Dear Asma,

As I am writing this letter, the timer on the small screen in front of me says it will take four hours and twenty-six minutes to reach Dubai. I thought that might be enough time to bring to life, through words, my Anacapri experience, while nibbling on the cookies from Ristorante L’Olivo that Antonio kindly packed for me last night. I couldn’t eat another bite then, but somehow he knew there would be a perfect moment for them today.

When I boarded the ferry from Naples to Capri, I felt the familiar ease of the Mediterranean’s salty air. One might think breathing comes naturally, but it doesn’t always. Sometimes it needs a little push. I inhaled deeply, then exhaled into the horizon, as if the sea itself could hold what I no longer wished to carry. A quiet unburdening, unnoticed, and liberating. This small ritual always feels liberating: worries dissolved into the sea, a release without burdening anyone else.

Capri revealed itself soon after. On the pier, smiling Federico stood with a sign for Jumeirah Capri Palace. When the very first interaction begins with laughter, you know the days to follow will be good. “Mr. Radonjic, I was expecting you! Capri is as vivid as you’d expect in the middle of the season,” he said, guiding me through the crowds. “Nearly October,” I replied, “I thought Euro-summer would be over by now.” He smiled: “Not in Capri. But something tells me Anacapri might be more your cup of tea.”

He was right.

Anacapri, meaning “the upper Capri” in Italian, carries its own kind of magic. As we drove through the narrow streets, at what felt to me an incredible speed, I noticed how the air grew thinner, the crowds smaller, the landscapes wider. I breathed again, Asma. And it was beautiful. This, I thought, is what absolute freedom feels like.

The hotel rose before us, its entrance a long corridor, its façade by Arnaldo Pomodoro whispering stories of the sea’s hidden depths. I’ve always been a child of the sea, yet never eager to uncover its depths. Not every discovery is a necessity! Still, looking at this sculptural wall, imagination stirred. Again it felt big, blue, and beautiful. And utterly free.

Inside, the reception resembled less a lobby than a gallery. At Jumeirah Capri Palace, you step not just into a hotel, but into an artistic realm that inevitably reshapes the way you see reality. Every wall offers something to consider: to love, reject, approach, or turn away from, but never to ignore. You won’t stay indifferent, Asma. Though art carries the artist’s intent, I always lose myself in my own reading. How wrong can I be? Likely very. Do I care? Not much.

Two pieces in particular stayed with me. The first, “Eroi Malinconici” (“Sad Heroes”) by Luca Pignatelli, shows a Roman statue painted on metal once used to cover trains. An industrial, almost humble material for something historically made of marble for the wealthy. Over one eye, a great cloth is fixed, like a tear being wiped away. Why sadness, in the midst of La Grande Bellezza? Then it came to me – wherever we go, we carry ourselves. Happiness is not necessarily tied to place, though beauty can certainly enhance it.

Nearby stood Matteo Lucca’s “Sulle Punte” (On Tiptoes), a copper woman balanced effortlessly on the tips of her toes. Hollow, yet full of air. Heavy, yet somehow weightless. She seemed to levitate, and in her stillness I felt peace. She reminded me that balance is not an indulgence, but a necessity in art, in life, as well as in the people we choose to keep close.

The balance lingered with me throughout my stay, as I toured the hotel with Elizabeth, Viviana, Renata and Massimo, during the art tour I wish lasted for days. Art is a current, subtle yet constant, infused in everything – from a spa ritual to a late-night drink in the Bar degli Artisti. Art here was not a decoration, but a companion. Not something to be described, only experienced. Not an afterthought, but an intention.

