CAPRI / WAYS OF SEEING
According to Axel Munthe, the Phoenician Steps, which connect Capri harbour with Anacapri, are made up of 777 individual steps. His The Story of San Michele was one of the most popular books of the 20th century, and begins with a scene of Munthe walking up the steps for the first time, just before arriving at the site where he would come to build his famous Villa San Michele.
The number seven is in many religions considered to be what holds the universe together: there are seven chakras in the human body, and esoteric teachings claim that the creation holds seven different levels.
In the Hebrew tradition, 777 is considered a “perfect number”.
Even today, the steps connect Villa San Michele, where I spent a summer editing a manuscript for a book, with its closest beach, where I often went to reward myself after a day’s work.
In the first days of my stay at Villa San Michele, I would hurry down to the beach, to get there before it had become crowded with joyful (but loud) tourists. Afterwards, I hurried back to return to my desk, to assess what I had written during the day.
This, I thought, was the best way to make efficient use of my time. Soon, however, I realized that my desire to be effective inadvertently had led me to miss the view – from the steps, all of the Bay of Naples is visible, one of the world’s most beautiful places – and I had rushed by, believing that the high pace was something beneficial, and that the stress had some kind of higher value..
The steps were old and uneven, and for that reason I had always looked down on my feet, to avoid slipping when running up and down.
Now, I would walk slowly and carefully, lifting my head and looking out over the view, while also getting to know the shape of the stones beneath me, through the sensation of my feet.
Soon, I was as familiar with the view as I was with the individual stones.
This way, I learned that it was not only the goal, but also the journey that mattered.
My stay at Capri was full of these types of seemingly insignificant events that taught me to be observant on what happened in my everyday life, and to look at my life from new perspectives.
Since I spent most of the days by myself, I had time to reflect in a way that had been impossible if I had completed the editing process at my university office back in Sweden.
Soon, the daily, random scribbles turned into more regular and organised notes, and in turn, they became the basis of this text.
“The purpose of this study is twofold: It is at a celebration of Capri’s beauty, while also being a suggestion to look at life differently.”
The purpose of this study is twofold: it is at a celebration of Capri’s beauty, while also being a suggestion to look at life differently, inspired by my personal experiences of everyday life on the blue island.
The text is divided into three main sections, one for each week that I spent on Capri.
Each week is made up by seven days, and so every section contains seven texts, of varying length.
As previously mentioned, 777 is also the number of steps that constitute the Phoenician Steps, and so the format can also be seen as a (not particularly subtle) reference to Axel Munthe, whose villa was the geographical starting point for this project. The reason I was even on the island was that I had received a scholarship, allowing me to live and work on Capri, with the specified intent that I should finish the book that I was currently writing.
The subject of the book was the Swedish fashion industry, and for this reason, there are a few mentions or allusions to fashion, both as an industry and a cultural phenomenon.
Fashion is part of the everyday experience; it influences how we dress and how we relate to one another. Even before we have opened our mouth to speak, we have communicated to others through our garments about who we are (or at least, about who we aspire to be perceived as).
To a large degree, fashion is about the longing for a community, to be seen and accepted by others. But fashion has also a tactile and sensual dimension, and holds the potential to add beauty to our lives.
Fashion is a form of design and thus gives shape to many aspects of our daily routines.
Even if this is primarily a text about Capri, notes on fashion will run as a red thread through the texts, sometimes in a more explicit manner and sometimes as a soft and barely noticeable undercurrent.
During my time at Villa San Michele, I was not alone, but was accompanied by photographer Tomas Falmer.
Often, I would sit at home in the apartment writing, while he was out taking pictures.
His ambition was to take photos of familiar motifs but from new perspectives and unexpected angles, to find new ways of seeing and portraying the clichés of the sun-drenched island.
As a fashion photographer, he was usually dependent on a large team of colleagues; the model has to do her part, the stylist needs to be attentive to how the clothes move and fall into place, the makeup artist needs to be present while the hairstylist controls every single strand of hair.
Documenting Capri had completely different requirements, such as getting up at 4.30 AM to hike to Capri’s highest mountain top, Monte Solaro, then waiting for hours in order to document the sunrise.
In comparison to fashion photography, the creative process had been simplified and scaled down, thus liberating the creative process. The fact that it is a fashion photographer that has taken the photos is still apparent in the composition and style of the images, but this time they don’t feature dresses and exclusive jewellery, but instead they portray rugged cliffs, the white foams that ride on top of turquoise waves, the lustre of sand-coloured walls when afternoon turns into evening, and the shadows cast by the many cypress trees around the island.
That Villa San Michele is one of the world’s most famous Swedish buildings can appear odd, considering its position far outside of Sweden’s borders. Axel Munthe was one of the great international personalities of his time, not least as personal doctor to the Swedish royal couple and a particular close friend of Sweden’s Queen Victoria.
Already in the late 1880s, he moved to Capri, and n 1895, he bought the chapel on the outskirts of Anacapri, along with its adjacent land. Hidden in the soil, he found ancient remnants of an imperial palace, from the time when emperor Tiberius had twelve villas scattered around the island.
Munthe’s villa is built on the grounds of the antique castle, and several of its fragments, found during construction, have been incorporated into the new building.
An interesting parenthesis is that Munthe’s design in turn inspired another famous Swedish building, the royal Villa Solliden on the island of Öland, just east of the Swedish mainland.. In this way, different places have become interlinked with one another, through time and space, via human hand and social connections.
Regarding the outline of the villa, Munthe wrote (in an often-quoted sentence) that, “the soul needs more space than the body”.
Perhaps that is why he all thorough his life was both an avid reader and writer, despite failing vision. Through text, the soul has the ability to discover new worlds, and to travel to places the body lacks access to.
This attitude to reading is related to a similar quote; Diana Vreeland’s “the eye has to travel”.
As editor for a number of fashion publications, she created fashion editorials that allowed the reader to travel without ever leaving the comforts of their own homes.
She was the first to shoot on location, and created fashion editorials in India and Japan, interviewed artists and musicians, as well as staging carefully crafted fantasy worlds, disguised as reports on the latest fashion.
Similar to most other texts, this essay does not exist in isolation, but is part of an intricate web of references to other authors and works of literature, that I read while writing or thought of during my time on Capri.
