Italy--Day Seven. Wednesday September 01

Of the more than 19,000 days I've spent on this strange planet, today was among the most memorable: I saw the famed Amalfi Coast. Before this, California's Highway One from Monterey down to San Simeon had been the standard of coastal highway beauty (to me, anyhow.) But Amalfi beats it.

NOTE: this is a looooonnnnnnnng post. If you just want to see how spectacular this place is, skip to the bottom where I've posted a 2-part German video---it's beautifully done and gives you the gist, though not our exact personal experience.

First, the lay of the land:

Agropoli, at the bottom in pink.

We took the ferry [blue line] from there to Positano, far left, in pink.

Then drove the coast by bus [red line] to Salerno.

Finally, by train [yellow line] back to our hotel in Paestum [black dot]

Heinrich drove us to Agropoli early in the morning. We bought tickets for the crossing to Positano, which cost €11 each (about $14.) We sat on the dock waiting for the ship to arrive and got a glimpse of life as it's been for centuries for people who make a living from the sea. The dock wasn't crowded, but there were maybe a dozen people walking around, repairing nets, fishing, fueling boats, etc. I saw one guy walking around carrying a fresh octopus by the head...it was about 18 inches long from the top of its head to the tip of its tentacles.

While I wandered around taking pictures, B sat on a bench. An old lady walked up to her, carrying a small bag of seafood she'd just purchased from one of the fishermen. The lady just started talking to B as if they were old friends. I'd guess her to be about 80; she was a tiny woman, wearing a simple dress, but dignified, tanned, with crooked teeth and a friendly smile. Her face looked vaguely Native American. She showed us where she lived, pointing to an apartment above a nearby pizzeria facing the harbor. After about ten minutes she wished us a good day and walked home. Later I spotted her on her balcony, looking down on the harbor from the third floor.

I got a photo of B and the lady talking, but because we don't like our faces on the Web, you'll have to settle for my description.

Fishing boats. Already by 9 AM the fishermen were back, repairing and re-spooling their nets.

I don't know what this guy was after, but among his gear was a small hammer, I guess to crack shells.

Quiet, sunny morning on the dock in Agropoli.

The only woman I saw on the fishing boats.

The boat arrived about ten minutes late. It was a large vessel with two decks. There were already people on board---I'm not really sure where the boat had come from, but everyone was on the way to Positano so the good seats, on the side facing the shore as the ship traveled northwest, were already taken. The ship loaded quickly---I'd say within three minutes, they cast off again.

We sat on the upper deck, which was covered but open-windowed, so it was just a tad chilly in the wind. The boat moved along at a good clip, its powerful engines roaring and kicking up a long wake. Looking over the side into the blue water, I saw a lot of jellyfish---sometimes singly, sometimes in groups of a dozen or more. Their bodies were light brown and about the size of a dinner plate. Ugly bastards.

We stayed a mile or two off shore for most of the trip, so I couldn't get any good pics of the towns until we got close to Positano. From time to time I'd walk to the stern for some sun and to take pics, but almost none of them were good because of the haze. Oddly, there were no seagulls following the boat---or really, anywhere to be seen.

I guess the distance from Agropoli to Positano must be 25 miles or so, and the voyage took about 90 minutes.

Closer to our destination, the villages were easier to see / photograph.

Positano----a beautiful old town with houses stacked ever higher and higher atop one another. We climbed and climbed and climbed and still never reached the top. The Wikipedia link says Mick and Keith wrote "Midnight Rambler" in the cafes of Positano while on vacation; I can just imagine Positano at night. A great place to stroll.

Positano from the harbor, just after disembarking.

We came upon a lot of scenes like this---locals strolling through the steep, narrow streets.

Almost invariably we were politely greeted with a friendly "Buon giorno."

The higher you climb, the higher you get.

Nothing about being up here sucked.

