Capri does not greet you. It opens — slowly, and only if someone has told it to expect you.
From Anacapri · Issue ZeroA few notes for those who prefer to be expected.
The Faraglioni were the only things awake. The town was still asleep, the boats hadn't started, and the bougainvillea — that violent pink — looked like it had been there for a thousand years and would last another thousand. This, we thought, is the moment the trip begins. Not the flight. Not the hotel. The moment the door opens and the room is already warm, and the wine is already chosen, and nothing has to be asked twice.
We do not plan trips.
We design the moment of arrival, and the seventy-two hours that follow.
The car at the door. The villa already warm. The dinner already booked.
None of it visible.
All of it true.
On working quietly, and the small thing that changes.
For seven years, we have worked quietly. One client at a time, one arrival at a time, with no website worth the name and no list worth being on.
That suited us. It will, in some ways, continue to.
What changes is small. A new home for the work, written in our own hand. A way for the people who already know us to find us again, and for the ones we ought to know to be properly introduced.
We do not plan trips. We design the moment you arrive, and the seventy-two hours that follow. The car at the door. The villa already warm. The dinner already booked, the florist already scheduled, the pilot already briefed. None of it visible. All of it true.
We are small on purpose. We work by referral. We do not advertise. If you are reading this because someone sent you, you are in the right place. Write to us; we will write back.
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