David Whyte is not only a poet I admire, he is a friend. For several years, along with a few other friends, we accompanied him on a sort of annual pilgrimage, having good conversations about whatever particular harvest one might be experiencing in one’s life while roaming the Tuscan countryside.
Slow travel since 1992. Travel is deliciously transformative. It cooks us in a good way, like fire and salt. To engage with other cultures through food is primal. It’s deeply connecting to break bread and stir a pot in an unknown land with a trusted insider.
The winds blow northerly as we head straight into them on our way to the isle of Capri after sailing around Ischia and Procida in the Bay of Naples. I feel like we’ve been on a sea-fari. We see mythical islands, mix with the elements, while staying safe on our boat protecting ourselves not from wild animals, but a deep blue unpredictable sea and sky. Our captain reads the weather like a book, knowing when and where to go. It’s like being in the hands of a magician.
Adventurers with artistic sensibilities and curious appetites board Antonio’s 54-foot sailboat; drifting somewhere along the Amalfi coast. It’s a visceral voyage. Sun rays bounce off the iconic jade-blue hues of the Tyrrhenian Sea. There are eight of us on deck. In a shared space, we unite as willing victims of foreign seductive charms: the joviality inherent in the sea, in the sun.