28 April to 11 May

I took a boat directly from Capri to the Amalfi Coast(Positano) with the intention of continuing afterwards, due south to Sicily. But thoughts of both Herculaneum, in Ercolano(which I’ve mentioned briefly, and included a few photos of, in the previous post) and Procida, which I’d bypassed, nagged at me.

Although I’d visited Pompeii decades before, Herculaneum was said to be even more impressive- smaller, but exceeding the quality of its more famous counterpart. Pompeii’s greatest treasures were showcased in Naples’ National Museum, which I had already visited with great pleasure, but many of Herculaneum’s remained on-site. And Procida was a tiny island reportedly relatively untouched by tourists and time. The thought of having to back-track north was annoying, but missing either of them seemed more so. Thus, from Cetera I took a boat to Salerno, and from there a train north to Ercolano. 

Google maps indicated a bus stop, nearby the Ercolano train station, for a bus which would take me steps from where I had booked a room for two nights. After walking the wrong direction from the station, then retracing my steps, I found the bus stop and sought shade in the nearby entrance to an apartment building. A few minutes later a young woman came and sat down on the steps next to me. She was smoking a cigarette and having an argument with the person with whom she was speaking on the phone. Her free hand gestulated in rhythm with her words and the harshness of her voice and the cigarette smoke forced me back into the scorching sun.

Vans used as shared taxis drove by. The bus was already ten minutes behind schedule. I assumed it would arrive soon. After waiting another fifteen minutes, this young woman still in animated conversation, flagged a van down. I took the opportunity to ask if it was going to my intended bus stop as well. The driver said yes. Despite the little space available, the other passengers, all women, genially made room for me and my bags. The young woman took a seat in the far back and continued her rant. Her cigarette had been flung away upon entry.

It didn’t take long before one of the women asked where I was from. My travel attire sadly screams “tourist.” Another woman, who spoke some English, was delighted to use the words she knew. Despite my request, it was becoming clear that the driver was not going where I’d hoped. Discussion amongst the passengers and driver ensued to find the best compromise. Ten minutes later I was let off on a main street with directions in both English and Italian. The women wished me well and I thanked them for their kindness. The walk was further than I had hoped, given the heat, but manageable.

I was nearing the correct address when I heard my name being called. I looked up. There was a woman standing four flights up on a balcony. She buzzed me in and met me downstairs. There was no elevator and helped me carry my bags. She asked me if I was carrying a man in there. I sheepishly admitted to the bottle of divine olive oil, salt-direct from the Malta salt-pans I’d visited the month before, and the pepper mill with whole peppercorns-none of which I wanted to part with and stubbornly carried around, but not the books, creams, clothing, shoes, and other items that made up the bulk of the weight. She had posted an ad in TripAdvisor for a room in her apartment, walking distance to the archeological site. She called herself an expert in art history. It was an attractive offer for a short stay.

I barely had time to put my bags down, before Graziella, my host, was showing me the art work around her apartment and discussing in detail and at length, each artist whom she knew personally. She then handed me several books opened to the pages where I could see the articles she had written. After a polite perusal, I asked her where the bathroom was.

While on Capri I learned of both Procida and Ischia: two islands just off the coast of Naples. Procida being both nearer and smaller and Ischia, a haven for mostly German tourists seeking its natural spas. Procida, “relatively untouched by tourism and time” had greater appeal, but I’d been initially dissuaded from visiting it given its size and dense population. Having experienced the heavily trafficked, extremely narrow roads of Capri which I could avoid, I feared this island would offer no such refuge. Yet, it continued to intrigue me.

I took a packed commuter train from Ercolano back to Naples direct to the port for a hydrofoil to Procida.

I am happiest staying in places where I have privacy and quiet-although songbirds are welcome, a kitchen where I can prepare my meals, a place to read, write, sleep, and shower comfortably, walk at length, and have a view, preferably of the sea.

My home in Procida provided me with all of these. The dogs in residence, Mandarino and Pippo, inspired many smiles.

Procida, particularly in the area I was staying was remarkably peaceful, and not crowded as I had feared. I spent my days walking from one end of the island to the other- it takes about an hour and visiting the many places in between.

I ate pasta dishes that gave the word “pasta” an entirely new meaning.

I also spent a day exploring Ischia and visiting its stunning Argonese Castle with the unusual “nuns’ cemetery” (The women were placed on stone thrones with bowls to collect their body fluids as their bodies decomposed.) The views from the castle were spectacular as were the meandering paths bursting with flowers. The family who bought the castle some generations back still reside there. Ischia had its charm, but I was happy to return that evening to my home in Procida.

My eleven nights on Procida went by much too quickly.  But my perfect abode was already booked to some other lucky travelers.

19 to 30 April

The Amalfi Coast is only 50 kilometers long, but includes bustling cities, picturesque towns built vertically on hillsides with endless steps, and charming fishing villages. The serpentine, narrow road-yet another one-that runs along it offers spectacular views as do its many meandering walking paths. Orchards of lemon, orange, and nespole trees thrive. Boats of all sizes shuttle to and fro on the open waters. Fresh fish and local specialties satisfy palates.

I decided to stay four nights in Praiano, noted to be less touristy than its extremely popular neighbor, Positano.

