Rik and I arrived in Positano, a popular resort town on the Amalfi coast, a couple of days ago. It would have been a real royal pain in the ass, too, if the nice proprietor of the Red Rose B&B in Rome we were staying at didn’t let me store my ginormous suitcase full of yarn there for a couple of days.
We took the most expensive (and thusly fastest and most comfortable) train from Rome to Naples. That was only an hour and a half, versus the three hours it could have been if we were one of these poor backpackers trying to save 10 euro. Woo-hoo! Almost there! NO. We then have to take the Circumvesuviana train to Sorrento. Pretty ghetto- hot as hell and what we didn’t realize was that it was ANOTHER HOUR AND A HALF on that crappy train. Then from Sorrento, a 45-minute bus ride that skimmed the rails of a very high cliff. Left, than right, then left… ad infinitum. And the driver was having a very heated conversation with some other bus employee the whole time. Scared the fuck out of me. ‘Cause you know, Italians talk with their hands. I saw this guy with his hands off the wheel and not looking at the road many, many times. My palms are sweating and Rik is taking a nap. We took a trip on a bus like this to Puerto Escondido in Oaxaca, Mexico a couple of years ago, and I just kept reminding myself what he told me then, “The driver doesn’t want to die, either.” Strangely enough, that was very helpful.
We get to Positano, and we have to walk down this hill, also meandering left and right so as to make the road less steep.
It was all worthwhile.
Positano is spectacular. It is said to be an “impossible village,” one of the few in the world built vertically rather than horizonally. And that’s totally true. I overheard some American woman complaining that it was 100 steps up to her hotel. It is an Italian resort town, full of Italians and some others strewn about. Quite a difference from my time in Florence. I hear a lot of English, but a heck of a lot more Italian. Except the wait staff. They all speak to us in English. It’s a resort without being resort-y. They only thing to do is wander about town, eating saltimbocca panini (prosciutto and cheese), gelato, look at all of the very old-jew-in-Florida-esque resortwear stores that Positano is evidently famous for, and sit on the beach. And listen to little kids talking in Italian. Kids are really cute when they’re speaking Italian.
Oh, by the way, our hotel is awesome. It’s Villa La Tartana. It’s reight on the beach, even thought it doesn’t have one of those beachfront restaurants or its own area for guests to take in the sun. We have a room with a partial view of the sea, but it does have its own sun room, killer air-conditioning, and complimentary breakfast service in the room. It’s really cool to have someone knock on your door in the morning and bring you your cappuccino and a continental breakfast, That you can eat in your sun room.
We have had a couple of really nice al fresco meals. We’ve eaten a nice amount of grilled fresh fish and seafood. Even if tonight’s meal was accompanied by a cheesy Italian lounge singer and his Casio. “Volare… whoa….” No kidding. The restaurant was at the inside of a turn, and every time a bus turned the corner, we thought the bus might hit the guy. But no such luck.
Last night’s meal was ended with a complimentary shot of Limoncello, the popular and stong lemon liquor that is made along the Sorrento Coast. It was a hell of a lot better than the bottle of 5 euro LimonCETTA I bought at the supermarket just to see if I liked it.
Rik and I spent a great day at the beach, reading and knitting, respectively. (on an aside, I have to come home soon. I have two knitting patterns with me, and I have already made this sweater three times. I’m really sick of this pattern and need to learn how to do cables before I can make all the patterns in these cool Italian knitting magazines I bought. I figure I should learn how to do it in English first, so that it will make some sense in Italian.) You rent an umbrella and beach lounger for 10 euro, and you get it the whole day. Well worth it, because without that umbrella the southern Italian sun with fry you to a crisp. And the beach is made of black sand and pebbles, which is very uncomforatble. We’re looking forward to doing the same tomorrow, followed by the belated birthday dinner I’m going to take him to.
Gelati of the day: caffe and banana. Subpar, but necessary and refreshing. Followed up with a “coda del aragosta” – a “lobster tail” - sfogliatella pastry filled with chantilly crème. Delicious.
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