Thur 5 April 2001 (S. Vincenzo F.), corniched.

POSITANO:   Another damn day, another damn adventure. After last night's inconsequential dinner (appropriate for any American roadside chain restaurant) we retired early, rose early today and decided to view Positano. Catching the correct commercial SITA bus(ses) was only a minor challenge; the ride down (west) the corniche was thrilling; Positano ("the town that launched 10,000 postcards") is beautiful, if a bit widely distributed in the horizontal and vertical dimensions. We strolled the town's main street from top to bottom, stuck our noses into shops from reasonable to exorbitant, and in the end purchased only consumables. Somehow we refrained from buying an Italiano Furby, which might have been a useful language-learning tool — or maybe not.

(Positano occupies an adjacent pair of the endless gullies that mark this coast. Buildings crawl up any landform not totally vertical, and some of the overhangs ARE vertical. The one road through town hairpins wildly, with paved paths providing steep pedestrian shortcuts.)

After feasting on fabulous pizzas at an Internet cafe just above the Duomo plaza, we admired said Duomo (dome-fitted basilica) and the Bach toccata and fugue being practiced for a Holy Week concert. Splendid organ, splendid decorations in this tourist-rich-town cathedral. Nice bas-relief outside, too. And away from the main spiaggia (beach) and boat-launch crowds, there's a nice walk around a point and past a personal Norman tower to the uncommercialized Fornilla neighborhood, and a narrow cool quiet ravine. Ha.

(Various guidebooks say that Naples is the northernmost extent of North Africa, that the architecture of Positano and points further along the Amalfi Coast is Moroccan or Moorish. Having seen only images of Mediterranean Africa, and of central Italian hill towns, I can't say for sure what region Positano et al resemble most, but it's certainly unlike anything of my previous experience.)

THE TOWERS:   The Amalfi coast was visited by various raiders over the centuries. After the Normans conquered the region (around CE 1000) and established a bright shining stable state in Sicily and Southern Italy, they built a series of towers along the coast to serve as sentinel posts, to warn of incoming hostiles (often Arabs). Hence they're known as Norman towers or Saracen towers or some such. Modern invaders would be announced by the scads of Italians clutching cellphones; we felt naked, being not so equipped.

(The statistics from 1999 show Italians having 25 million wired phone lines, and 18 million wireless phones. Doubtless the number of cellphones now exceeds the count of landlines. The almanac didn't mention the count of Italiano Furbys, nor how many of them are wired.)

So. Back into the consumer crush, but now we're into the siesta time (which along with dull black garb was introduced by the Spanish imperial conquerors who ruined Italy over the course of about CE 1500-1800) and most of the shops are closed; so we roll up the easier grade to the coast road, grab a local bus back to the Bar Internazionale for espresso and pastries, then ride that local around for another circuit of town with a crush of noisy fun schoolkids (many doing instant messaging on their cellphones). Back to Minori as the old corniche snakes along and a new storm sweeps in. Just in time.

Song: TORNADO BLUES

Fri 6 April 2001 (S. Gugliemo), roaded out.

RITORNO A SORRENTO:   To Sorrento, the long way around via Vietri sul Mare and Pompeii, Alessandra telling more tall tales of the eastern Amalfi coast (a haunted villa that donations from the tour group could restore and rebuild as a luxury hotel, ya sure), then down through the urban jumble to Brit-loaded Sorrento itself. First, a fine if constrained and jumbled museum, the Museo Correale di Terranova; then, the lovely town, just as commercial as Napoli but much more orderly [carefully avoid mention of the wood-inlay factory tour]; then a drive over the hills of the Peninsola Sorrentina back to the Costiera Amalfitana: the vertical cliffs, the Syrene's Isles (previously owned by Rudolf Nuryev), Positano, Priano, Amalfi, etc.

Songs: WANNA WANNA
LOVE SO MUCH (Heart-Licking)
SANTA ALLESANDRA
SURROUNDED BY SAINTS & MADONNAS

Sat 7 April 2001 (S. Ermanno), plannus interruptus.

CERAMICSVILLE:   First plan for today: bus to Scala, walk back down to Minori via Ravello and Torello. Glowering weather prompts postponement. Next plan: bus to Vietri sul Mare, shop and whatever. So we ride the SITA bus eastward, noting possible points of further exploration: some towers, the Oily Virgin Mary (Santa Maria de Olearia) monastery, Cetara the fish-town, etc. We hop off the bus at the first road to Raito looking for a ceramics museum (not to be found), then stroll the couple klicks into town, passing ceramics shops and traffic-watching dogs and shrines (squirty-titted Madonnas and stigmatic priests and more) and terrific vistas. We stopped at a roadside lemonade stand for liquid essence of lemons, were invited to lunch there (a micro-sheltered two-tiny-table clifftop terrace — we should return).

