Arriving in Amalfi: Hotel Santa Caterina

Posted on
Jun 2, 2014
Posted in: Hotels

And then we were in Amalfi.

Okay, fine. It wasn’t exactly that simple. Before we reached the little city on the coast, there was a lot of driving involved, much of it taking place on narrow streets not built to accommodate two lanes of traffic (but this is Italy, and so: two lanes).

 

And there was a good bit of panicking. Countless muttered curse words. Exactly one car accident (there were no casualties, lest you count our checkbook, which suffered a rather crippling blow).

And then we were in Amalfi.

I didn’t know where exactly we were staying. I never do. I make a point of not looking up the hotels at which Rand has booked us a room (and he’s always the one booking the rooms). Some people I’ve talked to think this is absolutely insane. That I can go somewhere, blindly, and just trust what Rand’s set up.

My response to this is always, “Well, some guys have secret wives in other cities, sooo …”

The point is: sometimes you have to trust your spouse. You have to have faith that they’ll find you an awesome hotel, and that they aren’t secretly married to someone in the Midwest.

Besides, I like the surprise. And with Rand, it’s always a good one. So imagine: you know are you going to Amalfi (which you know is beautiful, but again, like the hotel, you haven’t looked up any photos of it because SURPRISEMENT). That’s all you know. And your husband pulls your now-dented rental car up to the Hotel Santa Caterina.

And … holy cats.

Here it is:

 

And here’s the view of the back of it, looking on to Amalfi.

 

This was our room, as blue and white and cool as Chinese porcelain.

 

 

This was our balcony, and our view, and my exhausted husband.

 

 

Here are the cookies we found in our room, the ones we ate on the deck as we tried to forget the drive.

We sat, looking out onto the water, and I took his hand and told him not to worry.

“I’ll take care of it,” I said, referring to the accident, to the car we hit, to everything weighing down on Rand. “It’s going to be okay.”

And he looked at me and smiled, his brow still furrowed. I popped a cookie in my mouth, and grinned at him as I chewed.

I am the first to panic. I am the first to lose their temper, the first to feel hopeless. But on that day, looking out onto the water, I was calm. I was going to handle it. And I did.

Sometimes, you just have to trust your spouse. To let them handle everything, while you close your eyes and they pull you along. It’s what I’ve always done. And I’m always pleasantly surprised by where he leads me.

And so it was high time that I returned the favor. Right after some cookies.

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