9/11: A Short Story

Italians typically do not eat an elaborate breakfast. Their morning nourishment consists of a straight shot of caffeine, sometimes accompanied by a cornetto; a croissant. Our first meal on board was our version of an Italian breakfast, consisting of some of the outstanding, salty, nutty pecorino cheese and a few slices of the melt-in-your-mouth Mortadella with pistachio, prosciutto and spicy salami that we bought the day before. We shared a beautiful, fragrant peach that reminded me of the peaches Vince’s father grew in his garden. They were the best I ever had. The fresh blood-orange juice was the perfect pairing beverage. Why doesn’t food at home taste like this? As the sun peeked over the horizon, we ate our breakfast on deck and watched

Vince commanded perfect instructions for releasing the bow lines while he released the stern lines. As we motored out to sea, I stowed the fenders and kept a watchful eye out for the unexpected. I did my best to be an exemplary first mate! Somehow, it all felt surreal. It seemed like we were living in a fantasy. We were sailing on the Tyrrhenian Sea; the part of the Mediterranean off the western coast of Italy. I took a million pictures. The first spectacular site was the stronghold on the cliff. It was exactly the site I envisioned when sailing away from an ancient city somewhere in

Proceeding at only 3 knots, it would take forever to reach our first anchorage off the coast of Capri, near the Faraglioni Rocks. Other boats in the area also seemed to be struggling to sail in the light air. After more than ninety minutes of trimming sails for optimum boat speed but going nowhere, Vince acquiesced and turned on the motor. I was lazily asleep on deck. Awakened by the sound, I couldn’t believe my eyes! We were on the southern coast of Capri, where the steep cliffs plunge straight down to the ocean floor making it possible for us to venture close to the shoreline. The dramatic beauty of the Italian coast was undeniably staggering, and seeing the beaches and tiny fishing villages at close range was truly amazing. Soon we came upon the Punta Tragara Hotel. We immediately recognized the pink and orange structure on the cliff. It was a sight I would never forget. Instantly, I reflected on our visit here in 2003. We stood in front of that hotel gazing at the yachts moored below when Vince declared that if we ever sailed in these waters we would anchor here. Now, here we were, two years later, preparing to anchor our boat. It was a “pinch me” moment for Vince. I also realized our good fortune. How did a young eleven-year old immigrant girl from Holland, raised by her grandmother and a single mom, become so fortunate later in