‘Every year, we go on the same holiday with a bunch of friends – screenwriters
and a producer – and their families. We stay at the Excelsior Vittoria
hotel, in Sorrento, on the Amalfi coast of Italy, and our days usually
follow the same pattern.
We decide where to have lunch – in Capri or Positano – then Pepe the fisherman
picks us up in his boat at noon and takes us there. On the way, we stop at a
grotto and have a swim. Then Pepe prepares a glass of prosecco as an
aperitif, with fresh tuna, olive oil and bread.
When we arrive at the restaurant, we’re all wearing bathing suits and no shoes
– it’s nothing posh. We’ve been going for so many years that the staff know
us. We spend three hours eating lunch, then, on the way home, we stop
somewhere for another swim, followed by a round of homemade liqueurs.
We get back to the hotel, hang out by the pool, then head to the same
restaurant every night for dinner, where they have a 14-person table ready
for us. It’s the ’O Canonico, on the main square in Sorrento. Mario, the
owner, has become a friend; he’s been over to visit us in New York.
And that’s what we do all day, every day, for 10 days. It’s paradise. There is
no question of getting bored – the scenery in that part of the world is so
beautiful, and the place is wonderfully restorative. Going there grounds us
in the lives that we lead. I’ve visited other places in Italy – Milan, Lake
Como, Venice – but this trip has become our tradition. We’ve been going for
eight years.
Afterwards, the families split up and stop off somewhere else on the way home.
We usually come to London for a couple of days. I love it – I could live
there. We enjoy the theatre, so we always try to catch some shows.
The other place we love is Ireland. My wife once went over to stay with a
friend in Galway while I stayed at home to work. After a few days, she
called and said: “Do you mind if I stay longer?” Then she called a few days
later, in tears: “I can’t leave. You have to come and get me.” So I took my
work, flew to Ireland and ended up falling in love with it too. Like Italy,
it’s something to do with the people.
I usually come to Europe on holiday and only travel in the USA for business.
But I did go to Vegas for my 40th birthday. It was 3am, and my wife and I
were in the Bellagio, around the blackjack table, when she said: “Stop
shaking your leg.” We looked up and the chandelier was shaking too. It was
an earthquake.
Lots of guests came down in underwear and pyjamas to see what was going on.
Our friends who’d gone to bed early were woken up with big bumps on the
head, but we were safe because we were still up. For once, drinking and
gambling saved us.
The earthquake measured five on the Richter scale and its epicentre, in Joshua
Tree, measured seven. It’s not the first time I’ve been in an earthquake. It
is a weird feeling, because what you take for granted as solid is suddenly
moving. I tend to go very calm, because there’s nothing you can do.
When I was 20, I went on my first trip to Europe, with a girlfriend. We had
our Eurorail ticket and we travelled through England, France, Italy and
Greece, where I had my first experience with ouzo. And my last: I haven’t
touched it since.
The problem on that trip was that my friend and I weren’t getting along very
well. I wanted to stay a while in each place and absorb everything, but a
day or two was enough for her – she was always planning the next move. Then,
when we got to Paris, she met someone. I’d never felt more lonely. I walked
the streets on my own, so close to beauty, but somehow I couldn’t share or
experience it, and that did me in.
Finally, in Greece, we had a fight and split up. She went to Mykonos and I
went to Santorini. I had no money, so I was sleeping on the beach. Then I
met a Swede who was recording the sounds of the ocean. As I had nowhere to
shower, he showed me where to climb down a rusty ladder on a stone wall and
wash myself in the sea. I ended up enjoying being on my own for a bit. It
was all rather refreshing.’