And then on into Vietri on a quest for the most perfect ceramic, the characteristic product of the place now and the last couple millennia. (Although I should note that the trade had died out in recent centuries, to be revived some 100+ years ago by German industrialists.)

Many tile/pot shops infest the town, mostly same-same tourist stuff, but some items are truly wondrous. We noted a fine platter at DAEDALUS < http://www.daedalus.it > but kept searching. Got a nice limoncello jug down the road. On into town — the walls are COVERED with fabulous tiles, each shop front enveloped by a graphic display of their wares and services, whole blocks festooned with narrative images. And graphic religious items: that miraculous stigmatic priest Padre Pio, an almost tarot-card-like Madonna, Madonnas holding loaves of bread filled with eyes, saints throwing themselves heavenward, Madonnas suckling or squirting or fondling or gesticulating. And one shop had little glazed figures: a female labeled AVE MARIA with a flip-up cunt, priests labeled PEACE AND GOOD with flip-up cocks. (Not to mention the statuary, postcards, calendars and books of erotic from Pompeii etc. that line the tourist traps of Southern Italy.) My Quaker / Methodist head spins...

DOWNTOWN:   Past the Duomo (where more notable tiles abound) and down narrow passages past small plazas and busy people, down to a steep old street heading all the way down to the waterfront — which was nothing like what we expected. It's best to have no expectations, no preconceptions. Old blocks of apartments edged with Karaoke pizzeria clubs and tilemakers; a wide beachfront boulevard lined with summer resort infrastructure, purveyors of food and drink and music not yet open for the upcoming season; a spacious riverwalk that dead-ends with absolutely no access to the upper town; and every available surface strewn with small TV antennae and satellite dishes. And a cold wind blew our weary bodies apart...

The noontime grew wet and dank; we climbed the endless road back up to the heights, past ancient hotels and pre-fascist industrial architecture and hi-tech spiritual retreats. Two klicks up a 15% grade. Yow. We crawled back to Daedalus, bought the platter (touched-up and discounted), then followed the helpful shopgirl's map to Vietri's sole recommended cheap eatery, RISTORANTE LA LOCANDA, for some of the very best salad and seafood pasta we have EVER devoured, at an astonishingly low price. We'll return and work our way through their menu...

Quite sated, we strolled toward the end of Corso Umberto I past more great tiles and siesta-closed shops to its juncture with Via Roma. On the right: a square giving a view of the coast. On the left: a fountain, pedestrian underpass and tile factory worthy of Gaudi's Barcelona. Is this stuff possible?

FREE RIDE:   We dragged ourselves back to the main intersection to await the homeward SITA bus (drool yet again at a vivid plate depicting a maritime god and goddess in a chariot rising from the waves, merely ONE MILLION LIRA or US$500) when along came our old SAGA bus returning from a Naples tour. St. Allesandra waved us aboard for a free ride back to Minori. Nice.

It would all have been a splendid day, had not the hotel's chef tried to pass off old shoe leather as saucy veal. Or server Roberto laughed when I pointed at my sandal sole; the maitre'd and manager apologized, but it's too late fore remedies. Let'em eat thongs.

The plan for tomorrow: Ravello, one way or another.

Songs: I SAW ST. PETER
CERAMICS BLUES STOMP
THE WAYS YOU MAKE LOVE
CURRENTS OF BLOOD AND FIRE

Sun 8 April 2001 (La Palme), inhaling.

SMOKE & AIR:   Sun 8 April 2001 (La Palme), inhaling.

I haven't yet mentioned the smells. Italians smoke. Anywhere. Maybe only 10% of them, but everywhere. They (and other Euros and Gringos and all the other tobacco junkies) can't help being atmospheric pigs, they're raised this way. But Italians also aren't to vigorous about enforcing emission controls (if any) on motor vehicles. Traffic stinks. The haze enveloping Napoli is noxious. Sea breezes and the occasional storm (like today's) MAY clear up matter for awhile, but I haven't witnessed such cleansing and so can't attest to it.

But on the coast, on the paths, in the hills, among the trees, the scents are sweet and fresh. Agriculture here is mostly vegetable, not animal; the only industrial pollution I've noticed on the Amalfi Coast comes from tourist buses and those ubiquitous motor-scooter tricycle pickup lorries. It's usually possible to breathe deeply without regret. Outdoors, anyway.

