Postcard from the Edge - a Weekend in Capri

How often has one heard such-and-such island described as an island of contradictions? A phrase employed to imply that there is something for everyone. Capri is not one of these islands, everything about Capri is as extreme and uncompromising as the monolithic limestone protrusion of which it is formed. Grey cliffs plunge perilously into a sapphire sea; a sea so calm one might mistake it for a lake. Around you sky and sea appear to merge so one has the feeling of being encapsulated in a brilliant blue bubble, the horizon a distant memory. There is no indecisive drizzle on Capri, when it rains it rains certainly. Then the capricious clouds clear and the air is left rich with the woody aroma of wild rosemary and the cypress trees which cling to the rock faces as adeptly as the roads which weave their precarious way through some of the most stunning views ever seen. The inhabitants are delightful and, if you were being cynical about those paid to tend daily to the numerous needs of the very rich, you might consider this a ploy to pry plastic from player. Of course you would be right, but 'delightful and diligent' as a default setting is preferable to 'frightful and indifferent', for which we sadly seem to settle in the UK. Waiting staff switch seamlessly between Italian, French, German, Dutch, Russian and Swedish and are as passionate about the food they are serving as the restaurants by whom they are employed. Having complimented one waiter on the pasta he took my table of five into the kitchen, a cave hewn from rock, to meet 73 year old 'Mama' who had been cooking there for 50 years. This is a very small island where reputation and recommendation count for everything. Capri is prego a go go. Accommodation is of course expensive. There are many luxury hotels, nothing budget and very little in the middle. We stayed at the charming Gatto Bianco; a slightly curious mix of kitty kitsch (gifts one suspects from previous guests given in honour of the eponymous cat who sits pride of place at the top of the hotel steps) and some admirable antiques. The rooms are largish, airy and scrupulously clean. The management could not be more helpful, at times there appear to be more staff on the desk laughing and chatting than guests in the hotel. Breakfast is a modest, continental affair which you can enjoy on the terrace; often with the purring gatto bianco at your feet. Most rooms seem to have a terrace which does not entirely make up for the hotel's lack of a pool but does make for a very welcome break away from the bustle and barging of the town's main thoroughfares.

Perhaps the only real contradiction the island has to offer is that between day and night. At around 10 am the island swells, as wave after wave, of tour group crashes through the cobbled streets. Each group, pausing, aiming and snapping en masse at whatever landmark is being pointed out by their guide. Strangely a tall cactus outside the bank seemed to capture the collective imagination. I pictured later the multilingual; 'what is this again?' before pressing; cancellare, effacer, löschen, delete. By 6 pm, the time of the last ferry back, the tide of tourists has retreated and the island relaxes into fifteen hours of relative calm, populated only by those that either live or are staying there. The streets, bars and cafés still bustle, but now there is the space to do get down to the serious matter of people watching. La Passeggiata in Capri takes posing to new heights. For less than the price of a cinema ticket one can sip on a Limoncello at Al Piccolo (the bar from which the locals observe) and be entertained far more than by any movie. One will find oneself cooing in admiration at the understated elegance of most outfits, smiling sympathetically at the brassy, brashness of the Euro-trash and sometimes shuddering in horror. When a middle aged couple sat in front of us clothed head to toe in orange I was tapped on the shoulder and drily asked, 'what have they come as?'

Neither is it easy to eat cheaply you should expect to pay around €18 - €20 for a starter and upwards from around €25 for a main course. Wine is expensive, amazingly many restaurants will be out of stock of the more reasonable wines on the list, and be very careful about choosing a special 'off menu'; you will find these can be up to twice as expensive as the courses which appear printed. Also never order side dishes 'for the table' we ended up with two €40 plates of vegetables. One final word of warning the rules governing cabs seem very arbitrary, so despite the metre you will discover that various supplements are added with abandon according to the number of passengers, how many bags and time of day etc. That aside most drivers enjoy the haggle good humouredly and shrug it off you rumble their ruse. Try to agree the fare first.

My preconception of Capri was a bunch of beautiful people sitting around on rocks and I was pretty much right. No doubt they would prefer to be sitting around on sand but the island's beaches are very few. That aside not much sitting is done at the seaside, more standing to see and been seen. Nowhere is this posturing more prevalent than at the Lido at Faro. For €20 you have access to a private enclosure with sun beds, stunning views, a restaurant and swimming pool whilst others jostle for position, figuratively and literally, on s slippery concrete jetty which slopes into the sea. Young Italian lads try to impress the young ladies by jumping from the highest craggy rocks into their uncertain fate below. Whilst bikini clad grandmas watch on, shaking their coiffured heads (despite themselves once being the objects of this display of bravado and machismo), cigarettes stuck to their aubergine painted lips they return to their magazine. One word of caution here, if the little bay at Faro suddenly empties of swimmers follow suit, it means that a shoal of jellyfish has been washed into the cove. Our friend Emma was stung, she was immediately offered a wedge of tomato from bowl kept by the lifeguard, a local remedy Emma assured me worked, however, we were shown some very serious scars by a waiter who was surrounded so beware.

There is a shingle beach at Marina Piccola which you can reach by bus or taxi, situated opposite the Faraglionli from which it is said sirens once lured sailors to their doom, it is an immensely popular spot. When you get down to the beach level walk along to the right beyond the path and you will see what appears to be a private beach below a restaurant, don't worry it is not private. If you go beyond the farthest rock you might even be lucky enough to have the tiny covert cove that nestles there to yourself.

A visit to the Carthusia perfumery, the smallest and probably the prettiest in the world, is essential. The staff are as pleasant and persuasive as the evocative scents they sell, most derived from indigenous ingredients; lemons, figs and a plethora of flora. The Carthusia perfumes travel well, and so do the staff. All of them leave the island in the winter and spend five months abroad, Thailand, where many Capresi have homes, seems to be the most popular destination for recharging batteries after seven months of seven days a week work.

It really is a case of don't forget your toothbrush; basic commodities are hard to come by. Capri town has two far-from-supermarkets that we found hiding behind the streets of designer stores. It is easier to buy a Gucci belt than a charger for your mobile phone. Gucci, Dolce & Gabana, Versace, Prada, Pucci, Hermes and dozens of glitzy jewellers are where most visitors do their sightseeing. For a bit of fashion history visit La Parisienne where legend has it the Capri pant was born and a made to measure pair takes a day to make. The island is literally steeped in history, sadly there were many things we missed out on during our weekend on Capri; Villa Jovis the ruined home of Tiberius from which he ruled the Roman Empire, the Blue Grotto, and we also eschewed the fun of the funicular between the port and Capri town in favour of open- top lime leather upholstered cabs. One thing everyone must do, however, is pay a visit to Villa San Michele. An extraordinary house owned by an extraordinary man, whilst sitting in the curved marble seat at the end of Axel Munthe's garden, looking across towards the Bay of Naples, Vesuvius in the background, and blue as far as the eye can I was extremely grateful to be on this island of extremes.