We came upon a little restaurant with a patio and a great view of the bay. It was lunchtime. We were the first customers of the day. For whatever reason, the guy wouldn't let us sit on the patio. That was OK...the view from inside was good, too. The waiter was quiet and polite, as was always the case with the Italians we encountered. The pizza looked good but as I discovered, the Italians are masters of suggestive up-selling, so instead of paying about €6 for a great pizza, I ended up spending €12 for a decent but not spectacular pasta / salmon dish, because the guy assured me the pasta was freshly made. Taking a piece of B's pizza, though, convinced me that she got the better lunch. Still, the Italian beer was cold and refreshing so no harm done in any of it.

The waiter also saved us a hell of a disappointment. Our plan was to walk back down to the harbor, where we assumed we could catch a bus to our next stop, Amalfi. But the guy said to B: No, signora---walk 100 meters down the street, go into the bar and buy a bus ticket, then wait for the bus there. Had we walked all the way back down, we'd have just had to walk back up again.

And the lady at the bar saved us some money. She showed us a bus ticket for €7.20, which was good for all bus transportation anywhere along the coast, all the way to Salerno, for 24 hours after the ticket was first stamped.

This is a pretty decent video of Positano---gives you a bit of the flavor of the place.

The bus ride was interesting. As beautiful as this coastal road is, I'd never want to actually drive it, except maybe on a scooter. The road winds like a squirming snake and is pretty narrow in places---the bus drivers honk their air horns at certain points in the road so the driver around the curve, coming the other way and seeing nothing, knows to stop---because if both guys try to fit onto the road or into a tunnel at the same time, fuhgeddaboutit! More than once we came to a dead stop, nose to nose with somebody else, and somebody had to back up----causing much honking on the part of the drivers behind the backer-upper, and much cursing on the part of the bus driver. I heard the word "Bastardo!" a couple of times from our different drivers, but almost never shouted---just quietly spoken with maybe a little wave of the gesture-hand. And, of course, during these standoffs, if a scooter or two or three could zip between the two vehicles during a lull in the action---or around them (pretty risky given the height of the road above the ocean)---they would. And did. Fuckin' Italians....!!!

While not the best RE: scenery, it gives you an idea of actually driving the road.

If nothing else, skip ahead to about 30 seconds from the end for a sample of motorini insanity.

We arrived in Amalfi, another beautiful town. Unfortunately we didn't get to spend much time here----we decided to take a bus even further up the mountain to the village of Ravello, not realizing that though the trip was short in distance, it would eat up a lot of our time due to unexpected stops, both up and back----the road is narrow and traffic stops for ten minutes or so to let oncoming traffic have the road. We thought we could go up, look around, then come down and tour Amalfi but it didn't work out that way.

Ravello was stunning. Of course, there was a Shiite-load of touristas up there, but the view was fantastic and I'd say it was worth missing Amalfi for.

Somewhere around the bend: Salerno. A view from Ravello.

The higher you go, the higher you get. But maybe I already said that.

We caught an over-stuffed bus back down to Amalfi. Some people had to stand. Again, halfway down the moutnain we got the red light for about ten minutes so traffic coming the other way on this one-lane stretch of road could drive up. The driver stepped off for a smoke and a cell phone call---yes, he waved his free hand around while talking. It's just what they do.

In Amalfi, we had maybe ten minutes for a quick look around before catching the bus to Salerno. We bought some limoncello from a touristy souvenir stand, then walked back to the bus---which was already so full we couldn't get seats together. But at least we got seats----again, by the time the bus pulled away, there were plenty of people standing.

Unfortunately I didn't get a window seat, but I was sitting on the side facing the ocean and I saw some magnificent scenery, though I couldn't photograph any of it. Sometimes being a few minutes late can really make a difference for the worse...still, I don't need to photograph everything I see. Some things linger in the mind for decades.

Curvy, winding, curvy, winding, blue ocean, yachts far below, super-expensive cliff-side villas, private swimming coves, olive trees, stupid oncoming drivers who thought both they and the bus could fit into a tunnel---though Salerno was only about 20 kilometers away, we were (forgive me) on a long and winding road, so the trip took a while. 