The “Sentiero degli Dei (Walk of the Gods)” renowned for fantastic views of the coast, connects the towns of Praiano and Positano, and began steps from my front door. I prepared myself for the 1200 steps up from Praiano to its highest point, opting for a cooler day which I got, but with it, a dense fog. However, I hadn’t read about the 1400 steps down into Positano, which proved to be far more taxing than the ascent, nor the path I could have taken to avoid them. But I had no regrets. I passed through fruit orchards, listened to songbirds, admired the views when the clouds cleared, and soaked in the natural beauty of the region.

On another day I took a different, far less taxing, yet still beautiful walk (Path of the Lemons)- between the towns of Maiori and Minori. I imagine there was a time when residents frequently commuted by foot, but now, besides the residents who live along it, and the occasional donkeys, I mostly saw tourists.

Minori is a pretty town with old buildings, where Maiori lacks such charm. The explanation is a devastating flood and mudslide in the 1950’s which required the town to be virtually rebuilt.

I’ve been enjoying recalling the Italian I knew and engaging in conversations with the locals. Although I do not understand every word, I usually get the gist.

Praiano was a great base to explore other towns, including Ravello, where many authors and artists found inspiration:D.H Lawrence wrote Lady Chatterly’s Lover there. The Bloomsbury Group and Greta Garbo were fortunate guests within the exquisite gardens of Villa Cimbrone.

After Praiano, I stayed in the small fishing village of Cetara, known for its tuna fishing and a pasta sauce made from anchovies. I spent days watching the fishermen-something I never tire of- mending their nets and heading out to sea. These same men would gather to chat in groups, while their wives joined together to catch up on their days. The women interrupted their conversation to yell at their children, who were playing shoot-em-up with sticks(the boys), tag, hide-and-seek, riding back and forth on their bicycles, when they engaged in some mischief.

Distances between towns are short, but travel time can be long on the congested coastal road. Traffic comes to a stand when two buses maneuver around each other.

Small ferries from Cetera to the train in Salerno, were available. I took them to Paestum.

Paestum is an ancient site, I’d never heard of, dating back to Greek times: a great place to spend the day, despite the fierce Mediterranean sun.

I left Cetera for two nights in Ercolano, which I also knew nothing of. Its ancient city was destroyed by Mt. Vesuvius’ eruption within days of Pompeii. Because of unique circumstances, remnants of food and furnishings were discovered hundreds of years later intact.

Ercolano today is a working class city, with a number of impressive villas, largely unaffected by the tourists who come to see its remarkable ancient site.

Exploring the Amalfi Coast revealed much of its splendor, but undoubtedly not all.

15 to 19 April

I’d been somewhat hesitant to visit Capri. Afterall, this was a touristy island and notorious playground of the rich and famous with a wide array of high-end shopping options rather than somewhere low-key and off the beaten track-places I tend to gravitate towards. But its reknown beauty intrigued me.

I was pleasantly surprised when the ferry I took from Napoli(Naples), pulled in to a somewhat scruffy looking port where fishing boats were shuttling to and fro.

The only sign of glamor in Marina Grande (main harbor)-where I’d opted to rent an apartment-was the gleaming fleet of convertible taxis.

My home was a few steps from where the ferries docked. I quickly settled in to venture out again, aware of my short four-day stay.

The funicular generally used to climb up from the port to the town of Capri was out of order and small buses were used instead. These same buses brought locals and tourists throughout the island, including along a precipitous road, to the other main town, interestingly named, Anacapri.

Each ride was an adventure. The bus drivers navigated impossibly narrow, two-way serpentine roads where vehicles inched back and forth to make room for one another, miraculously avoiding to scrape anything as they skimmed by. What was equally impressive were the intrepid pedestrians who blithely shared these roads, often wearing head phones, casually entrusting drivers to avoid them. Miraculously this arrangement seemed to exhibit no casualties, at least while I was there. The drivers’ aplomb was noteworthy.

I, however, decided not to test my fate, nor the dexterity of the drivers. I took refuge inside the buses or walked down to the harbor from the town of Capri, using a seemingly endless staircase-one of many I would encounter.

Yes, there were tourists around the harbor-mostly here for day trips (the Blue Grotto is a major attraction), and high-end shops near the main piazza.

But the relaxed pace, kind locals, splendid walks around the island on virtually isolated pathways enchanted me-there was the occasional sidestepping from specially designed vehicles used for transporting goods:the pathways are equally narrow.

The sight of lemon and orange trees heavy with fruit, ancient ruins, stunning villas, fragrant blossoms, and gorgeous views of the landscape and turquoise sea were the primary and pleasant distractions.

I had booked a short stay thinking I would quickly tire of the artificial scene. It was bittersweet to discover I had been wrong.

11 to 15 April

Any time I asked for directions in Naples, a discussion among the locals would ensue. I would be ignored until a consensus was reached as to whose directions were the best. Thinking it might be easier to ask someone standing alone proved to be no different: the man enjoined an acquaintance passing by to confirm his directions. I loved Naples. I felt as if I’d been transported back in time: mom and pop shops were thriving, street life was vibrant, cell phones were less visible, laundry hung to dry from nearly every window. The lack of tourists was refreshing.

Naples seemed more unruly than Rome, but also more genuine.

The contrast between the nineteenth century shopping arcades and narrow ancient streets was striking.

The Capodimonte Museum and the National Archeological Museum collections were outstanding. The latter housed some of the finest treasures from Pompeii.

And Naples has the sea.

I spent the short time I was there wandering through neighborhoods, admiring treasures, thinking about Elena Ferrante, and enjoying a city I had visited many years ago that has seemingly improved with age.