Then there are the scents of the walkway in towns and villages. I'll describe those later.

AMALFI:   It's another rainy day, so we've once again postponed / shitcanned the Scala-Ravello-Minori walk, in favor of another bus jaunt to Amalfi, with raincoats. The quest, so far unfulfilled, was for shoes. Along the way we were caught up in a Palm Sunday procession by the town hall behind the cathedral, complete with bishop (or cardinal, someone in a red hat) and chorus and lotsa folks waving plaited leaves. It looked like a Pueblo Indian corn festival.

Then we stomped around town, through ancient walkways, and stopped for lunch at an elegant trattoria unfortunately filled with smoke (which prompted the preceding paragraphs). Fine food, bad air, a hasty exit and walk to the waterfront and sea wall. We were beset by HAIL before we attained the returning bus. Hail, Mary!

RAVELLO:   Later: we'd so looked forward to an excursion to Ravello to see a pre-Easter celebration in medieval costumes, VIA CRUCIS, widely postered in the area. The coach was rented; 35 SAGA stalwarts scurried aboard; we navigated the serpentine road in the impending dark, with the usual appreciative thrill-ride cries and laughs from the passengers. Arriving in Ravello, we all stumped uphill to the kickoff point for this procession — only to find that the event was postponed due to bad weather. Darn. Some Irish coffee, a gloomy ride back, and maybe it'll happen Wednesday. And maybe I'll spew flames.

Mon 9 April 2001 (S. Maria C.), ruminating.

Random thoughts:
• We should get that Italian Furby we saw in Positano, to facilitate learning the language. (Yeah, that'll really help...)
• Most Italians we've met who learn we're Americans seem not displeased with us. Or else they're all conspiring...
• Wisteria is blooming everywhere; other blossoms threaten.
• Granite di Limone is just tart lemon slush — needs brandy.
• We need clothes detergent — shampoo and handsoap just don't suffice for cleaning our travelwear. (Note: see my TIPS ON TRAVEL CLOTHES)
• Properties for sale are priced quite reasonably near the Amalfi coast and rather-to-quite cheap a bit furth Californiaperspective.
• (Human) Nature Happens. Bother...
• Even though we have TV in our hotel room, with BBC and CNN and Deutche Welle news available, we don't watch, and I feel no distress at my disconnection from world events.

I haven't yet discussed the scents of the old covered walkways in the towns. Centuries old, some maybe a millennium or more, walls and steps suffused with herbs, sweat, cooking, clay, burros, incense, lemons, smoke — neither entirely pleasant not unpleasant, just a definite presence. Odors of death and mostly life.

Today we go over the hills from Minori via Torre to Maiori, the tourist trail along the edge of Tramonti, above a 'castle' and harbor, through the inevitable lemon orchards, past barking dogs and sleeping cats and a blessed duck. Then Maureen buys shoes. Then we walk along the coast road back. Again.

History lessons:

Out west a ways off the coast from Positano are three rocks (but you can only see two) called La Galli (previously owned by Rodolf Nuryev) which may be the petrified remains of the Syrenes thwarted by Ulysses / Odysseus — or maybe not, they may be somewhere else along the Tyrennian coast.

In Amalfi stands a statue of Flavio Gioia, who invented the magnetic compass — or maybe not, or he may have just put the traditional twelve-point directional rose around a Chinese compass — or it may have been someone else.

The folks in Positano don't like the folks in the neighboring burg of Praiano because after the Saracens invaded and devastated the coast they populated the latter village with Arabs — or maybe not, maybe that's the reason the people of Amalfi don't like those of Atrani, or maybe it never happened and it's just an excuse.

Be careful just which history you take seriously around here.

Also be careful of ordering foods consisting of leggy bugs in pasta. Yow.

End of lessons. For now. But check out them Syrenes, eh?

MORE INPUT:   Valuable information from Jahn and Martine: take a SAGA tour to Greece, to Hotel Mare Nostrum, in Vavrona (Vravrona?) 50 km east of Athens — excellent food, free wine, good transport t/from the new airport and Athens. And beware of Athens cabbies. ALSO: rent cars anywhere in the E.U. from KEMWELL — contact travel agencies for details. ALSO: the best Indian petroglyphs in North America are near Ridgecrest CA at Little Petroglyph Canyon on the China Lake NAS — contact an archaeological society to arrange with the military for visiting the glyphs.

Song: LOST IN A WORLD WE NEVER MADE