You swiped. It matched. I booked. Here's how four days on a volcanic island disappear, Saba.

Ryanair FR4090, seat 19A: a window, as promised. You land at 12:50; Naples will already be 31 degrees and shouting.
I arrive before you: I'll be waiting at arrivals. This is the part where we meet. No pressure.
Together to the port, then a boat, the bay of Naples, and 50 minutes to get used to each other's faces.
A Fiat convertible is waiting. Fifteen minutes of hairpins and bougainvillea to a place I'm not naming. The photo below is your only clue.
I upgraded a few things about the room. You'll see when we open the door.
Nowhere to be. The gardens, a drink, the day cooling down around us.
Day one is for arriving. We stay in, eat well, and take things slow: let's at least try to keep security out of it on our first night.

No alarm. The island isn't going anywhere.
Twenty-something pools terraced above the sea, each a different temperature. We work our way up. Or down. There is no wrong order.
The viewpoint from that photo on the first page: I took it standing exactly where we'll be standing, spritz in hand.
Car-free village, seafood, slow evenings. We walk down, we eat too much, we take our time.
There's one more thing after dinner. It's not written anywhere on this page, and it's staying that way.

Ischia is 34 km around. We do all of them: you own the playlist, I own the hairpins.
A shallow, warm, ridiculous bay. We stay until we're hungry.
The castle on its own rock, connected by a stone bridge. We cross it, climb to the top, and let the view do the talking.
All I'll say: a table perched in the sky, the sea somewhere far below. You'll know when we're there.
We kept security out of it on night one. It's the last night now: if they want to kick us out at 2 a.m., let them try. The walls might be soundproofed. The garden, on the other hand, is not.

Cornetto, coffee, suitcases. In that order.
Same boat, opposite direction, different people than the ones who took it on Monday.
Wizz W4 2360, Naples → Budapest, seat 2A: front row, first off the plane, first to start planning the second trip. I fly the other way.

Pack whatever you like: it's 30 degrees, we have a convertible, and the island is not formal. There is exactly one requirement, submitted as evidence below.
The headscarf, the sunglasses, the earrings: the full look. The teddy bear is welcome. The turtle stays home, we'll find you a local one.
Two candidates this time, and for once the shortlist isn't mine. Option one: your city, your rules: show me Budapest. Option two: a certain Spanish island where, rumour has it, you're the one behind the decks. Or both: why should we choose? 🌅🎧