Kim took the bus from Positano down to Amalfi, in the hope that the journey might afford some great coastal views, but the bus was so packed the only view she got was that of a fellow passenger’s armpit.
She’d researched a couple of the more popular tourist sights beforehand and began now at the Cloister del Dolce Vita—which she thought was fitting given the name of the villa and her now increasingly popular social media account.
Choosing photographs for it had become an enjoyable pastime, and while Annie seemed to think Kim spent a lot of her time just lazing around, she was actually out and about in the town exploring some of Positano’s hidden-most corners and trying to compose interesting shots.
She wondered if maybe she should think about becoming a photographer as her next step. It was something to consider, but in any case, it was the first time in a long time that Kim felt she was doing something she truly enjoyed.
According to what she’d read about this place, the thirteenth-century Moorish-style cloister was known for its magnificent gardens and religious artefacts.
Outside, a statue of Jesus surrounded by angelic hosts and the twelve disciples stood ready to greet would-be visitors.
Inside, the floors of the cloister were tiled in black-and-white marble and the walls painted white with various motifs chiseled into the stone. Large brown marble columns and smaller ones dotted the interior, with gold being the predominant decorative feature.
The entire structure boasted vaulted ceilings supported by what must have been hundreds of slender double and single columns, and the ceiling frescoes reminded her of the work of Michelangelo.
Kim was so taken by their beauty as she snapped photo after photo that she didn’t realize anyone was near until she unceremoniously stepped on someone’s foot.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said quickly as she turned to the other person—a woman of about her mother’s age, who stood an inch or two taller. She was impeccably poised and beautifully dressed in what Kim immediately recognized as head-to-toe Armani.
“No trouble at all,” the woman replied in a thick French accent.
“What’s that?” a tall, stately man asked distractedly from beside her. He, too, had been so busy studying the frescoes to notice Kim’s gaffe.
“I wasn’t talking to you, Antonio,” the woman said, rolling her eyes conspiratorially at Kim, who smiled.
“I’m so sorry,” she apologized again. “I was just a bit mesmerized. Stupid tourist.”
“Oh, please, no.” The man chuckled easily now, and Kim deduced from his accent that while his companion might be French, he was very definitely Italian. “It is good that you are enjoying the sights.”
“This whole place is just incredible.”
The man laughed again. “They say that when Judgment Day comes, the people of Amalfi will have no change in life, for they are already living in paradise because of this cloister.”
“That’s lovely and sounds about right. I’m Kim, by the way.”
“I am Antonio, and this is my wife, Emilia.”
“So happy to meet you,” the woman greeted, lightly taking Kim’s hand.
“We would be happy to show you around a little more if you don’t mind this old Italian acting as tour guide?” her husband offered.
“Oh, shush, Antonio, I’m sure Kim would much prefer to wander around herself.”
“No, please, I’d love that. That is if you don’t mind me playing third wheel?”
Emilia pealed with laughter. “Ma cherie, we have been married for over thirty years—believe me, I would welcome the distraction.”
Their warmth and openness made her take to them immediately. Kim watched them, wishing her parents had the same easiness about them. She observed how loving and tender they were toward one another and how keen they were to include her.
They explored more of the cloister for a while and then Antonio and Emilia insisted Kim join them for lunch.
While the restaurant was amazing and the food the finest quality, the company was the primary reason for her enjoyment.
The couple were each wonderful raconteurs. They talked and laughed and shared stories of their travels all throughout their marriage. Antonio was indeed a native, from Milan where they both lived and worked.
He did something in business while Emilia—a former model—now worked in magazine publishing.
The waiter delivered their main course and the juxtaposition of the colors of her Caprese salad against the backdrop of the ocean was such that Kim couldn’t resist whipping out her phone.
“I’m so sorry,” she apologized to the couple again as she snapped a quick shot, “I’m going to have to be a goddamn tourist again, but my followers will totally lap this up.”
“Followers?” Antonio inquired.
