The Costiera Amalfitana is one long, gorgeous stretch of aquamarine and green, and is touted as one of Europe's finest coastlines. It runs along the southern side of Sorrento's peninsula and is identified with the towns of Positano, Amalfi and Ravello among others. Speaking from recent experience I would also mention that it seems to be one of Europe's sheerest coastlines. As in cliffs. Cliffs that the bus hugs, throttling its way down the winding and motorcycle-clogged Italian road.
Naples is a short train ride away from Sorrento and from Sorrento you can take the bus to towns along the Amalfi coast. There are also excellent pastry and promenade opportunities in Sorrento. Before catching our bus we hit the streets with the rest of the town and rolled up to a great café.
The baristas all wore dapper almond-shaped caps and resembled something between short-order cooks in an American diner and flight attendants of the 1960's. And not only did they have great little hats (as did many of the baristas in Napoli) but they also dust your macchiato with a cocoa powder smiley face.
When we got on the bus there was a sign above the driver that basically said "whatever you do, don't bother this guy - he's driving." In fact, there were two signs saying this. One went so far as to say it was "prohibited." And there was a picture of a saint. We should have known.
We'd received advice to sit on the right side of the bus and at the beginning of the ride we didn't quite understand the significance. There were a few good views but there were also a lot of views of olive and orange trees. Nice, yes, but not something you need to sit on a certain side of the bus to see. But, wait. As the bus wound its way up and over the peninsula we go to the side with the views. And the cliffs. And the drama.
It was stunning. Aqua water as far as the eye could see. Cliffs so sheer you couldn't see their faces. And tiny pebbled beaches in nooks and crannies. There were small colorful towns clinging to steep slopes and others perched high above the sea. There were islands dotting the turquoise horizon and sun riding the water like shocks of glitter. It was marvelous.
And it made me nauseous.
So nauseous that I had to move to the other side of the bus. The wrong side of the bus. And Stefano said I turned green. We had opted to go all the way to Amalfi, bypassing Positano with plans to return to it on the way back. This meant an hour-long ride which sounded great when we'd made the plans.
However, in practice, it didn't sound very good at all. It sounded awful. Apparently the cold I had was impacting my equilibrium and this was impacting my ability to ride a bus without feeling so nauseous I could cry. The good news is that I didn't cry. And I didn't throw up.
And as requested, I didn't talk to the driver.
When we got to Amalfi I peeled myself from the bus seat I'd been laying on and Stefano, in a moment of utter brilliance and perfect understanding of Italy, made a beeline to the pharmacy. It was not only Sunday (egads!) but it was one o'clock (heavens, no!) in the afternoon. The fact that it was open at all was something of a miracle. No sooner had Stefano bought me a package of Travel Gum and stepped out the front door, then the pharmacy closed up tight.
As I chewed my magical gum and started to feel much better we went on a hunt to find food in the off-season. Amalfi is a beachside town and so it wasn't exactly hopping in early February. We did find an Italian version of grilled cheese, several pieces of pizza, and a pastry or two. I was feeling better and it was a beautiful place. So many colorful buildings, the nook and crannies Italian towns are known for, and of the course the laundry drying outside. Even from the entrance of a church with signs reminding visitors of the dignity of the place, you could see someone's towels and aprons flapping in the breeze. If you don't love that, you don't love Italy.
We went to the shore and walked the beach. You can easily imagine the summer there. What were open spreads of beach for us, would become strangled with beach umbrellas and towels, chairs and sunbathers. We preferred it as it was - empty, quiet, and a touch too crisp. It was perfect.
We took the bus back to Positano and followed gravity down to the shoreline there. It was the same sort of quiet, and the same turquoise waters. Churches and homes clung to the steep grades and teens played soccer on the deserted beach. A scraggy artist painted the seashore and older people watched kids chase dogs.
There were no sunbathers. No sunhat sellers. Rowboats sat on the shore, upended and waiting for the season. It was perfect and verging on solitary. Except when we wove our way back up to the bus stop. Suddenly we had found a crowd and we all waited at the side of the road. Everyone had their own way of passing the time, mainly griping about the bus not arriving and/or smoking. We just sat there hoping our toes would not fall victim to the next fast car zipping along the coastal path.
Apparently we were lucky. When the bus arrived we were all able to board and there were seats for all. In peak season, we've since heard, you're often left waiting for several buses before you find an opening. All the better for the off-season. And more the better because I didn't get nauseous on the ride back. I just kept chewing that magical gum.
And not talking to the driver.
No comments:
Post a Comment