This weekend I was staring at my computer screen and trying to picture myself lying prone on a chaise, under a blue umbrella, on a sunny day somewhere along Italy’s Amalfi coast. I’m in the lucky position of planning my honeymoon—that wonderful rest period that comes at the end of what should be simple exercise in party planning, but is in effect an invitation for all your friends and family to reflect on your unsatisfactory aesthetics.
Plotting out my destination, I was nosing through Airbnb and salivating over a darling house embedded in the rocky hills of Conca dei Marini, complete with a cracked concrete stairway that leads directly down to the surrounding cerulean waters. The price was agreeable, but I was still nervous about putting down my cash on this insanely beautiful property for a weeklong stay in July. My fiance, too, had reservations. The property was new, completely unrented by anyone before us, and lacking reviews. What if the host is a hoverer or, conversely, not available enough? Also, what exactly did she mean when she said that thing about needing to traverse 360 stairs to get from the street to the house?
So what helped us make the […]