Rolling her eyes good-naturedly, Kim went on to tell them all about The Sweet Life social media account and how she was documenting her trip and sharing it all online.
Though it had since ceased to be so, she neglected to mention that the whole thing had begun as a secretive way to communicate with her friend and hide her whereabouts from her folks.
While chatting, she cropped, filtered, and uploaded the photo, deciding that she’d go back and caption it later. For now, actually eating the damn food was more important.
“What an intriguing idea. So like a photographic travel diary?” Emilia queried and Kim nodded, handing her the phone so she could see the picture she’d just uploaded. “My goodness, you are a talented photographer, these are wonderful—Antonio, look.” She showed her husband, who smiled politely but distractedly. He, too, wanted to get on with eating lunch, instead of looking at it in photos.
Kim had to smile but inwardly she was pleased. “No, it’s filters that make the photos look that good, honestly. I’m not that great at all.”
She tucked into her lunch, but Emilia was still scrolling through her phone. “Seriously, Kim, these are wonderful, especially combined with your beautiful words. Really brings the imagery to life. Are you sure you haven’t worked in journalism or even publishing? Perhaps you should.”
“Hmm, not so sure about that,” Kim laughed and swallowed a mouthful of food. “My parents would definitely kill me for letting my business degree go to waste.”
The trio chatted some more over lunch, about other places Kim should visit, both here on the Amalfi Coast and elsewhere in Italy. The couple even very kindly invited her to visit them in Milan should she have cause to be there, but Kim suspected her money would have run out by then.
After the plates were cleared, she excused herself to find a restroom.
“Of course,” Emilia replied, directing her to the back of the restaurant. Kim was enjoying herself so much that she made a mental note to try and come back with Colette and Annie sometime before their trip was over.
When she returned to the table, Antonio and Emilia were deep in animated conversation and she grimaced a little, hoping she wasn’t interrupting anything.
The older woman looked up and smiled as she approached.
“Kim, I’m sorry, but I have a curious nature. The Sweet Life, your travel journal—I noticed it has a great audience. Your photographs are very popular.”
“Oh, not really,” she replied nonchalantly. “Compared to some people’s—celebrities and stuff—it’s nothing.”
“Nothing?” Emilia repeated, glancing at Antonio. “I think it is something indeed.” She looked at Kim keenly. “The photos are wonderful, but what I read was also very good. Wisdom far greater than is usually found in someone your age. You have some beautiful ideas on life and how it should be lived.”
Granted the photos were hers and she’d paired them with what she felt were the perfect anecdotes and captions, but really... Kim could never have come up with stuff like that on her own.
Still, it felt good to be praised. It was a very long time since Kim had been complimented about anything other than her looks.
“Thank you,” she said, taking a drink of water.
“Why don’t you use this? Build on it?”
“What do you mean?”
“That wisdom. Why don’t you share it? You’ve already created an impressive following in such a short space of time. But people respond even better to people—to faces—and I’d be willing to bet that if you yourself appeared in some of these posts—along with your wise words—people would love it even more.”
A small laugh escaped Kim as she listened. “I don’t understand...”
“My wife works in magazines, remember?” Antonio reminded her. “She knows of what she speaks.”
“The industry is on the crest of a new wave—a huge disrupter,” Emilia continued. “Social media is the way forward, especially in the fashion industry. We see it all the time—people like those silly American girls now becoming more popular and influential than some of the world’s top models.”
Kim made a face. “The Kardashians, you mean?”
“Yes. But I don’t mean you should be like those, showcasing makeup and plastic eyelashes. I am thinking something more...holistic.”
“Ah, I understand,” said Antonio, nodding sagely. “Wellness is a huge industry, growing at an incredible rate.” He winked at Kim. “Listen to my wife—she is the greatest business visionary I have ever known.”
And as Kim sat in a restaurant in the Italian sunshine, high above the Tyrrhenian Sea, she chatted with two complete strangers about how she could, in fact, monetize the audience she had so far and perhaps turn The Sweet Life into something much, much more than a travel diary.