The names of some writers will be explicitly stated, while others are quoted in more indirect forms. But, even though the literary underpinnings of this text might be both scattered and diverse, its geographical anchoring is more definitive – it is Villa San Michele, situated at the top of the Phoenician Steps, in the outskirts of Anacapri, one of the two town on the island of Capri, in the middle of the cerulean Bay of Naples.
PART ONE
1.1
My journey to Capri began already on the mainland.
Perched at the edge of a cliff, just outside of Sorrento, lies Parco dei Principi, designed in 1960 by Giò Ponti on the foundation of what would have been the Russian tsar family’s Italian summer residence, had not the Russian revolution come between.
The hotel is classified as being of extraordinary cultural significance, and if even so much a doorhandle or a doorstop is worn out, it has to be replaced with one that is identical.
In this way, a sense of a complete artwork has been created: the whole is made up of a number of small details.
I have stayed here many times and now, when I had been given the opportunity of a residency on the island Capri – whose silhouette is clearly visible from the hotel terrace – it seemed reasonable that my journey would start in this very spot.
In the introduction to The Story of San Michele, Munthe stated that the thought moves in tandem with the body.
I pondered this quote while swimming in the small private bay of the hotel, designed by Ponti himself. It is reached though an elevator that travels through the interior of the rocks the hotel is built upon.
When it reaches its destination, and the doors open, you walk through a long, dark corridor, carved out of stone, until you reach an opening where there is a small ice-cream bar and a modest lunch restaurant, built on a number of poles placed in the shallow water.
In the mornings, as soon as they have opened the gates to the beach, I would go for a swim, alone with my thoughts.
What Munthe meant was that when the body is in motion, the moments allow our thoughts to be focused, and thus clearer.
Thoughts and body move in symbiosis.
The book I was to edit during my time at Villa San Michele was about how paid labour is organised within the fashion industry.
Superficially, the book was on creative work in fashion, but in actuality, it was a research project I had initiated based in a frustration I had begun to experience in regards to my own work, as I had begun to think it was boring, bordering meaningless, to continue working in academia.
During the past few years, I had also worked as a writer, speaker and consultant in fashion. Often, I had spoken on the importance to take fashion seriously, but inside I was questioning the relevance of my own work and wondered if there was not something more rewarding that I could devote my time to.
I was hoping that spending time on Capri would allow me to discover a new path in life.
These kinds of periods of intense questioning happen to most people at one time or another during their professional lives.
Once the college years are over, and one has managed to push through those first entry level jobs at the beginning of one’s career, the driving forces to continue are no longer as apparent as they were.
For many, attention will shift from making a living to building a family.
What once seemed attractive and lured one into a particular profession, now appears repetitive and monotonous. Without actual effort, it is possible to imagine the rest of one’s professional life continuing in the same way as it is now; an endless series of meetings, projects and e-mails, until one day it is time for retirement.
When the thing you longed for the most has been achieved, the sense of adventure and of moving forward disappears.
At that time, it can be difficult to develop new goals, and instead you feel bored and notice lack of excitement in your workdays.
In The Prophet, Khalil Gibran wrote that work (regardless of the specificities of the particular tasks at hand) has to be based in dedication and the will to do a good job:
Work is love made visible.
And if you cannot work with love but only
with distaste, it is better that you should leave
your work and sit at the gate of the temple
and take alms of those who work with joy.
For if you bake bread with indifference, you bake
a bitter bread that feeds but half man’s hunger.
And if you grudge the crushing of the grapes,
your grudge distils a poison in the wine.
And if you sing though as an angel, and love not
the singing, you muffle man’s ears to the voices
of the day and the voices of the night.
“Man’s constant search for meaning is the main driving force in our lives.”
My work-related life crisis was the real reason I wanted to spend time on Capri.
Secretly, I hoped that being on the island would help me to either find joy in my work again, or provide the space I needed to think about what to do instead.
In his poem, Gibran seems to be saying that a lack of commitment is reason to quit one’s job, but in his poetic vision of work there is no room for mortgages that need to be paid or other very real financial practicalities.
In addition, it might appear naïve to think that all work needs to be experienced as meaningful.
The psychologist Viktor Frankl has written many texts on the theme of man’s constant search for meaning, and claims that this in fact is the main driving force in our lives: The question is not so much about constantly experiencing meaning so much as it is about the necessity of searching for it.
Differently phrased, the journey itself is the destination.
Pleasure, on the other hand, is not something we should strive to have more of. Instead, the best and most rewarding kind of pleasure appears as a by-product.
We experience pleasure when someone gives us a compliment for the dinner that we made for them, or when we see that someone close to us enjoys the nice things that we have provided for them, or when we ourselves can rest after a long day’s hard work.
Pleasure, in this sense, is always the by-product of something else, not possible to achieve as an independent or isolated emotion.
With books by both Gibran and Frankl in my luggage, I left the hotel and began the journey down to the docks.
From the ferry, I could see the imposing mountains of Capri slowly approaching. At the same time, my thoughts kept returning to the subject of work, which I had focused on while swimming just a few hours previously.
Work has to be pleasurable to be meaningful, but the feeling of pleasure cannot be the main objective.
Work needs to be carried out, but not because someone has given instructions or is expecting a certain project to meet its required deadline, but because you should feel proud of the work that you have done.
At the end of the day, work is what you do, not who you are. Your actual life is the time spent with family and friends.
1.2
For as long as anyone can remember, Capri has been known as “l’isola azzura”, or “the blue island”.
In the early 19th century, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe published Zum Farbenlehre, a systematic overview of colours, in which the nature and qualities of different colours are described in the greatest detail.
Goethe claimed that the colour blue has a particular value, as blue (together with yellow) is one of very few, completely pure colours. Blue is also one of the colours of the rainbow, passive and cold.
According to Goethe, colours belong to “the world of the eye”, as they don’t hold any tactile qualities but are exclusively a visual quality.
A green chair feels no different to sit on, compared to a black one.
Only when we look at them, can we tell them apart. As colours can’t be sensed through touch, they are not completely part of a concrete reality but belong to a more subjective and personal kind of world.
At the same time, it is through colours that we understand and make sense of the world around us.
“All islands are encircled by water, but the deep-blue sea around Capri holds a particular kind of dramatic nuances of the colour, rarely seen in other places.”
Capri’s nickname is somewhat peculiar.
Obviously, it’s not the island that is blue, but the water that surrounds it.
All islands are encircled by water, but the deep-blue sea around Capri holds a particular kind of dramatic nuances of the colour, rarely seen in other places.
