Italian Escape

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Ciao readers! Many apologies for my lengthy absence from the exciting word of fashion blogging...the sparkling seas of Italy's Amalfi coast and a much needed internet-free holiday beckoned. But after two weeks of sacrificing the self to Apollo (who, I must say, rewarded my hardcore beaching efforts with a lovely tan) and many an act of the newly Bruno coined "carbicide" (Napoli is the birth place of pizza!) Butters and I are finally back on British soil.

It wasn't easy, though.

Thanks to a whirlwind of unplanned events, many a canceled train, plane, ferry and hotel, Butters and I had to resort to hiring a pet chauffeur service in order to come home. Yes, I had to give up my dream of scooping up a Fendi Peekaboo (the proposed target of my eventual pilgrimage to Rome, whence lies at the top of Via del Corso the only Basilica in Rome that actually matters, the brand's massive new flagship store) in order to get my four legged (and newly trimmed for summer) companion home to her London abode. But thanks to the patience, persistance and impressive DVD collection of my very friendly drivers, despite debaucle after debaucle (40 hours of vanning it, one denied pet passport at Calais and even more joyous exploits) we did in the end make it home, tan intact.

Sorrento

About an hour from Naples, home to George Clooney's approximately 8th home, is perched Sorrento, a little tourist overrun cliff top village with sweeping view of the Bay of Naples, a shrouded Mount Vesuvius looming eerily in the distance, and beaches of bliss. No sand in your shorts here, just clean, quiet lettini on rocks, complete with a staff of fetching young very tanned men flocking to bring you beverages and pizza. That is, until my male friend Spencer arrived. Then one beer suddenly took one hour to materialize.

The new do

While Sorrento is certainly a far cry from Milan, there is hope yet amongst its endless zig zags of tourist trappy stands pedalling carved wooden elephants "from Africa" and enough cheezy plastic beads to choke an entire generation of small children. Coral is its boon, and it certainly boons in spades. Local and blood red, in rings, necklaces, bracelets, the streets are exploding with it. One can root out a high end fine jeweller selling the best of the Sorrentine stuff for several hundred euros. But, to me, coral is coral, as long as it's red, spikey and looks great against a tan, I'm more than happy with a 20 euro version. Here's the best shop I found in terms of price variety and styles, "Cioccia."

Ischia

About one hour from Sorrento by ferry is the tropical-esque island of Ischia, home to the famous thermal baths aptly named, Giardini Poseidon. With reference to its volcanic origins, the hydrothermal heritage of the island of Ischia is, as is well known, one of the richest in the world and the use of therapeutic thermal baths on the island dates back to the 8th century with its first Greek settlers. And given how amazing my skin felt afterwords, its almost enough for me to forgive my academic Argive tormentors for giving us Herodotus.

22 pools have been installed according to latest technical and medical knowledge with temperatures varying from 28° C to 40° C. A Roman Sauna and a large private beach top off the deal, and a spa with dirt cheap prices sweetens the pot even more (70 Euro for an hour facial and hour massage--makes the Bliss Triple Oxygen Facial seem like even more of a triple rip off!). Though I have to say, my favorite of Poseidon's pools was a little doughnut shaped knee-deep pool with one half boiling water, one half freezing, meant to improve circulation in the legs. Whether it did, Poseidon only knows, but it did feel damn good.

Capri

Really in need of no introduction to any Glamazon who's heard of Jackie O and her famous summer haunts is the island of Capri, my final southern Italian destination before allowing all roads to lead me whence they will, i.e. Rome. Despite rumors of a bumping star studded, diamond blazing, label-whoring nightlife, I saw none of this. But still, having rented a boat to take us round the island, sipping on cool local white wines and stuffing ourselves with fresh fruit, there was no denying that Capri is indeed a truly stunning feat of nature and portal to the good life.

Stunning though it may have been, the moral of my holiday, as ever, was still "no place like home..."