Capri does not cater to wealth — it filters for it. The island runs on a parallel economy where the currency is access: a berth at Marina Grande deep enough for a 60-metre hull, a helipad booking at the right villa, a table at a private club that does not advertise its existence. Arrive by tender from your anchored vessel and the social arithmetic becomes immediately clear. Those who drove here from the ferry terminal are tourists. Those who arrived from the air or sea are something else entirely. Via Krupp — the serpentine cliff-cut path commissioned by Friedrich Alfred Krupp in 1902 — offers a rare pedestrian counterpoint to the island's motorised hierarchy, connecting the Gardens of Augustus to the Marina Piccola with architectural precision that still feels designed for someone with nowhere urgent to be. The commercial strip of Capri Town exists largely as scenery for those doing their actual business elsewhere — in the stern cabins of superyachts, in members' lounges with no signage, over calls taken on terraces where the Faraglioni rocks perform their geological theatre below. A Zeus vehicle on the Amalfi approach makes the arrival sequence complete.
Switchback roads carved into cliffside, a convertible, and no interest in getting there fast