But finally we got into Salerno, passed the port with the shipping containers stacked eight or ten high, and into the heart of town. As always, the buses never announce upcoming stops so B had to ask someone which stop was closest to the train station...

It was about 5 PM by this time and the train station was packed. The lines at the ticket counters were long, and the woman in line ahead of us was doing some sort of complicated transaction that took a long time. Then B had questions that took a few minutes and the crowd started getting antsy---but as B said, they hadn't said shit when an Italian took ten minutes to do her business. Let a tourist take that long, though, and hey----

But we got our tickets. And, predictably, the 20-minute trip took almost an hour. Why? A few stops from ours, the train suddenly lost its connection with the overhead wire. The electricity went out twice, basically killing the train until they could get connected again. None of the Italians acted as if they even noticed the delay----it was just business as usual with southern Italian train travel.

B's very nice father met us at the station with the rental car, and drove us back to the hotel.

As I said at the top of this post, this day ranks as one of the most memorable of my life. The videos below are in German, but it doesn't matter----watch and be transported.

Thanks to B for making this day possible for me. It was great sharing it with her.

Italy--Day Six. Tuesday August 31

At our hotel, we were on a plan called "half board." That means you get breakfast and either 1) lunch, or 2) dinner. Mostly we did the dinner thing. They like to know what they have to prepare, so at breakfast they give you the menu of the day, both lunch and dinner. Then you tell them what you want.

According to B, dinner goes like this in Italy: First anti-pasta, which means "before the pasta."  In our hotel, this was a selection of cooked vegetables----eggplant, zucchini, etc. along with uncooked stuff like tomatoes and lemon wedges, etc., served buffet style. (I used to think if anti-pasta and pasta touched, it would result in a cataclysmic explosion, but I've since learned that's some mixed-up thinking.)

Then comes the next course, which you choose from the menu at breakfast. There are three different things to choose from...soup or pasta. Then the main course---they give you two choices here. The menu was pretty varied and I liked everything I ate, and the waiters took good care of everyone. Very professional. And at dinner, Heinrich always ordered a bottle or two of the house wine, along with some carbonated mineral water.

----

After breakfast, we drove to Agropoli again, just to look around and also so B could get a battery for her watch.

We found a place to park---just €1 an hour, quite reasonable. Walking along, Heinrich stopped at an intersection to talk to a couple of guys standing there. Not sure why, or about what, but that's H. He's a very gregarious man. The rest of us crossed the street and waited for the conference to end. I never did find out what it was about.

We split up, B and I going our own way. Found a watch shop. There were two guys behind the counter, an old man and a younger guy who might have been his son. Both were friendly and spoke softly and quietly, with smiles. The younger guy went in the back, found a battery for the watch, put it in, set the watch to the right time (!) and handed it over with a smile. Cost: €4. B thought she'd have to pay at least €10.

Then we walked, and saw the following:

Half a swordfish at the fishmonger's.

The old part of Agropoli. You walk up these steep steps...

...and you come to this gate...

...and you get this view of the harbor.

Part of old Agropoli.

Two princes of Agropoli.

I wish this was my front door.

This guy loaded his painting atop the white car in the background.

Will the buildings in OKC last this long, or ever be this beautiful?

Speaks for itself.

No cars, no scooters, no noise.

From the harbor, looking up at where we'd just been.

Sunset back at the hotel. The sun is setting behind the famed island of Capri.

Absolutely non-retouched or Photoshopped.

Italy--Day Five. Monday August 30

The whole crew (B's parents, her sister R, and us) drove into Agropoli to stock up on groceries. Heinrich maneuvered the car expertly through town, which was crowded with Italian drivers.