It is as though the very blueness of the water in this place has been exaggerated and enhanced, as if this part of the sea is particularly intense and alive.
The blue hues of the sea are further amplified through the contrast of the white foam of the strong waves, continuously clashing with the island’s many cliffs in the many secret bays and coves that are hidden all around the island.
1.3
The village of Anacapri is at the same time unremarkable and extraordinary.
In Ancient Greek, “ana” means “up” (or more precisely, “above”), which alludes to the fact that Anacapri is situated on a higher level than its neighbouring town, Capri.
Perhaps this is why the town feels relatively isolated – besides being situated on an island, it is also difficult to reach by foot.
Many prefer taking the bus or one of the many convertible taxi-cars that – like death-defying but swift birds navigating through a familiar sky – constantly drive back and forth between the harbour and the two towns.
Once you have reached Anacapri, you find yourself at a piazza, from which a winding street leads downwards, through the village. On both sides of this street, there are tourist shops, restaurants and hotels, but also smaller supermarkets, wine shops and pharmacies.
Between the houses in the area le Boffe, small alleys create a labyrinth with a structure that is almost impossible for the random visitor to comprehend.
The first times I walked through here, I couldn’t exactly pinpoint what I found so strange about this place, but then it struck me: there was a complete lack of shopwindows.
In 1872, the character of cities was forever changed when Gustave Eiffel for the first time installed gigantic shopwindows (framed by large supporting iron beams, constructed in the same way as the Eiffel tower) in the Parisian department store Le Bon Marché.
The commodities inside the building were now visible also during the hours that the store was closed. Today, we take this for granted, and the possibility to look at items for sale has become integrated with city planning all over the world.
In Anacapri, however, this is not the case. Here, alleys (with the exception of the main street) are still considered a means of transport, simply a way of getting from point A to point B.
When there are no commodities to be distracted by, I instead directed my attention to the sounds coming from inside the houses – of conversations, radios and the noises of everyday life – as well as the many scents from the flowers, bushes and trees that were all around me.
This is also what distinguishes the more rural Anacapri from the more sophisticated, bustling and consumer-orientated Capri.
Even though the towns are almost siblings, they are in many ways each other’s opposites in how they relate to shopping and consumption.
To not constantly be exposed to new things can also be considered a way of seeing, in many ways more radical than it first might seem. In the narrow alleys, with its muted, white-coloured walls, there are no distractions, no shopwindows with a constant circulation of new commodities on display.
This also affects how we experience time. Time is not a static entity but has been interpreted in different ways during different eras. In agricultural times, it was considered cyclical, marked by when it was time to sow and when it was time to reap. During the industrial era, time was experienced as linear, similar to the factory line at Ford, with a clearly defined beginning and a distinct end.
Today, in a culture marked by the sharing and spreading of information, the “now” has by many scholars been described as condensed, where memories of the past and hopes for the future are intertwined and mixed in social media, where old news are repeated as new and algorithms play on emotions to create engagement with the content of digital platforms.
The eventless alleys of Anacapri are a refreshing contrast to this digital age, and within only a few days at Villa San Michele, I had begun to take daily walks through the maze-like streets of le Boffe, to allow my mind to aimlessly wander while not looking at anything in particular.
1.4
The building I was staying in was situated on the grounds of Villa San Michele, not actually part of the mansion, but placed a bit behind the Villa, above the vineyards, next to the vegetable land. In front of my front door was a large terrace, with place for both dining table and sunchairs.
Already the first night, I sensed that I wasn’t alone.
When I had gone to bed, what I can best describe as a sort of presence was next to me, holding me company.
Tired after the journey, I paid it no mind but the next day, someone seemed to be standing next to me while I was writing. That evening, the sensation grew even stronger and I could almost see the gestalt, light and dressed in white, bending down over me as I laid in bed. This gestalt was with me for the whole duration of my stay.
Mostly, I noticed the presence in the evenings, but it was also obvious during the day. It was not a threatening experience, but as I didn’t know who it was, as well as having planned to be alone in the house, I was somewhat confused as how to respond.
One night, I was invited over for cocktails by the neighbours, whose house was adjacent to my bedroom wall.
Hesitantly, I asked them if they had sensed anything out of the ordinary, and quickly they responded, “oh, you mean the ghost dressed in white? Yes, he is with us as well, mainly on the terrace in the mornings.” We compared our experiences and discussed various reasons for the spirit to linger. Neither of us had had the impression that there was anything remotely aggressive or even sad about it.
On the contrary, we all had sensed that this was someone who felt at home at Villa San Michele, and who acted as our host during our stay.
I can’t say why it was liberating to share this experience and to have others confirm what I had felt. Obviously, I knew what I had seen and didn’t need to rely on others to confirm what I had already understood. It was also not the first time I had been in contact with spirits. But there is a comfort to sharing experiences, especially when they exist beyond the realms of the reality most of us live in.
Not everyone is comfortable discussing things that we can’t see with our own eyes, but knowing that life is greater and more mysterious than what we perhaps know, is comforting.
We are bound to the places where we have lived, and to the people that we have loved. These bonds are not dissolved simply because the heart stops beating.
1.5
The week before I left for Capri, I happened to read a novel by Swedish author Per Hagman. I was especially fascinated by what he in the book called “thin links” – the type of connection that can suddenly appear between people who don’t really know one another but still interact.
These links are different than blood ties, which connect relatives to one another, and they are also different from the bonds that bring old friends, who share years of common experiences, together. It can be the connection you have with the staff at the local supermarket, or with those who walk their dog in the same place and at the same time as you.
You might not even know their names, yet for a few moments now and then you discuss the weather or current events, before continuing on your way.
Often, these connections are not even reflected upon – they are simply part of normal, everyday life, but at the same time, they are integral to the sensation of being at home in a certain place.
In Anacapri, these “thin links” developed quickly.
Every Friday, there was a concert at the Villa. As compensation, the musicians received a paid trip and free stay.
Without perhaps realizing, they gave us so much more than the one hour of music that they came for – every day during the week leading up to the concert, they practiced daily, with their windows open, which means I had the opportunity to listen to free concerts every day of the week. They were also generally very social, and we discussed and shared our experiences of Capri and of Villa San Michele, exchanged tips on where to go for a swim or which restaurant had the best pizza.
Sometime in the middle of the week, one group of musicians would leave and, just a few hours later, a new one arrived.
