Amalfi Coast

October 23, 2003-Curves Ahead!
(photos: Cathedral of many steps,
Barely supported coast road)

Today we were between a rock and a wet place. David made his decision not to drive the Amafli Coast road. I seconded and thirded it.

We took the bus into Sorrento to catch the bus to Amalfi. That was going backwards to go forward, but we had a reason. The Amalfi bus stopped in Meta near the train station and our hotel but by the time it arrived there was standing room only. We reasoned that if we caught the bus at the beginning of the run in Sorrento we’d get a seat. We were right. I knew we’d been on the local bus route to Sorrento too often when I started recognizing the laundry on the lines. It’s rained each night so things like jeans haven’t dried in several days. I also noticed that the set-up of stores hasn’t changed since Pompeii. They’re still about the size of a 1 1/2-car garage and have sliding doors in front.

It’s said that Americans are first in line and the last to get onto the bus. That almost happened to us. David was using good manners and letting little old ladies ahead of him when I realized that I was probably the same age as they. I encouraged him to push ahead and we got on. We had to decide whether or not to sit on the cliff/sea side of the bus or the mountainside. The seaside was more scenic and scarier. The mountainside was “safer” but the view was intermittent sea with scattered glimpses of houses. Our choice was made when there were no seaside seats.

Fortunately, at the first stop, Positano, enough people got off so we could switch sides. I don’t know if that was wise or not. David got car/bus sick and my neck got stiff from all the switchbacks. The curves were so severe, the lanes so narrow, and the visibility so poor that drivers use roadside mirrors stationed at each curve to see what’s around the bend. There are hoards of tour buses going in both directions along with various bicycles, pedestrians, scooters, cars, and construction vehicles. At times the buses had to fold in their side mirrors. If the windows of the homes we passed were open we could have easily reached in and taken food off kitchen counters. It was small comfort but there were two-foot high guardrails and walls. It was probably after we saw goats on the side of a hill that I noticed the underpinnings for the side of the road we were on were non-existent. The mountain supported two-thirds of the road but a full 1/3 was just hanging out there. I conscientiously pointed it out to David so he would be as fully informed as I.

Picture Perfect

Even with our hearts in our throats, David’s stomach in his mouth, and my neck wishing it was in a sling, I did notice the glorious scenery. Blue clematis and fuchsia bougainvillea climbed everywhere adding bold color to the soft tones of the buildings. The hotels and homes, most with swimming pools, were built up or down the slopes with terraced gardens, grape vines, olive and orange groves adding to the greenery. The ragged harsh cliffs rose above and fell below to the bluest sky and turquoise water.

Amalfi was a picture postcard town. The cathedral, built in 987, and the basilica, built in 833, were reachable up a long flight of steps. What else? The Moorish bell tower had a colorful ceramic tile roof that seemed to be a popular style on the coast. The sign at the top of the steps said that the cathedral was closed. It would have been kinder to place the sign at the bottom of the steps. The alternative was to pay a small fee to see the museum, cloister, and crypt so that we could enter the cathedral from an interior door. We paid and were greeted with the resting place for the body of St. Andrew, pictures of rape and torture, and silver reliquaries that held or still hold skulls of saints. It was the usual holy blood and gore. The inlaid marble designs and frescoes distracted me from morbid thoughts and added beauty to the otherwise depressing collection.

We ate a panini lunch in an off-the-beaten-track café. It was relaxing to watch locals do business and visit. The vegetable vendors were particularly captivating. There were three generations of men involved. As 2 PM approached they prepared to close for the afternoon. I could see the pride they took in their stand as they carefully packed the produce, swept the sidewalks, and cleaned the counters. They chatted and laughed as they worked, fully aware they’d have to repeat that task at night. It led us to speculate about what Italians do during siesta. I think they make more Italians. There are certainly a lot of babies here. It’s not a time when they can run errands since all the other stores are closed too.

It was time to leave Amalfi so I went in search of a bathroom. We were outside a rather prosperous looking hotel. I walked into the lobby as if I belonged and eventually found an immaculate toilette. I locked the door with the key provided. I was somewhat disconcerted when I tried to leave only to find that the key wouldn’t work. I tried many times, but had to pound on the door to get attention. A puzzled male voice asked what I presumed was, “Is everything OK?” in Italian. I responded in my very best English that, indeed, it was not. Resorting to long lost Latin, I referred to the key as “clef.” In my desperation I slurred the word so that it sounded a bit French as well. It worked. He fell back on broken English and suggested I slide the key under the door to him. It was an old fashioned very thick key, but due to the lack of Italian’s concern for flush fittings, it slipped right under. He opened the door and I stepped out saying, ”Voila!” He clearly didn’t know what to make of me. I scurried away to find David who was sitting outside wringing his hands and gazing at the bus that was soon to depart. I wonder how much longer until he would have retrieved me?

The driver back to Sorrento was more of a hotdog than the one to Amalfi. He whipped around the curves so fast that at one point the luggage door on the side of the bus opened and luggage flew onto the road. He slowed down after he picked up the bags and secured the door. I suggested duct tape, an American stand-by.

Our Siesta

We skipped Positano, another coastal town, and decided we needed down time at the hotel. We’ve been getting up early and I’ve been staying up late to write. When we tour in summer we usually need a nap to escape the heat. The weather here has been so pleasant we’ve stayed out from 9 AM to 10 PM without a break. Wine and cheese in the room sounded good.

It started to rain as we got off the bus in our town of Meta. The stores were still closed so we went directly to the hotel. We had umbrellas but our shoes and socks were soaked. The sun came out as we walked into the hotel. We did email and thought by that time stores would be opening. I went up to the room to dry off and use the hair dryer on my shoes. David went in search of refreshments. It was an hour before he returned. I was beginning to worry and didn’t know where to begin to look. I hadn’t heard an ambulance so I assumed he hadn’t been run down. He could have easily gotten lost in the maze of streets. All I could do was wait. I figured that he had ID and that if he was arrested, injured, lost, or dead, the authorities would notify someone in the U.S. and I would eventually hear via email.

He returned triumphant if a bit weary. Stores in this neighborhood close on Thursday afternoon. Maybe this happens all over Italy. I guess they need more babies. He wandered from closed mini-market to closed wine shop until he found a green grocer who was cleaning up for the day. He talked him into parting with a wedge of Parmesan. Wine we got at the hotel bar. The poor man is napping now.

We return to Rome tomorrow. The car has to be at the rental office at the train station at noon. We’re three hours from there but will leave an hour to get lost.

Toby