Perle de la Méditérannée, Capri est une ile paradisiaquenoyée au mois d' Aout dans un purgatoire de touristes qui sont plus intéressés à faire du shopping dans les boutiques chics de la petite ville qu'à en visiter les merveilles!! Les cons sont partout!!!!!

Pearl of the Mediterannean, Capri is an island paradise smothered in August by hordes of tacky tourists, more interested in shopping in the fancy boutiques in the little town's center, than in discovering the island's marvels!!! Assholes are everywhere, don't you know??!!!!


Nearly two years ago, in Pompei, Dr. Zoë and I marvelled at the crass and crude presence of a retinue of Joey Perullo tour boobs, swaggering their provincial ignorance all about these marvels of antiquity. (Here is that story)
This time around I had a foretaste of things to come on the hydrofoil ferry jetting me over to verdurous Capri's soaring cliffs and pinnacled crags,Capri !! a short journey taken in the company of a herd of women from Bloomfield, NJ, (figures!!!...) whining and exclaiming in their best nasal twang!!
Fat, dumpy and flat-assed, they snapped away with flashes in full sunlight so as to immortalize their sorry presence upon the Mediterranean and its waters of indigo.
Here in Capri, it's tourist galore!!
In philistine and tacky presence, they preen and parade in the town's small serpentine streets, traipsing in and out of jewelry stores, and Trussardi, Hermes, and Armani boutiques!!
What the fuck??!!?? They come to Capri to SHOP!!??!! The mind reels!
I quickly head out, anywhere, anyhow, but away from THEM!!
Walking east, up and down narrow lanes between curtains of flowers and blooms, as variegated as they're fragrant, in battle with prickly cacti and languid palms for growing space in the dazzlement of noon, I find myself... quite alone, all of a sudden. Deb and Lenny, Klaus und Inge, Marcel et Martine, all easing their t-shirted blubber in climate-controlled shopping, seemed to have jettisoned all thoughts of trekking the acclivitous hillside up the Via Tiberio to the Villa Jovis, high on the island's easternmost point.
"Good", I think, " Roman ancient glory all to myself. The amorous plaint of lyres, a goatherd, and the fugitive vision of satyrs chasing dryads.... If only..."! And the dozen-or-so people awaiting me there make no difference. They're young and pleasant-looking, and the women have abandonned nearly all cumbrous habiliments in an attempt to find comfort in the stifling heat.

The Arco Naturale ! The Arco Naturale !

La merveille naturelle qu'est "Arco Naturale" domine de quelques deux cent mètres une petite baie aux eaux d'émeraude,
ou étaient ancrés une douzaine de yachts sous un soleil éclatant!!!

The "Arco Naturale" is an awe-inspiring natural wonder, towering hundreds of feet above the emerald-blue waters of a small cove
where a dozen or so yachts laid anchored in the perfect sunlight!!!

The Arco Naturale !


English writer Robert Graves, in his "autobiographical" journal of Emperor Claudius, tells the tale of Tiberius who, wanting to punish the world after his own death by unleashing upon it the destruction and havoc he couldn't bestow upon it whilst he lived, made the insane Caligula his heir.
This was to be the direst form of punishment he could think of ("Rome deserves you, Caligula").

Watching the unseemly tourist hordes wash upon Capri, in relentless waves of crass, I find myself entertaining thoughts of mass-destruction, thinking there is something to be said for extermination. All as an aesthetic construct, you understand, since I am not likely to become master of the world, with power of life and death, any time soon.
So your sorry asses are safe for the time being.
(The next day, blocked in traffic on the Amalfi coast road, the same thoughts entered my mind. Buses after buses, including a huge Benz "Bustouristik" out of Bomlitz, Deutschland, or some such hole that should have been bombed more in WW2, all stopped on this narrowest of roadway so as to permit their clientele to shop for trinkets and feed themselves at some roadside trough! And everybody else be damned!!! Thankfully, a repose for my pained eyes in this traffic hell presented itself in the form of a good-looking Milanese couple in a shiny, sporty, red Alfa-Romeo roadster convertible, equally stuck but seemingly unperturbed, as they unknowingly reenacted for me scenes of a long-gone Italian Dolce Vita, enraptured in each other's gaze, high above the splendour of Positano!).
Already, I hear some of you exclaiming loudly in puzzlement and dismay.
The warm-hearted liberals: "But these people have rights, too, you know. They may be ugly, fat, loud, ignorant and tacky to no end, ludicrous and an eyesore, they DO have a human soul breathing and yearning within. So you should be tolerant of your brethren's faults, and in the same way you shouldn't judge a book by its cover, do not judge the person by its exterior, however repellant it may be, blah, blah, blah..."
The realists: "Who the fuck do you think you are, asshole??! You're just another one of these tourists, with your camera and your Ray Bans!!! If you hate tourists so much, stay at home!!!"
To the liberals, I say this: the book analogy may work for some books in some cases. But do I really need to know the throbbing prose hiding within the lurid cover of these Harlequin romances (the kind your mom reads with her dildo while your dad is out drinking with his football buddies), to know all I need to know.
And, in our tourists' case, when you strip all the outside accoutrements, however sorry or semi-cool they may appear, what are you left with? A Nobel prize litterary genius, a composer writing operas and symphonies inspired by your mind and erotic aura?? Nay, to say truth, it's the same old dull stockbroker or used-car salesman you're mindlessly dating these days!
And, here and now, they're polluting the natural marvels that are Capri and the Amalfi coast, making it look like a Labor Day weekend on the Jersey Shore!
To the realists, I say: I may be a tourist in these parts, but I take public transportations, I stay at friends instead of giving business to one of the zillion hotels disfiguring the landscape, I don't take photos of my fat wife, and I look cool in Ray Bans!! And I live in Paris, the number one tourist spot in the world, so were I to stay home year round, I still wouldn't be able to escape THEM!!!