¨The men who worked as waiters at the piazza soon recognized us and said hello as we passed, as did the woman who served chilled lemonade on the long pathway leading up to the entrance of where we were staying.¨
Also outside of the villa, thin links were easily established: The men who worked as waiters at the piazza soon recognized us and said hello as we passed, as did the woman who served chilled lemonade on the long pathway leading up to the entrance of where we were staying.
To be recognized, even by a someone who is almost a stranger, anchors you as a person, socially and geographically.
We become human through our relations with others. Or, as Hagman described it, “… man is made for meetings with strangers, because it is through encounters with others that we expand and live.”
1.6
Capri is a paradox.
As a mountain island, surrounded by water, it is notoriously difficult to reach places where you comfortably can actually access the sea and go for a swim.
It is probably true that, as the millionaires say, Capri is best experienced at a distance, viewed from the sundeck of a yacht.
My first week, I went up and down the Phoenician Steps in order to go swimming, but the first beach that I tried, next to Marina Grande, was less than satisfactory – the beach itself was usually crowded and the water dirty.
After a few days, I found a smaller bay nearby, Bagni di Tiberio, but also lacking in basic qualities.
When I asked a few of my newfound friends how they had solved the issue, they directed me to the place near the lighthouse (in Italian, “faro”), Punta Carenas.
They claimed that this was the very best place for a swim, and also accessible by bus from Anacapri.
The Capri bus traffic is almost worthy of a chapter of itself; small vessels so completely filled with people that It’s not possible to squeeze even a single one more person onboard.
Because the island is so hilly, bodies are pressed against one another in the most intimate of ways when the bus leans into the many curves on the road, while strangers share equal amounts of sweat and death anxiety.
This time, when I reached my destination, I realized that I had chosen the wrong day to visit.
The waves crashed against the rocks, shooting water several meters up in the air, and red flags fluttered in the strong wind.
If I needed any more convincing that this was a bad idea, I just needed to look at the few brave swimmers, most of whom were bleeding from scraped up legs and backs, as they have been thrown against the rocks when trying to get out of the stormy sea.
“Capri’s relationship with the sea remains a mystery: Surrounded by the most beautiful sea in the world, but with few possibilities to ever actually reach it.”
Personally, I much preferred going swimming by Grotta Azzura, especially early mornings when no one else was there save the local pensioners, who either sunbathed on the cliffs or chitchatted in large circles in the turquoise water.
Here, you also have the world-famous beach club Il Riccio, where many prefer to spend most of their time, not least thanks to the excellent kitchen.
On the Capri-side of the island, accessing the water is more organized and less of a wild nature experience, with coloured parasols and comfortable sunbeds, but here the best spots are often booked years in advance by Russian princesses, German industrial magnates and French aristocrats.
Sure, there are simpler beaches below Capri town, by both Marina Piccola and other places, but my best advice is to simply stop trying, and instead rent a boat.
Capri’s relationship with the sea remains a mystery: Surrounded by the most beautiful sea in the world, but with few possibilities to ever actually reach it.
1.7
Capri is a tourist attraction.
Already on the ferry, souvenirs are being sold, and in the harbour, you can buy everything from flipflops to postcards with the name of the island printed in big, bold letters.
A souvenir is a way of giving tangible shape to personal experiences and fleeting memories.
Philosopher Erich Fromm has written that, “anything can be the object of our desire: things we use in our daily lives, rituals, good deeds, knowledge and thoughts.”
Fromm’s idea that our identity is shaped by what we own is manifested in Capri’s tourist industry: We commemorate our visit to Capri by buying a T-shirt or lemon-shaped soap-cup.
According to Fromm, it’s not what we own but our attitude to owning things that matter.
To own is in and of itself a neutral act, which can be either positive or negative, depending on our point of view.
It can be detrimental to cling to objects, to lack the ability of letting go and to allow our belongings define who we are. This imposes on our sense of freedom. When it comes to consumption,
Capri is a contradiction. The most beautiful things the island has to offer can’t be commodified and can never leave the island: The sunset over the Bay of Naples, the scent of flowers in the alleys and the richness of colours in the golden hour that appears when it is time for an aperitivo.
At the same time, the island is a well-oiled machine for shopping. In Capri town, European luxury brands offer their goods in exclusive shops. Visitors can spend their money on boat trips, restaurants and hotels, often for an exuberant cost.
Capri is the ultimate symbol for how a place can be commodified, but at the same time, it offers strategies to avoid this constant fixation with spending money.
On Capri, it is effortless to simply be, and not do. According to Fromm, being is what is in sharpest contrast to owning:
“Being is life, activity, birth, rebirth, openheartedness, generosity, productivity. In this sense, being is the opposite of owning, to being bound to one’s self and to selfishness.”
PART TWO
2.1
In our daily life, are surrounded by objects that have been given a particular shape.
A chair looks the way it does because we are supposed to be able sit comfortably in relation to the floor, while also having support for our back. A pen should be nice to hold and to write with. Houses should be pleasant to live in. What kind of shape we prefer – or differently phrased, what kind of taste we express through our belongings – varies immensely from one person to another. It can be because of what we became accustomed to while growing up, but also about the kind of life we wish to have in the future. It is also about things that is more difficult to put into words.
To some, the soft shapes of Villa San Michele is the epitome of architectural beauty, while others prefer the more geometrical Casa Malaparte, a modernist masterpiece built in the late 1930s.
The filmmaker Curzio Malaparte asked the architect Adalberto Libera to design the villa, but didn’t like the proposal and decided instead to design the building himself.
This was probably a good thing, as he repeatedly was placed in house arrest by the government and thus had to spend significantly more time on Capri than he had originally intended.
After his death, the villa was left abandoned, but today it has been carefully restored.
Luckily, most of the furniture was too heavy to move, and so much of the original interior design remains the same as it was.
“We create our own scenography and we choose our own costume. When we think back on the scenes that constitute our lives, we don’t only remember what happened, but also what we wore and how the spaces were decorated.”
How we decorate – usually based in a combination of financial capability and degree of interest – decides the aesthetics of our everyday lives.
We create our own scenography and we choose our own costume.
When we think back on the scenes that together constitute our lives, we don’t only remember what happened, but also what we wore and how the spaces were decorated.
Our fascination with aesthetics is not limited to those objects that have been made by human hand, also nature has its own aesthetic language, which not only influences but shapes our existence.
