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When I finally made it there, taking a paperback copy of and the man who would eventually become my husband, I could see why they chose Ponza over more obvious islands.
Although just an hour by hydrofoil from the mainland, the place felt otherworldly.
It wasn't just that Casa Fontana, the blue-and-white villa where I was staying, was set atop cliffs so steep that it seemed to defy gravity.
The kids from old Italian families, the ones with yachts or crests, tended to go to Ponza.Visitors are left to rent villas, or opt for four-star hotels or B&Bs.With the exception of the Grand Hotel Santa Domitilla, where guests can book a massage or lounge in connecting caves with warm spring water, then seawater; those looking for a large spa will be disappointed.Without a neon sign or English newspaper on the island, landing back on planet earth from Ponza was a rude awakening indeed: on reaching Naples, we heard the news that Princess Diana had died the week before.
Two decades later I returned, wondering if it would match my memories.
My legs ache from scrabbling up hundreds of steps earlier today from Cala Fonte, one of the tiny beaches that scallop the island.