Chapter Thirteen
After two plates of breakfast, seconds of bacon, and a cinnamon roll to go, I head upstairs to shower and change. The French doors to my room are closed, beating out the morning sun. I take a cold shower—the water feels delicious on my hot skin—and get dressed.
I meet Adam in the lobby twenty minutes later. He’s still in his gray T-shirt and board shorts, but now he’s wearing tennis shoes and a baseball hat that says Kauai on it.
I point up. “Have you been?”
It takes him a second to understand what I’m talking about. “Oh. Kauai. Yes, of course. It would be weird to wear the hat if not, no?”
“I guess.” I don’t mention that Eric has a hat that says Mozambique on it. We’ve never even been to the African continent.
His eyes graze down my body. “You look nice,” he says.
I’ve changed into denim shorts and a white lace top with a blue bikini underneath. Sun hat firmly on. My belly is full, and my legs feel pleasantly wobbly from the hike this morning.
“Thanks.”
“Are you going to be able to walk in those shoes?”
He points down at my feet that are clad in pink plastic Birkenstocks. Besides my Nikes, they’re the most comfortable shoes I brought on this trip.
“They’re Birkenstocks!” I say.
“And that means…？”
“It means let’s go.”
I have my straw cross-body around me, and I tuck a bottle of water from the front desk into it. I haven’t stopped drinking since I got done with the walk. I want more and more and more water.
Adam holds his arm out for me to pass through the door, and I do. Outside, the day is bright and friendly. Tourists and locals alike are in the streets, finishing breakfast at outdoor restaurants and opening shops to begin the day’s work.
“Where are we going?” I ask.
“Relax,” he says. “We’re going to walk. The best way to explore Positano is to simply wander.”
We start walking down Viale Pasitea. I look at the red and orange buildings we pass. Shops and restaurants and little grocery stands. There are baskets of fresh produce, and mannequins wearing hand-painted dresses. I spot a blue one with silver stitching. There are racks of sewn dolls for children and wraps in every shade of blue the ocean and sky are capable of offering.
“It’s all so beautiful,” I say.
“The stuff to buy or the views?”
“Both. But the views really are incredible. Up high this morning… you could see the whole sweep. It was spectacular. I think Positano might be the most stunning place I’ve ever seen.”
Adam nods. “You know where the real best view of Positano is?”
“I don’t know how you could beat the view this morning,” I say. “Today was pretty great.”
“Be that as it may,” he says, “the best view in Positano is actually from the ocean.”
A bicyclist on the sidewalk almost knocks into me. I jump back out of the way, and a car honks. All the vehicles are tiny, like we’re in a movie.
I’m reminded, when he says this, of something Eric used to say when we lived in New York. How the best view in New York was in Jersey City. The best view in a place is actually a view of the place.
Five years ago, my mother and I went for the weekend to the Bacara in Santa Barbara. It’s a hotel on the coast, with grounds that have great views of the ocean. We got massages and then sat out in big Adirondack chairs and watched the sunset.
“Look at all the colors,” she said. “It’s like the sky is on fire. Burning up the whole day. Nature has so much power if we just pay attention.”
“What’s your favorite place you’ve ever been?” I ask Adam.
“Wherever I’m going next,” he says.
We keep walking until we arrive at a bougainvillea-covered walkway. I remember it from yesterday. It leads down to the church square.
Couples stroll hand in hand as shops continue to open their doors. A few paces down, a young artist has set up a stand. Beside him are colorful landscapes of Positano and Rome and, for some reason, quite a few portraits of cats. Finally, we reach the square with the Church of Santa Maria Assunta standing in the middle, the golden dome high overhead.
“This is one of my favorite places,” Adam says, surveying the structure. He tilts his head back and rests it in the palms of his hands.
“It’s so grand.”
“It was built when the Byzantine icon of the Virgin Mary was brought here on a ship. There’s this legend that the icon was on a boat that was headed east when the ship stopped moving. The sailors heard a voice saying, ‘Put me down! Put me down!’ The captain thought it was a miracle that meant the Virgin statue wanted to be brought to Positano. As he changed course so he was headed for the shore, the boat began to sail again. It was a miracle. Incidentally, ‘posa posa’ means ‘put me down’ or ‘stop there,’ and that’s how the town gets its name.”