The spa is among the hotel’s signatures. It is the first medical spa in Italy. Fascinated as I am by doctors, medicine, and science, I took the tour with Laura, who guided me through its many therapies. The treatment that caught my attention was their signature Leg School, created by Professor Francesco Canonaco and practiced by the lovely Clara. It begins with your legs wrapped in a mud of 26 medicinal herbs, followed by cold compresses, and finally, the most entertaining part, walking ten loops between hot and cold pools, with Clara cheering every step like your greatest fan. My mind swung between “why did I agree to this” and “this is the best thing I’ve ever done”, while shifting from cold to hot waters. Afterwards, though, my legs carried me effortlessly across the island for days. I thought again of the copper lady, forever balanced on her tiptoes. Coincidence? Perhaps not.

On my first night, Massimo took me to a-Ma-Re restaurant. A play on words: “a mare” means “towards the sea,” while “amare” means “to love.” And I loved everything about it. It felt like a grandmother’s kitchen: warm, generous, timeless. Over pizza, pasta, and polpette, I asked Massimo what it is like to be born on an island and to live here. He said, “Milo, you might think what I’m about to say can sound unambitious, but this is where I was born, this is where home is, and this is where I want to contribute and make a change. I want to further help developing the art scene of the island, contribute to the community, create meaningful interactions with likeminded islanders, as well as the ones who come and fall in love with the place”, Massimo tells me, with a spark and energy that is sensational. His words burned with sincerity. I told him it was one of the most ambitious plans I had heard in a while.

The next day I lunched at Il Riccio, perched on a cliffside, dressed in Dior prints, its rustic charm balanced with elegance. Imma, the manager, smiled when we asked for something light, then sent a generous feast instead. This was a proper example of how Jumeirah delivers Arabian hospitality internationally: through generosity, warmth and care. The sea itself laid across our table in every form. The pasta with zucchini and cheese that followed was, by Italian standards“light”, yet for me it was a final meal for the day. Later, at Zuma on the hotel’s rooftop, I kept my promise to myself to only have a drink. Zuma’s essence hits differently in Anacapri. It is effortless, elegant, alive reflected the island itself. Everything in balance, as if the copper lady was in charge. The DJ plays the beat that is just about to get you dancing, but still keeps you grounded. Magical lights are everywhere. The view is mesmerizing. What else to ask for? Be happy, “sad hero”!

My suite, designed by Patricia Urquiola, deserves its own mention. Inspired by Capri’s palette of terracotta, white, and vivid blue, she drew waves into the walls, curves into the furniture, textures into every surface. Vietri tiles, Palladian flooring, terracotta, marble, all nods to craft and heritage, reimagined through her poetic vision. It was like living inside the language of Capri itself.

On my last night, I surrendered to the two Michelin stars of Ristorante L’Olivo. Luca, the F&B Director, greeted me with such warmth that any intimidation melted. He made me feel as if I belonged there forever. Each dish: tomato soup, tuna belly, risotto, black cod, felt like a carnival and arrived like a small masterpiece. Emmanuelle cared for me with such grace, turning fine dining into something deeply personal. In the very end of my dinner, I met Antonio, who came with selection of most delicious cookies, he packed for me, to take home. Remember Antonio and cookies from the beginning of my letter? Yes, that’s him. And I finished full bag of those delicious cookies, right now, while writing you this letter high above the clouds.

The same evening, as I was heading to my suite, I met an American couple who had been returning to Capri for thirty-five years, still in love with the island, and with each other. I asked them for their secret. He looked at her as if no time had passed. She smiled and said, “The secret is simple: choose the one who is your friend, and will remain your friend forever.” The most beautiful things are often the simplest, aren’t they.

And so Gianna Nannini sang to me “Bello e impossibile”, stirring emotions I can’t quite name. It became the soundtrack of my Capri adventure:

“Mi sconvolge l’emozione e non so perche’
oltre il bacio della folla vedo solo te
mentre corro nel tuo sguardo sotto la citta’
e non voglio piu’ mi arrendo chi mi salvera’
e all’ alba e’ amore nasce col sol cosi
e all’ alba il sole ti dira’ che e’ cosi.”

How lucky we are, Asma, to find so many homes in this wide and beautiful world. Anacapri became one of mine. And I cannot wait to return.

Truly yours,
Milo