Many take the materials and shapes provided by nature for granted, not least in today’s urban culture (where we often don’t even notice the presence of it), but in a place such as Capri, one is regularly reminded of its force.
2.2
A few kilometres west of Anacapri, by the viewpoint Belvedere di Migliara, is the strange Parco Filosofico, created by Swedish couple Gunnar and Marianne Adler-Karlsson. Quotes taken from works written by approximately sixty different philosophers have been written down on small tiles, spread out around the park, which in truth mainly consists of dwindling paths through a small forest.
Despite what its name seems to suggest, this is no traditional park but a nature walk with thoughtful sentences and phrases placed alongside the paths, such as Immanuel Kant’s “two things fill the mind with ever new and increasing wonder and awe… the starry heaven above me and the moral laws within me”, as well as Epicurus: “we cannot live pleasantly without living wisely and justly, or live honourable and justly without living pleasantly”.
The common denominator that joins the quotes is that they in a succinct manner summarize philosophical wisdom and life experience.
The quote by Kant points to how the divine nature that surrounds us must be understood in correlation with fundamental human systems of moral.
What we see around us, and what we carry inside of us, are woven together in an intricate and invisible net: in the same way a compass may guide us over a stormy sea, we can feel in our gut when our actions are right or wrong.
The quote from Epicurus is conveying a similar sentiment; the pleasant life is the life that is honourable and wise.
In short, we feel good when we do what is right, and when we behave according to a code of honour and ethics.
For most people, there is rarely time for discussions on philosophical matters in one’s everyday life.
Work and other commitments take up most of our time and attention. In some brief intervals between meetings or on the commuter train, there might be a possibility to let the mind wander, but seldom in a more organized or continuous way.
This is a shame, because it is not merely through actions alone, but also on the basis of reflection, that we can discover the meaningful dimensions of our existence.
Parco Filosofico is a reminder that we need to create time in our schedules for thinking and reflecting, for at times simply being (and not always doing).
2.3
Per definition, “luxury” is what exists only in a limited amount.
Based in this simple principle, it is possible to understand how what is perceived as luxurious can vary so from one person to another. For the poor person, money is a symbol of luxury, while for the busy individual, it is leisurely time to do nothing.
Luxury is something that cannot be endlessly duplicated and that is not possible to mass-produce.
Partly, this definition fits Capri, as it is a small island which cannot house everyone who dreams of visiting.
This is also the reason why Capri is so mythical: Without its own airport, it is only reachable by ferry or boat. Many travel here only for the day, as part of an excursion from a village on the Amalfi coast, or directly from Naples.
“When Capri is accessible to everyone, it is interesting to no one.”
During daytime, Capri can be perceived as claustrophobic, crowded and sweaty – the opposite of luxury.
When everyone wants to experience the “exclusivity of Capri”, it is no longer pleasurable.
The diamond has been exposed as nothing more than cheap glass.
For this reason, Capri is more pleasant in the evening, when most tourists have left the island, and the contours of the landscape yet again become visible.
The jostle and crush of the crowd is no longer, which uncovers an uncomfortable paradox: the democratization of a lifestyle, or the wide access to a remote and beautiful place, can make something less desirable.
Perhaps this is interconnected with the basic definition of luxury as something that has to be limited and unattainable for most: when Capri is accessible to everyone, it is interesting to no one.
2.4
Villa Lysis is one of the most famous of all of Capri’s iconic buildings.
The villa sits a place that is at the same time both discrete and imposing, visible from Marina Grande yet at the same time hidden in lush greenery.
Today, it is merely a faint echo of its former glory, but its motto, “dédiée à la jeunesse d’amour” [dedicated to the youth of love] is a key to its more turbulent past. After a scandal involving sexual relations with Parisian school boys, the aristocrat Jacques d’Adelswärd-Fersen left France and decided to settle permanently on Capri, hoping that the waves of the scandal wouldn’t reach that far.
In 1905, the villa was completed, and Fersen lived there more or less on a regular basis until his death in 1925. Most of the time was spent on the lower level, where he also had constructed an opium den.
Even though the villa is beautiful, the surrounding garden seductive and its position high above the sea is unsurpassable, it is its history that adds atmosphere to the place.
To have to leave one’s hometown and change one’s name due to a sex scandal (gay relationships were forbidden according to French law at the time) are difficult events to recover from. Fersen left his old life, without knowing what the future might hold.
The famous opium den is decorated with esoteric symbols such as the star of David, the lotus flower and the circle, all representing rebirth and a new life.
Already at that time, Capri was famous for its more liberal view on same-gendered love, and so Fersen could openly live at Villa Lysis with Nino Cesarini, who came to be his life companion.
The name “Lysis” refers to one of Socrates’ friends, with whom he discussed the subject of friendship. The dialogue between the two men was written down by Plato.
Because the conversation was not only on platonic friendship but also emphasized romantic relationships between men, it has held strong cultural significance in gay history. This is also why Fersen chose it as a name for his new home.
Villa Lysis functions as a key to one person’s multi-layered experiences in life, covering both disgrace and shame, but also a longing for repose and beauty. However, this is also the place where he took his own life, through a lethal combination of champagne and cocaine.
Fersen always claimed that the villa was dedicated in equal amounts to love and to pain. Happiness and unhappiness, not as one another’s opposite, but as two necessary components in a full life.
In Homer’s Odyssey, Capri is described as the island of oblivion. Sirens sung their songs from the island’s cliffs, luring sailors into forgetting about their homes.
Oblivion and eroticism have since been associated with Capri, which can have contributed to why the young count once chose to move there. When he first arrived, there was already a colony of people joined together by the sharing of financial means, artistic ambitions and same-sexed desires. Kate and Saidée Wolcott-Perry were at the core of this group, which also included the writer Compton Mackenzie, the artist John Singer Sargent and steel magnate Friedrich Alfred Krupp. The latter was accused of hiding the real reason for his fascination of the island: Krupp had claimed to study marine-biology, but spent more time with the island’s young men than he did researching. Soon after, Krupp took his own life to avoid the disgrace of the accusations.
To some, Capri represents the beginning of an adventure, to others it is a welcome break from the monotony of everyday life, but for both Fersen and Krupp, the island was also part of the tragic end of their lives.
2.5
Synchronicity is formed based on the Greek word “synkron”, which can be translated with the English “simultaneously”, and refers to when things happen at the same time but without clear correlation.
