Have you ever eaten a peach picked by someone else? Not just any peach.
One that you picked up. Turned over. Smelled. Put back in the crate. Because it wasn't
the right one yet. But the next one was. Francesco puts it in the bag. He does
The same thing happens with the bread. The same goes for the wine. It's surprising how much
responsibility a peach can have. Especially one that, within a few hours,
will end up being cut with a big knife in the middle of the sea.
The day begins right there. At Boccia. A shop where the bread comes out
still warm from the oven, crates of fruit take up half the street, and
hurry seems to be an invention that has never been very successful. Every
now and then, someone stops Francesco. A question. A joke. A quick chat. On Ischia,
it's hard to figure out who knows who.
By the time you arrive at the harbor, Francesco has already spent much of the morning
avoiding minor annoyances for you. He hosed down the deck of the gozzo before the sun warmed it up.
He checked the icebox. For the second time. He has arranged the towels. He chooses
thick ones because they stay soft after hours in the sun. She starts taking care of
of people long before she meets them.
It doesn't take her long to figure out whether you want to talk or not. There are some people he
he tells about Ischia. For others, he doesn't spoil the pleasure of discovering it on their own. While almost
everyone looks at the coastline, Francesco looks at the sea. There are bays where he only goes
only in the morning. Others he waits until the afternoon to enter. Sometimes he turns off the engine.
Sometimes he keeps going. The next day, at the same spot, he might change
his mind. “Look over there.” He hands you a mask. The rest happens underwater.
Aperitif arrives unannounced. Francesco grabs two plastic buckets.
buckets. The kind for building sandcastles. It's hard to take them seriously. At least until
you find an ice-cold beer inside. From that moment on, you stop asking questions.
The bread is passed from hand to hand. The wine follows. The gozzo continues to rock. At
At a certain point, no one looks at the clock anymore. Which, on vacation, is a surprisingly
surprisingly rare.
In the end, you'll try to remember the names of all the bays. You'll mix up almost all of them. You'll
You'll remember a peach cut with a big knife. The sound of the engine when it
was turned off. Two beach buckets that, inexplicably, seemed to have been
made to be on that gozzo boat. Memory has questionable tastes. It stubbornly
to take home the most precious details.

PLEASE NOTE: The item “transportation” under additional services (available for purchase) refers to the round-trip hydrofoil from Naples;
The item “drinks” refers to drinks that you will find on board (water, cola, wine, beer);
The item “beach club” refers to admission to the beach club and includes a sunbed, umbrella, and an appetizer of marinated seafood and zucchini flowers, along with a glass of wine.