Waking up another year older, my birthday was spent in our usual sunbathing spot, where we happened to meet a group of locals, two of which I nicknamed the ‘Italian Ken Doll twins’, identical pretty boys, who invited us to join them at a club further up the coast that night to help me celebrate my 33rd in style.
So that evening, Jo and I decided to join the boys and their friends and at midnight we boarded their speedboats, yes that’s right, and sat in awe looking out at the spectacular view of Amalfi coast lights as we sped towards Africana Club.
As I walked up the stairs towards the nightclub, which by the way was inside a cave built into a rock on a cliff (amazing!!), one thing became apparent, everyone was beautiful. Every which way Jo and I turned we were faced with good looking men, the only word to describe them was ‘pressed’. It was as if they had stepped into some sort of industrial press machine and walked out the other side in fitted designer shirts, slim leg trousers and Italian leather shoes. The girls were also holding their own in tiny little dresses and sky high heels, and it turned out having not packed high heels, Jo and I were the only girls in the club in flat shoes, uhoh. Or maybe not, as it turned out, although we weren’t strutting in stiletto’s, we were the only foreign girls in the club, and Bam!, this turned out to be the golden ticket folks. The bee’s started started buzzing and flocking to the honey. Hah!
We soon made introductions with a group from Capri, it still blows my mind that they actually LIVE on Capri, to me that island is one of those places you only hear about celebrities visiting, you never actually meet a local from there. We danced the night way with them, and sucked up the compliments, with Jo and I occasionally turning to each other and agreeing that A. the men in UK were nothing like Italian men and B. that we could definately get used to this kind of attention. Talk about inflated ego’s!
Next thing we know it’s 5am, and time to leave, so back in the speedboat we pile, and back to Atrani we go. Good timing, the milk truck had just arrived for early morning deliveries, so we flashed our sweetest smiles at the milkman and his son, and they swiftly handed over a couple of Nesquick chocolate milks, aaaah yes I definately think I could get used to such a life!
A few hours later, too hyped up to sleep, I dragged myself to the piazza for an americano, it was going to be a loooong day of tiredness. But that’s the beauty of a holiday in Atrani, I could accomplish two things at once, nap and sunbathe!The remaining days all rolled into each other, and it’s a blur of swimming, coffee drinking, afternoon Amalfi walks and the hardest part of the day: deciding what to eat for dinner. Oh the food, I could go on about it forever, especially the gorgonzola and walnut gnocchi Jo and I ate on our dinner date, delicious! And just as amazing, the nutella gelato. I am so glad Italy hasn’t caught onto the idea of adding nutritional information to their menu’s, this could really ruin a good thing for me.
On our last day, we took a short bus trip up to the hill top town of Ravello. It’s beautiful, and many a celebrity has walked it’s paths. After a final lunch together, Dale, Jo and I decided to walk back, which allows you the brilliant views to the beaches below and great photo opportunities.
We had just an hour or so left to sun ourselves before collecting our bags and sadly trundling down into the piazza to say our goodbyes and wait for our driver.
A few days later, back in London, after I’d sent a thank you email to Filippo and Gabriele, I received their reply:
Ciao, No problem this is your home in the Amalfi Coast
They are so right, Atrani is my Italian home, and each time I return it tightens it’s grip on me. Ciao Atrani, see you next year!