The theory of synchronicity was first launched by Carl Jung in the 1920s, and is part of his more metaphysical teachings on how all individuals are joined by a collective subconscious.
Think of how different lakes are connected with one another through subterranean springs. When one is standing next to the lake, it appears to be an isolated pool of water, but far beyond what the eye can see, the lake is actually part of a vast, underground network that joins it with other watercourses. The theory is used to explain seemingly random occurrences, such as when we think about someone, only to run into that very person only hours later.
What we think and feel is, according to Jung, connected to the world we see around us.
One night, before a concert in the chapel at Villa San Michele, I spent some time with an acquaintance, sitting on a terrace and talking about nothing in particular.
She described a situation she wanted my advice on, and I gave her what had become my standard response through the years, namely, to “trust life”.
A few minutes later, I picked up a book from the table in front of us, and opened it without really thinking. The first thing I read is what was Axel Munthe’s credo, which turned out to be, “Live undaunted, trust life!”. Fascinated, I handed over the book to my friend, and together we laughed at the randomness that we were sitting in Munthe’s garden while unintentionally quoting him.
The conversation veered into matters of Munthe’s personal biography, and I mentioned that I didn’t really know what became of him after he left the island, but that I would have liked to know.
A few days later, I visited another friend, who was staying a few days at a hotel in Anacapri. On a bureau in a hotel corridor, I saw an autobiography by the former Swedish prince Carl-Johan Bernadotte, and picked it up.
After only a few pages, I read about Bernadotte’s chance meeting as a young man with Munthe at the large royal castle in Stockholm, in which Munthe had been given an apartment after his return from Italy.
The answer to the question I had asked only a few days before suddenly appeared in a book that I had stumbled across by “chance”.
¨I know that life is good, but I also know that we often make it complicated, turning it into a silly farce or a heart-wrenching tragedy or both, so that you don’t know whether to laugh or cry. It is easier to cry but much better to laugh, as long as you don’t laugh out loud.¨
Most people have experienced moments of synchronicity.
Someone we were thinking of suddenly is right in front of us, or a song we were humming starts playing on the radio. Our thoughts have taken shape.
The more we are aware of this phenomenon, the more we can use it, as a muscle that needs exercising. This is one of the reasons we need to be present in our own lives, neither dwelling on the past or longing for a different kind of future.
We need to be conscious of our thoughts and of how they engage with what is around us, the strong connection between the world of ideas and the material context that we live in.
If we are not, we are like a ship without a captain, being carried wherever the wind takes us.
This leads me back to Munthe’s philosophy of life which, albeit in a more informal way, also has been my own: We have to trust that life wants what is best for us, we have to dare to live and to take the leap into the unknown.
As Munthe phrased it in his bestseller: “I know that life is good, but I also know that we often make it complicated, turning it into a silly farce or a heart-wrenching tragedy or both, so that you don’t know whether to laugh or cry. It is easier to cry but much better to laugh, as long as you don’t laugh out loud.”
2.6
The sea holds its secrets beneath its surface
Hues of blue encapsulating our bodies
The waves in the sky and the clouds in the ocean.
The temperature of the air, the same as the ocean’s
Azure blue embrace.
It is an illusion to believe that nature
Is nothing more than a beautiful backdrop.
A danger to think that nature is kind –
An unexpected wave suddenly creates a dangerous lack of balance,
And who knows what is hidden in the depths of the bay.
Nature is indifferent to our vulnerability.
The conditions for being here
Is to recognize our own insignificance
To in every moment give into insecurity
But regardless – continue to cherish
All the joys that water brings.
2.7
The Roman legacy is omnipresent in Capri, noticeable not least in the ruins of Villa Jovis, one of the twelve villas that emperor Tiberius (42 BC – 37 AC) lived in during the last years of his life.
Tiberius succeeded his adoptive father emperor Augustus on the throne, and didn’t move to Capri until he was in his 70s. Why he chose Capri is not certain, but rumour has it that he was a suspicion person, and therefore chose to live on an island, as this was easier to secure than the easily-invaded mainland.
Roman emperors had a tendency to not die from natural causes, but rather be murdered by political opponents and opportunists.
According to Roman historian Suetonius, life in Villa Jovis was marked by a violent, depraved lifestyle, with sudden strokes of dominance and sadism often leading to the death of those forced to participate.
Which stories were true and which were fiction is hard to know for certain, but it has been told that Tiberius had people thrown from the cliffs surrounding the mansion, for his own enjoyment.
Contemporary visitors approach the site along the same road as was used in ancient times, just above Villa Lysis.
The splendour of the past is still traceable, even though only ruins remain. Few visitors can avoid noticing the grand scale and advanced architectural layout of the Villa.
But time has not been kind to Villa Jovis, and today the site feels more like the destination for a pleasant outing than a symbol of Roman glory.
Between the tree trunks, one can glimpse the Amalfi coast. The air is warm and nice, and the atmosphere quiet and still, far from the tales of horror associated with the reign of emperor Tiberius.
A place can hold many stories, and in the exact same spot where people have suffered, others may experience harmony or even joy, not only depending on who is visiting but also when and why.
Death is constantly present in life, but often we choose not to think about it, instead focusing our attention on more mundane matters.
Villa Jovis is not only a symbol of human cruelty but also for our ability to forget.
From a wider perspective, it reminds us of the famous quote by Hippocrates, that art is long but life is short.
Long after we have moved on, our belongings and homes will still be here. Others will sit in our chairs, live in our houses.
Rarely will they know, or even care, what our names were, or that we have ever even existed. Instead, our things will be given new meaning by their new owners.
For this reason, it is important that we choose wisely the things we bring int our lives, as a kind of gift to the generations of tomorrow (even if they will never know the name of the person behind the gift).
PART THREE
3.1
The concepts “me” and “mine” have often been conflated with one another.
What we own and surround ourselves with defines not only how others perceive us, but how we see ourselves and howe we assess our self-worth.
We live in a consumer culture, where what we buy (as well as the things we refrain from purchasing) carry importance for how we organize our lives.
How we live, what we eat and where we go on holiday are all part of the story that we create about ourselves and about who we are (or at least about who we think we are).
The debate on consumer society has been ongoing for hundreds of years, but parallel to that, a discussion on the organization of professional life has emerged. Matters of workers’ rights focus on influence and agency, independency and the right to decide over one’s own time. Consumption and work are two sides of the same coin, both equally important to reflect on.
