We walk down to the Grande Marina and pass the vendors and shops we saw yesterday. Past the hydrofoil dock, there is a small area with several boats, anchored idly in the water.
I follow Leah down a concrete path to a boat about fifteen feet long with an Italian flag waving from a pole in the center. There is a day bed taking up half of the space with a small seating area in the back and motor for the captain to drive. It’s a leisure boat made for tours of the island.
I take the gentleman’s hand who will be driving us on our tour and take my spot on the day bed, sitting up straight and holding on to my bag. Leah stretches out next to me and leans back on her hands, looking up at the sun.
The gentleman escorting us on our tour speaks a little English, but it is very hard to understand with his thick accent. I know a tiny bit of Italian from taking it in high school, which doesn’t amount to much. We nod and pretend we know what he’s saying. All we can make out is his name is Raphael.
Starting the engine, Raphael drives away from the dock, and the rocking in the water forces me to brace myself. I place my hand on the bed behind me and lean back on my side, my back facing the water, my front to Leah.
We turn left and drive past the Grande Marina. Leah points out our hotel and takes a picture of it with her phone. Then, she snaps a few shots of me and asks me to take a few of her in return.
She slides the phone back in her pocket and goes back to taking in the sun.
Before long, Raphael slows us down and Leah and I peer up to see why we’ve changed speed.
Ahead of us is a sea of boats similar to ours and smaller wooden dinghies. They look like gridlock traffic, all idling in the water, dangerously close to the rock that is the island of Capri.
“Grotto Azzurra,” Raphael says as he idles the engine.
Amongst the boats before us, there is a larger one with a sign over it. It looks like a concession stand of sorts. Squinting my eyes I try to make out what the sign says. It’s where people pay their admission to see the Blue Grotto.
I notice there is a man to each dinghy and ushering tourists from boats like ours onto the wooden crafts, and then paddling over to the concession to pay an admission.
Leah asks Raphael why we can’t take this boat to see the Blue Grotto. He points to a very small opening in the rock. We watch as one at a time, the dinghies approach the opening that looks entirely too small for them to fit through. The man on the boat instructs the passengers to lie down on their backs as he pulls himself, and the vessel through the opening by a metal chain that is mounted to the rock until they disappear inside the sea cave.
It looks slightly frightening.
I glance at Leah with an unsure feeling. She shrugs me off and tells me to relax.
We are waiting in a line of sorts. Tourist boats like ours are all gathered in a mosh pit, there’s no telling who was here first. When it’s our turn, Leah and I will board a dinghy and be swallowed up by the sea cave. My stomach drops at the thought.
We slowly inch up, getting closer to the mass of wooden boats. There have to be twenty in line before us.
Craning my neck, I look around at the sea around us. My eyes widen at the sight of a very familiar vessel.
I nudge Leah. “Look.”
She turns her head and gawks over at the yacht we were spying on yesterday. It’s about a two hundred yards from us, but it’s so massive, it feels like it’s on top of us.
“Looks like Mr. Sex-a-thon took a break for some culture this morning.”
“How long did you watch them yesterday?” I ask.
“Over an hour. It was enough that I had to FaceTime Adam for some afternoon delight.”
“Ugh! You did not do that while I was sleeping!”
“Actually, it was more like morning delight for Adam.” She grins. “Calm down, I went into the bathroom. You didn’t even know, so what do you care?”
I sock Leah in the arm and she laughs.
“Did they seriously go at it that long?” I am so curious. Parker and I never went longer than twenty minutes. And that was on a special occasion.
I once heard Seth Myers tell a joke. “A new study came out that women prefer sleep over sex. Who would want to sleep for two and a half minutes?” When I heard it I thought of Parker and me.
“Ems, he had her in every position. And I meaneveryposition. We’re talkin’ crazy Kama Sutra stuff.”
I lift my fingers to my face, feeling the heat from my blush. I am not a blusher. Let’s make that clear. But just thinking about what I saw through those binoculars yesterday made me hot all over.
