So, naturally, we got on a boat (after driving to the port and unsuccessfully finding a parking spot and driving back to the train station to take a train to the port) and went to Procida.
Procida is a tiny island nestled in between the two bigger ones, Capri and Ischia. Since it is so tiny and less popular than the big ones, all the reviews I read promised that it would not be too crowded.
I guess I should have read the reviews a bit more carefully, because it was crowded. With locals, that is, rather than with tourists. Just like the reviews promised.
|Yes. All Italian men wear speedos.|
We ponied up to a tiny spot in the sand and had ourselves a grand 'ol time playing in the sand and waves.
What really made the day a success, though, was that Graham found himself another stick for his collection. Yes, that's right. He is a collector of sticks. He'll find one and play with it for awhile, and then ask his dad or I to carry it for him. This time, I made him carry his own stick. He didn't mind. He used it as a walking stick, which came in handy when we had to do some walking from the train to the car.
|Graham always like to sit on the inside of ferry boats, because he loves the tables. I prefer to be outside with the view, but sometimes I let him have what he wants.|
There is a pile of sticks in Graham's room. It's kind of interesting to think about where each of the sticks might have come from. There might even be one from Lisbon or Istanbul. This, however, is what usually happens to them.
I find them scattered throughout the house in the most obscure places.
I guess it's just all part of the experience of being "Mama Graham."
And I wouldn't trade this experience for the world.