Capri and Sardinia

August 27–30, 2011

August. The time when all the millionaires without exception get on their private jets and fly to their Italian villas. Members of the government, the establishment—they’re all here. I’m talking about Russian millionaires and the Russian government, of course. There’s no need to worry about missing any big meetings—everyone who’s anyone is here, on Capri and Sardinia. Both those who’ve earned it and those who haven’t.

Capri

When Russian writer and political activist Maxim Gorky arrived to while away his miserable years in exile from the homeland, he took up residence at the Quisisana hotel. Not a bad choice, I must report. Shall I report further? Don’t forget to try that over there as well. Thank you kindly.

There’s nothing but hotels and shops here. The streets are microscopic, the prices telescopic.

All the taxis are convertibles.

All the buses are super-compact, with just one door.

The only vehicles in the narrow streets are those delivering suitcases to hotels.

All the signs are ceramic.

An island trash can.

My favorite salad—the Caprese—is named after this island. Apart from this fact, there’s nothing interesting to be said about Capri.

Porto Cervo

The views here aren’t too bad, either.

In order to keep all the commoners from coming here, the ferry price was tripled. It worked. The commoners stopped coming.

Olbia

A trash can.

Another trash can and some dumpsters.

A beautiful electrical box.