You're being watched, but it's not an uncomfortable feeling. As you walk down the street you notice heads lifting briefly from trattoria tables, unheard words being spoken. It's not obtrusive; and in a place like Positano where neighbours know their neighbours' business, there's no space for privacy. Roads and paths snake-and-ladder their way through town, intruding on tiny bars and boutiques as if the buildings were here first and the roads built around them.
Your knees are buckling from the hundreds of steep steps that you climb to get anywhere. You get to peek inside front doors and smell what's cooking. Feel a sprinkling of water from freshly washed clothes flying above your head. Scooters shoot past, horns echoing; couples holding on tightly, helmet to helmet.
Your taste buds insist: it's time to eat. Now, at your table, you're watching again, toying with a bowl of olives the size of apricots. Listening to the conversations of the people near you, becoming part of this little local pageant.
It's later now. Positano prepares to entertain its guests with smells and sounds and surprises that it knows you'll approve of. The Tyrrhenian Sea - by day a glittering turquoise-sequinned dress - gleams like molten lead in the moonlight. Somewhere, a shopkeeper bakes fresh bread for the morning. A painter leans back from his canvas and considers his work contentedly. A fisherman brings home fresh red mullet and his wife makes ready the fettuccine.
You think about your own dinner and decide on something intimate. Something you'll eat with your hands. Something you'll end up feeding to each other while you cook. You smile at the thought, as you often do: watching others enjoy your food is one of life's simplest pleasures...
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