“Time”, regardless of whether it’s work-time or free time, is more or less just another word for “life”. That is also why the actual question that needs to be posed is not how to create a more environmentally friendly consumer culture, and neither is it how the workplace can become more dynamic. Instead, what we need to know is how to live a life that we can consider to be meaningful, both on an individual and a societal level.
While on Capri, I developed my own recipe for a sustainable but enjoyable life: Even in a paradisiacal place such as Capri, for it to be truly enjoyable, there needs to be meaningful chores and people whose company you seek out and enjoy, so that there is equal time for work and for rest, for solitude and for social interactions. Perhaps the way to a more balanced lifestyle is no more difficult than that?
On Capri, it’s easy to be lazy. The heat slows everything down.
After lunch, when the sun is at its peak, I would relax in a hammock or stretch my legs on a restaurant terrace.
After some time, I found myself adjusting to a pace I wasn’t familiar with. Thoughts would wander aimlessly.
Obviously, I was not the first to experience this. Above the doorway to Casa Rossa in Anacapri, the American owner wrote, “Be greeted, citizen of the land of laziness”, probably as a frustrated gesture towards the local villagers, who preferred to combine small amounts of work with plenty of rest.
To neither produce nor consume is an activity that I engaged in whenever I have a chance.
I sat in the shade from a tree and observed the people who pass by.
I rested in a sunchair on a cliff or walked in the direction that my feet decided.
In Sweden, it’s more difficult to be lazy. The summer is short, and the climate during the rest of the year doesn’t encourage the same kind of casual strolling along country roads.
Most people prefer to stay indoors, away from harsh winds and avoiding the cold temperature, but when the body is confined within four walls, the mind finds it more difficult to roam freely.
The poet Rumi wrote that we all carry the vastness of the universe within ourselves, and that in this way we always have all the inspiration we will ever need. His thoughts are wise but difficult to apply while in an office with a calendar full of meetings.
This development is also a matter of age. Life appears differently to us depending on where we are in life.
As children, we strive to achieve certain goals, such as learning to swim or to ride a bike. These are replaced with new ones as we become adolescents and throughout the many stages of adulthood, such as graduating, starting a job, finding a spouse and creating a family.
We are different people during different times of our lives.
How we solve the challenges we are faced with defines who we develop into. Without thinking about it, we are always part of a larger net of people and experiences, carefully constructed over centuries, maintained by those who walk beside us and those who came before us.
We are responsible not only for our own happiness but also for the effects of our actions for others, who follow in our footsteps, at work as well as in our free time. As Albert Einstein wrote:
When we survey our lives and endeavours we soon observe that almost the whole of our actions and desires are bound up with the existence of other human beings. We see that our whole nature resembles that of the social animals. We eat food that others have grown, we wear clothes that others have made, live in houses that others have built. The greater part of our knowledge and beliefs have been communicated to us by other people through the medium of a language which others have created.
When we choose to change and grow, we also choose to alter the ways we in turn affect those around us. Regardless of scope, we can choose how we wish to impact the world we live in, from the type of food we eat, which newspapers and journals we read and which words we decide to use.
To be aware of this is to be aware of one’s own agency and ability to control one’s own life.
During my time in Anacapri, I attempted to develop the possibility to focus on one single thought, letting it run its course, unperturbed by intrusive noise and irrelevant ideas.
On the terrace to the house behind Villa San Michele, I turned towards the horizon, listened to the gardener trim the bushes and to the conversation between two Italian women in the garden next door.
To be present in the moment, not only physically but emotionally and mentally, takes years of practice and has to be repeated regularly.
The art of doing nothing is precisely that – an art – and should be treated as one, regardless of where in the world or in life we are in that moment.
3.2
Capri town is without a doubt one of the most photographed places on the island, especially Piazza Umberto I and the adjoining Piazetta, often referred to as “the living room of Europe”.
The steep slope makes it difficult to walk here from the harbour, but solutions exist in the shape of busses, taxis and a funicular railway.
Once you have arrived, you are rewarded with a spectacular view of the Bay of Naples, but there is also the possibility to disappear into the many alleys of Capri.
You can explore the town’s many restaurants (in particular, the classics Ristorante Al Grottino and La Capannina), check into iconic hotels such as Hotel La Scalinatella or Hotel La Palma and to visit traditional shops, for example the local perfume brand Carthusia, or simply buy lemonade in one of the many stands placed along the pathways.
When it comes to Capri town, my favourite activity is not food or beverages, nor is it rest, but to slowly walk along Via Tragara, which is a long, dwindling path, surrounded by walls covered with richly scented flowers on one side and on the other, a spectacular view of the ocean.
The scents vary along the way, as does the play between shadows and light.
On both sides of the path are luxurious villas, more often than not hidden behind large gates and well-trimmed hedges.
If I were to select only one memory of the island, it would walking along this narrow street, which connects the town centre not only with Punta Tragara (the world-renowned hotel considered by many experts to be an excellent example of 1920s architecture) but also offers a view of Faraglioni, the large rock formation that dramatically rises from the sea, which for many has become the symbol most closely associated with Capri.
3.3
During a few days, we were visited by a quartet scheduled to perform in the park.
They practiced in the Foresteria with open windows. When I walked past, I was particularly affected by the violinist. The music reminded me of an old acquaintance, whom I had lost contact with when life took us in different directions. Nearly 20 years after I last saw her, I decided one day to go to a concert. I was in my old hometown, and in hindsight I don’t know what prompted me to buy the ticket, but in the interval, I suddenly saw my old friend, resting on a chair in the orchestra, and I decided to approach her. Since I had last seen her, she had become a concert violinist. She looked and acted the same as two decades before, and our conversation was light and effortless, as though no time had passed at all.
Afterwards, I asked myself why we had not remained in touch, even though we so obviously enjoyed one another’s company, and she once helped me through a difficult period.
My thoughts turned to the American poem on human relations, which categorizes our relationships into three different kinds: “for a reason”, “for a season” and “for a lifetime”.
Perhaps my friend wasn’t meant to be in my life for my entire lifetime, but was someone that I met for a specific reason, namely to get through a particularly challenging time? And, when the period had passed and the difficult event was over, there was no longer any reason for her to remain.
I have often applied this line of thinking to my relationships, in order to understand the role that we play in each other’s lives and to not feel sad when a relationship at times has run its course.
Not every relation is meant for an entire lifetime, sometimes they are more valuable if only lasting a season.