L'humble maison et les jardins d'un autochtone heureux, sur la Via Tibero, à moins qu'il ne s'agisse de la Via Matermania, j'oublie!

Somebody's humble home and gardens, somewhere on the Via Tibero or the Via Matermania, I forget which!


Villa Jovis.

Atop Mt. Tiberio sit in antique splendor the remains of Tiberius' villa, wherefrom he ruled the Empire, trying to beguile but a little the gloom and weariness of his declining years, having grown hopeless of all but oblivion, finding solace and a momentary swelling of his flaccid pulses in the spectacle of little boys and girls, frolicking nude in the gardens as if they were wood nymphs, thereby assuaging his gymnosophic seclusion!
In much later times, Christian zealots wanting to establish in yet another place a beacon to their shallow superstition, erected a chapel to some obscure San Fernando, where once Jupiter illumined the thoughts of Augustus, Tiberius, and subsequent Imperators.
Not wanting to leave well enough alone, a huge and ugly bronze statue of the Holy Adultress has been dominating the landscape for the past twenty years! Taking a cue from Leibniz in thinking their world the best of all possible, Christians have continued leaving their deplorable imprints upon all things, and in the fashion of turds, have so far managed to keep rising to the surface!!
Turning my back on the sorry constructions, I ambled back and forth between the ruined cisterns and the slave quarters, the guards' rooms and the Imperial apartments, soon finding myself on an umbral terrace beneath pine trees, hidden from mortal trespass, where Trasillus the Imperial astrologer, wearing the seer's Utter Black, glimpsed at the star's mysteries. And, having pored over tablets and parchments of archaic cyphers and runes, devised arcane thaumaturgies born of his mantic arts, meant to calm the monarch's fears, and wash away anguished visions of impending doom from these old eyes, filled with the vainglory of madness and bale...
Two hundred meters above the sea, as its waves lap at the cliff's base, I also let my mind drift back to olden times above the surf, when galleys and xebecs, dhows and fellucas from unknown isles and outland horizons beyond the morn', fearlessly plied the turquoise main, returning from shores of camphor and sandalwood, their oars silently cleaving the weltering waters of Mare Nostrum, their holds filled with the treasures of far kingdoms beyond the bourne of sunrise.

The Villa Jovis and Anacapri in the distance !
La Villa Jovis, construite par Octave puis adoptée et remaniée par Tibère, fut la résidence de ce dernier durant les dix dernières années de son rêgne (27-37 de notre ère). Le vieux tyran (né en 42 av. notre ère!!) préfèrait la douceur du climat de l'ile aux miasmes de Rome. Et oui, déja à l'époque!!!


The Villa Jovis, built by Octavian, was adopted and enlarged by Tiberius who resided there during the last ten years (27-37 CE) of his reign . The old tyrant (born in 42 BCE!!) prefered the island's mild climate to Rome's miasmic heat. Yes, then too!!!
Ruins of the Villa Jovis, looking toward Anacapri !


Capri and Anacapri from the Villa Jovis !
Looking out towards Capri and Anacapri
from Villa Jovis !!


Some distance below the villa is a cliff-top garden of cacti and pines, languourous flowers swaying in the salted sea-balsam breeze, bruiting with the songs of cicadae, offering one a stunning gaze at becalmed coves where numerous yachts lay at anchor, the privileged voluptuaries on board surely lunching on rare viands and frosted drinks, between naked dips in halcyon waters as smooth and green as a silky curtain of jade
Above a Capri cove !

Pas loin d'Arco Naturale, cette autre baie et ses yachts, vus d'une élévation d'environ deux cent mètres sur un petit chemin entre Tragara et la Grotte Matermania!

Near Arco Naturale is this other cove, the yachts looking small, but only looking it, from about two hundred meters up, from a small path between Tragara and the Grotto Matermania!

Una cartoline, per favore :-))!!
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