Perfectly Positano
Kim and I have this tradition when we travel to Positano (It is not lost on us how lucky we are to have a tradition in a place where most people will only visit once in their lives!). We stay a little bit above town. This way, we get a marvelous view of the sea and we get to walk up and down about a thousand steps every time we go to the beach!
We’ve stayed in Rick-Steves-recommended hotels and funky AirBnBs and a couple of places in between. Perhaps the most memorable was our splurge on the magnificent apartment owned by the proprietor of the local Theodora moda Positano clothing company.
It is a sprawling apartment complete with a living room, a bedroom, two bathrooms, a kitchen, and a covered balcony that spans the length of the apartment.
The moment we check-in I head down to the local market, about 100 yards down the road. I buy us some taralli (crunchy little circle-crackers), olives, cheese, and of course, a bottle of local wine.
We enjoy a glass of wine and some snacks on our balcony, then clean up and make our way down the many, many stairs to the beach and our favorite seaside restaurant, Le Tre Sorelle/The Three Sisters. Tre Sorelle, as it’s called by the locals, is an open-air restaurant that sits at the foot of the steps that lead from the beach into the winding village of Positano.
On our way down, we float from store-front to store-front admiring the colorful ceramics, the art displays, the intoxicating smell of garlic, lemons, and fried seafood. In the piazza in front Chiesa di Santa Maria Assunta/The Church of Saint Mary of the Assumption we stop and stare, slack-jawed, at the immensity and beauty of this temple.
We snap some smooching selfies, giddy that we are here - again. I know we already have a selfie of us at this exact spot - probably kissing - but we want more. Each photo holds a new memory, a new experience - and let’s be honest - a great reason to kiss my girl.
After what feels like a thousand steps down, we round the final corner, see the beach, and Tre Sorelle next to it. And then Kim sees it:
Kim wearing one of her favorites from Antica Sartoria
Ladies: Click on the link. Ladies’ partners: get ready to buy your lady a gift. Antica Sartoria is the material embodiment of the divine feminine. The store brims with soft lace dresses, colorful beach coverups, tasseled sandals, and beaded sun hats.
Kim’s eyes go as big as saucers and she has forgotten her hunger from thirty minutes ago. She looks at me and I smile. She goes inside and I walk around, content to wander and wait while she is in her happy place. I take some photos of street cats cruising and of boats on the beach. I look at the menu at Tre Sorelle, deliberating about what I’m going to order.
“Hello! Would you like to sit down?” asks a waiter, clad in black slacks, a white shirt, and black tie.
“Sì, ma, aspetto mia moglie. Lei sta in Antica Sartoria./Yes, but. I’m waiting for my wife. She’s in Antica Sartoria.” The waiter gives me a knowing look.
“Va bene. Preparo questa tavola e siamo qui quando volete sedere e mangiare./OK. I’ll prepare this table and we will be here whenever you want to sit and eat.”
I go up to see what kind of mischief Kimmy has gotten herself into. She comes out beaming, carrying a bright sea foam blue shopping bag painted with a golden coral logo. “Dude! There is so much good stuff in there! I can’t wait to go back!”
We return to the restaurant and order a half-liter of rosè and a plate of light, fresh, flash-fried calamari. Crisped perfectly and dressed only with minced garlic and fresh-squeezed lemon, we’ve awaited this moment for months. Our second course is a light salad. Our primi piatti (technically this translates to first plate...we know it’s our third course though!) are spaghetti alla vongole - fresh clams and garlic in a butter lemon sauce - and Kim orders some made-to-order ravioli stuffed with cream, fresh goat cheese, and lobster meat. We top it all off with a couple of shots of espresso macchiato and some house-made biscotti/cookies.
Throughout our two? three? hour long meal, we toast to the success of the tour we just finished, we confess our enduring love for one another (yes, we’ve been married a while, but - why not? This place oozes romance and love just bubbles up from inside of you while you’re here). We laugh at the antics of the street cats as, over and over, they con unwitting tourists into feeding them. We marvel at the skill of the stiletto-wearing women walking by on the cobblestones and at the strength of the porters hauling dollies full of six, seven, eight pieces of luggage up the steps into town.
Finally, satisfied that we can express no more romantic sentiments and can eat and drink no more (it’s not even 4:00 PM?!), we flag down the waiter, pay our bill, and plod our way up the thousand steps to our apartment.
But not before one final stop in Antica Sartoria. And this time, I’m buying.
