Pensione

Our room at the boarding house, a charming pensione, is spacious. The focal point, a magnificent claw foot tub, holds court and insists that a proper bath is in order.

In the dusky evening view from our window, we see the thin but unquestionable outline of Mount Vesuvius, along with the twinkling lights of Sorrento and Capri. We are right on the harbor too, with multicolored fishing boats bobbing on the turquoise water.

He wraps me in his warm arms, and says, "This could be our honeymoon."

As I marvel at our delightful room, and that we get all of this for only ten mila lira a night, I also feel that faraway lonely feeling, the one that is perhaps reserved exclusively for expatriates.