Once again, it is about, in the words of Munthe, “trusting life” and being confident in the conviction that everything that happens is for the best.
3.4
Despite its celebrity status and larger-than-life reputation, Carpi is a small island.
Seven kilometres from one end to the other, and only three kilometres wide, making it only ten square kilometres big. This limits the possibilities for finding new paths for walking, but what it lacks in size it makes up for vertically, thanks to its many mountains and hills.
The best strategy to discover the island is to make time for an exploratory walk without predetermined destination, not following a map and simply see where the paths take you.
One morning, we did just that; without deciding direction, we began walking. Soon, we were passing through forests and crossing large cliffs, walked through valleys and up the side of steep mountains.
On the way, we passed others who were doing the same, from American tourists to the locals going about their daily business.
A priest we passed asked if we wanted to have a private visit to his church, as he was just about to unlock the gates.
An older woman, dressed in blue dress and matching turban, walked home carrying heavy bags of groceries.
A group of Italian young boys suddenly ran across a field that we passed, without us understanding where they came from or where they were going.
These kinds of encounters, in places I don’t think I ever could find my way back to, are subtle reminders of all the lives that are taking place just around the corner from where we live. This is why it’s good to sometimes let go of control, and let chance lead the way.
3.5
A visit to Capri is not complete without a visit to Giardini di Augusto.
Emperor Augustus had a special connection with Capri, and planned the island’s first gardens, temples, fountains and aqueducts.
Originally, the park was planned as garden for the monastery St. Giacomo, a magnificent building whose oldest parts date back to 1371.
In the early 20th century, Friedrich Alfred Krupp bought the garden, and ever since it also includes Via Krupp, the serpentine-shaped road that he planned for easy access from his suite at Grand Hotel Quisiana to Marina Piccola, where he kept his yacht.
The park consists of many different levels, all joined with one another, and contain a wide variety plants and ancient statues. It’s not big, but gardens are culturally important as a symbol for rest, cultivation and contemplation.
3.6
The lines to La Grotta Azzura are borderline grotesque in size, and nowadays the spectacle has more to do with the complicated traffic system for boats to go in and out of the grotto, than it is about its rare lighting effects that create the grotto’s unique blue light.
The nature of Capri in general is breathtakingly beautiful: scents, colours and the way the cliffs seem to have stopped midway in their dive into the sea.
Its history is rich in imperial history, artistic and literary interpretations while at the same time weighed down by contemporary mass tourism.
The food is, as is usually the case in Italy, both delicious and aesthetically appealing.
In brief, Capri can be an overwhelming experience. At first, the impressions are so intense that it is difficult to know what to focus on, and afterwards, when thinking back on the experience, is the intensity in itself one remembers the most, rather than specific details.
In the West, “extra” is usually considered a good quality. To treat yourself to something extra is to be kind to yourself.
In Chinese culture, however, the tradition is different: the ideal has been the moderate and well balanced, regardless of whether it is food, drinks, art or fashion.
With roots in both Daoism and Confucianism, the bland (in Chinese “don”) has become an ideal, first as a philosophical ideal but later as also something to strive for aesthetically and taste-wise. This should not be viewed as forsaking one for the other, of depriving oneself, but instead of engaging with experiences in a deepened, almost transcendent way:
To approach a tepid glass of tap water in the same way a sommelier takes their first sip of a vintage wine. In the absence of dominant impressions, we may discover nuances that we before had not been aware of.
Applied to Capri, the Chinese philosophy on blandness could be summarised as follows:
Continue to be fascinated and in awe of the luscious greenery, the luxury restaurants and the beautiful architecture, but don’t let all the colourful expressions overshadow the nondescript alleys and temporary lemonade stands.
Beauty is all around, not only in the most obvious but also in what we first discard as pointless and bland. It is not so much about the object itself, but in how we view it and, subsequently, the way we choose to view everything around us.
3.7
Life on the island of Capri is marked by the division between the laidback atmosphere of Anacapri and the more cosmopolitan Capri town.
If Capri town is elegant, sophisticated and expensive (in a way that demands economic preparations in advance for most visitors), Anacapri offers unassuming pleasures, such as the richness of colourful flowers, local citrus fruits in all kinds of food and beverages and cableway rides.
The island is divided into these two communes, which not only constitute two different geographical parts of the island but also offer two different kinds of lifestyles.
The official communication between the two is strained; those in Anacapri consider the Capri lifestyle superficial, while those in Capri view the people in Ancaapri as provincial.
As a visitor to the island, one enjoys the contrast between the two, and the possibility to enjoy both the serenity of Anacapri and the international jet-set atmosphere of Capri town.
The two towns also have something in common: the intensely blue water surrounding the island and the beautiful, warm light of the late afternoon.
I once saw a TV-interview with a famous food critic. She was asked how to best prepare and approach a visit to an upscale restaurant. She answered that every important aspect in life can be divided into three different parts.
The first one is about expectations. Before you even go to the restaurant, you might read the menu online, look at photos of the décor and read reviews on what to eat (and what to avoid). You fantasize, plan and discuss with those you will be eating with, perhaps even reading interviews with the chef or restaurateur.
The next part is the actual visit. At that time, it is about what happens in the moment: how the food tastes and what it’s consistently is like; how it is presented and how well the food is matched with the wine. What kind of tableware is used, how does the glass feel in your hand and who is sitting at the table next to yours? What is the service like?
The third part happens afterwards, when you look back at the experience. “Do you remember when we were there?”, “do you remember the cake?”, “can you imagine I spilled the wine?”, and so forth.
What the food critic wanted to convey was an expanded definition of what an experience really is.
We are used to thinking that it is only about what occurs in the moment, but many things happen also in our mind, both before and after the event. Thus, both anticipation and memories are part of an event.
This principle can also be applied to other things, such as attending a wedding, celebrating a birthday or traveling to a small, far-away Italian island.
Experiences are the strongest when they are shared with others, because then they are something to gather around and may act as a shared bond between a group of individuals.
This essay has been my way of inviting others to share my own memories and thoughts, while it also has been a way to encourage others to do what I did:
Travel to Capri and make yourself acquainted with the island by walking in its narrow alleys and green forests.
Rest on a terrace overlooking the sea, soak in the sun and take in the views that are so unique to this part of the world.
And afterwards, return to these memories as often as you wish, savour them in your mind, making the experience last a lifetime.
