We begin our morning with a great breakfast cooked by Frank Jr. We feast on eggs with basil, French toast made with limoncello, fresh mozzarella and orange juice. The juice is not your standard buy-off-the-shelf kind. Frank Sr. picked the oranges and lemons this morning before we got up, so we use them to make fresh juice. Note to self: when I move back to the States, buy some orange and lemon trees. Maybe I should consider planting a garden. If only I could get over my fear of touching dirt….

Since the train doesn’t go to Positano, we take a local bus. We arrive to find it completely packed and standing room only. After an hour ride on a road that had more hairpin turns than the road to Hana and a sheer drop off to the ocean below, I come close to losing my entire breakfast on the nice Chinese tourist below me. The road hugged the edge of the cliff at precarious angles, so the views are quite astounding. James tells me later that he was about to pull the jeans out of his backpack, tie a knot in one leg and let me get sick in them – how sweet is that?!? It’s a trick he learned in the Boy Scouts.

We arrive in Positano relatively unscathed and are greeted by a breathtaking view. The whole town is built into the cliffs and looks like it could crash into the ocean on a moment’s notice. We wander down the hillside on tiny cobblestone streets lined with clothing shops, souvenir stores and several tiny restaurants.

Once we make it down the hill to the beach and the azure ocean, we look for a place to eat lunch. We find the perfect sop in a rather large and touristy restaurant right on the beach. The food is good, but I think what we enjoy most is the view and each other’s company.

While we are sitting and enjoying ourselves, it begins to rain – a light lovely misty rain that wets the cobblestone streets. And then they sky opens up and it begins to pour big fat raindrops. Thank goodness we are somewhat prepared with a couple umbrellas and some light rain jackets. It isn’t quite enough to prevent us from getting soaked on the walk back up the hill however.

When we reach the top of the hill where we can catch the bus back, the tiny shelter is packed with people trying desperately to stay dry. We know in an instant we won’t make the next bus because there are so many people with the same idea. In a fleeting moment of good luck, Frank Jr. manages to hail a taxi, so the six of us pile into the car with damp clothes and squishy shoes. Despite being wet and a little cold, we are all in great spirits. After all, who can be grumpy when the radio is playing Backstreet Boys and Bon Jovi?

Arriving home, Frank Sr. is again in the kitchen preparing another fabulous meal. This time he treats us to a hearty beef stew with fried potatoes and salad. Afterwards he presents a beautiful plate of cheeses, tomatoes and olives. When I bite into an olive, I am surprised. Instead of being soft and slightly mushy, these are firm and have a crispness about them. Frank Sr. tells us that he bought the olives from the farmer up the hill and preserved them himself. I’m a huge olive fan, so I eat more than my fair share.

Sitting on the rooftop deck after dinner, we watch as the sun breaks through the clouds on its slow decent into the ocean. The rain has washed away any dirt and grime, so the air smells fresh and clean. We all fall into bed with smiles on our faces and full stomachs.

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