps, to my favourite pebbled beach, and laze for a while. No people. I just listen to the waves and the rooster crowing in the undergrowth behind. Then I follow the concrete path along the coast, just above the sea. The path winds towards the cliff, out again, under umbrella pines, past hidden coves, and stone hotels and houses tucked into the trees and rocks. I get closer to the marina and there’s the chugging sound of boats coming in and going out.

I circle my way back up through the main town. I buy oranges that only just fit in the palm of my hand — their stalks and leaves still attached. And peaches that look like little doughnuts. Their juice runs down my chin. I go past the windows with limoncello bottles, ceramics painted blue and gold, meandering my way through a world too magical to ruin with feelings of loneliness or doubt. It’s a world that deserves my attention in every moment, all my energy, and thankfulness that I am there.