Italian drivers: I'd been expecting high-speed insanity, but what I saw instead was a low-speed insanity. They just kind of ignore whatever the rules "are" and judge each situation second by second. But nobody ever gets into a wreck or kills anyone! And they're flexible. If you're trying to back out of a space on the curb, they let you! Try that shit in Vienna and you'll hear the horn.

Scooters whiz by all the time, passing you on the left or the right (and if they could do it, they'd pass you on both sides simultaneously, I'm sure) but somehow it all works.

We got to the supermarket. There, another example of southern Italian non-functionality.

The shopping carts are locked together with chains. To release a cart, you stick a €1 coin into the slot and the chain releases. When you bring the cart back, you plug the chain in and your coin releases. This encourages shopping cart order (and I wish we did this in the US, but you'd probably have to require a $5 deposit because no American will waddle 50 feet out of his way to put a shopping cart where it belongs just to get a measly dollar back.)

We tried several carts before we found one that would actually release the chain when you stuck the coin in. A fat Italian woman helped us with this, kind of shrugging her shoulders and muttering quietly---I could imagine her saying: "It never works the first or second or third time. Sometimes the fourth. Sometimes more. Eh!"

Inside the market, jibber-jabber! I love listening to Italian. If they said: "I'm going to eat a plate of cockroaches and worms," it would sound like a love poem in its cadence and melody, whereas even the most romantic phrase uttered in German sounds like somebody's being scolded.

At the meat / cheese counter, all the old ladies were babbling about that salami or this prosciutto and the workers were moving like crazy trying to keep up with everyone. I wandered over to the pasta section and was astounded to find shapes and sizes and names of pasta I couldn't even imagine----and I've taken mushrooms several times. I'll give you a dollar if you (honestly) know 10% of the names of the pasta presented in the link above. Mind-blowing.

----

B and her parents first came to Agropoli when she was 13, which was, uh, back in the day. The parents continued to visit more or less annually, though B kind of found other things to do in the meantime. The parents habitually rented a small cabin during their stay.

And next to that place is the Casa Vienna, run by a woman whose parents were Italian, but who was raised in Vienna. I'm not sure what her nationality is, but she's been living in Agropoli for years, running her small apartment house. Anyhow, she and B's folks are friends, so after the supermarket trip, on our way back to Paestum, we drove by to say hello.

Heinrich parked the car, got out, and shouted up to a open balcony door. Pretty soon the woman stepped out, recognized him, and came downstairs. Then her son Enzo joined us. He lives up north but was down for a visit.

We sat outside and the lady poured us some bottled iced tea. I realized it's been a couple of months since I had iced tea---Europeans just don't drink it for some reason. Enzo speaks perfect Italian and German and pretty good English, and when they found out I'm American they said: "Ah! We have another American staying here."

Michael is a guy about 50 who used to live in Connecticut but moved to Italy in May. He stood there in khaki shorts, shirtless, casual, like a lot of guys I see in Italy. Relaxed with things, unhurried.

"Was it difficult establishing residency?" I asked him.

"No. My mother is Irish and I have dual citizenship so I'm here on my Irish passport," he said.

He moved to Europe because he thinks the US is going down the shitter and he's had it with the place, politically. I wondered if he was a rich guy, but then he mentioned he has to get much better with his Italian so he'll have a better chance of getting a job when he moves to Trieste, which is his goal at the moment. Something about Trieste appeals to him.

Unfortunately, we had to cut our visit short because Heinrich was afraid the groceries would go bad in the hot sun, so I didn't get more details of Michael's story. But I find it interesting a guy that age would make the decision to just leave his home and move to a foreign country.

It's something I've thought of, too, but not necessarily because of my problems with American politics. I have the feeling the entire "civilized" world is about to experience a series of very painful kicks to its figurative nuts, and maybe several bitch-slaps, too. That being the case, I'm not sure it matters much where you live---if it ain't Problems 1 - 1000 in Country A, it'll be Problems 1001 - 2000 in Country B. Same-same. Fasten your seatbelts.