I thought I wanted to stay in Positano. When I first planned our Amalfi Coast trip, Positano was front and center—the candy-colored cascade, the winding lanes lined with boutiques and restaurants, the energy of the town that seemed to star in every photo. To stay anywhere else felt like a compromise. But Casa Angelina, tucked into the cliffs of neighboring Praiano, turned out to be just right.
The hotel rises, white and minimalist, from the rock—a calm counterpoint to the riot of color nearby. Inside feels like a gallery: white-on-white spaces where the art is the point, striking pieces placed just so, and every window frames a sheet of sparkling sea. It’s the definition of quiet luxury—nothing flashy, everything intentional.
The first detail that hooked me was the glass elevator easing down the cliff face, an unbroken view of the water and bursts of Murano glass along the way. At the bottom, a staircase drops to the shoreline. About 250 steps, with spurts of magenta bougainvillea leads you to a pebbled beach club shaded by a parade of orange umbrellas and set to a fun, happy soundtrack. I swam in the cool, dark water, climbed out salty and refreshed, ate watermelon that dripped down my wrists, and read my book until the sun began to tilt. Heaven.
Mornings brought ritual. A breakfast spread so pretty I filmed it: glossy pastries arranged like jewels, bowls piled with fruit, and lattes arriving in warm porcelain. The simplest thing became the most memorable—the scrambled eggs. Soft and buttery, perfectly seasoned, the kind I think about long after I’ve left. At Casa Angelina, even scrambled eggs are an experience.
And dinner was a different kind of theater. The Michelin-starred Un Piano Nel Cielo—meaning “a floor in the sky”—sits at the top of the hotel, its terrace open to the horizon. The evening began with a water menu—yes, a list of water!—treated with the same reverence as wine. Courses arrived like small sculptures. As we ate, the sky slid from pink to indigo to black, and conversation softened to a hum that matched the room.
What stayed with me wasn’t only the design or the views or the food or the art or the service(though clearly, those stayed too)—it was the stillness. In Positano everything buzzes: ferries unloading, music spilling from bars, bodies bumping in doorways as everyone reaches for the same souvenir. And all of that has its own charm. But at Casa Angelina, I listened to waves instead of chatter, relished the shade of the lemon trees by the pool, and sat on the terrace after dinner breathing in the salt and listening to the night. The hotel seemed to slow my pulse a few beats—enough to notice the small moments that travel can rush past.
Praiano made it easy to dip in and out of the bustle. When I wanted Positano’s glitter— limoncello, people watching, souvenir shopping—I was there in minutes. But the best part was returning. Back through the curves of the coast, up to the white-on-white calm, into that quiet lobby where the art glows and the sea is a constant peripheral blue. There is a particular pleasure in finding a place that gives you the postcard view and also a place to exhale.
If luxury is attention—attention paid to design, to taste, to sound, to service—then Casa Angelina is luxurious in the most satisfying way. The glass elevator that makes the descent to the water feel ceremonial. The bougainvillea that turns a staircase into a memory. The pastry case that’s beautiful enough to film, not because it’s showy but because someone cared. Even the choice to keep the palette soft and spare, letting color arrive in flowers and fruit and sky.
I arrived chasing the photo everyone takes. I left carrying an ever better feeling. The detour became the destination.