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Position: 40°37’54″N 14°35’51″E
I’ve never been certain if Amalfi means just one Malfi, one of many Malfis, or indeed an absence of Malfis. The Jacobean play, The Duchess of Malfi, indicates that the original name has since morphed into a collective pronoun. Today, Amalfi means anything from a quaint seaside town to the coastline stretching from Salerno to Sorrento.
This small region, popularized by Homer in the Odyssey as the home of sirens, has long occupied a place in the British/American imagination. Grand Tourers in the 18th century visited here and returned with tales of limoncello and olives, of sybaritic indulgence and bacchanalian excess. World War II brought a new generation of acolytes, while international films like ‘The Talented Mr. Ripley’ and, more recently, ‘Tenet’ keeps Amalfi in our collective consciousness. What we learned with our boots on the ground is tourists love the place, flocking in like a murder of crows, or crash of rhinoceros.
Expert Help
Anchored as we were in Procida, on the edge of this sensory event horizon, its gravitational pull proved ineluctable. Having come so close to visiting on our northwards trek last November, we weren’t going to miss it heading south again. Within a few hours we had motored to the end of the quay and called Giulio. Minutes later he appeared alongside Aleta and nimbly leapt aboard, leaving his dinghy in the capable hands of his nine-year-old son. Deeply bronzed, his lean middle-aged good looks were enhanced by brilliant blue round mirrored sunglasses. He exuded all the confidence of a modern pirate captain.
We explained Aleta has no bow thruster. ‘No problem, I will guide her in,’ he said, grabbing the throttle and thrusting it forward. Carol wondered aloud if I was nervous letting a complete stranger take the helm? I had read the reviews of his marina and the very high levels of satisfaction other owners had with his boat handling skills, so no, I was quite comfortable. Besides, transiting the narrow alley between the fishing fleet and other private boats moored stern to the floating dock looked like a job for an experienced hand. Aleta leapt forward and in minutes we had her tied off securely for the duration of our stay.
Off the water the temperature and humidity jumped. We quickly threw open all the hatches and switched on the fans as we prepared to meet the masses ashore. With an early dinner of caprese salad and regional antipasti under our belts, we wandered the streets taking photos until twilight made strolling the main road with its heavy traffic too uncomfortable.
A Good Walk
Waking early, we set our sights on hiking the Sentiero degli Dei, the Path of the Gods. If trails are measured by the worn smoothness of their stones, then this one is extraordinarily popular. The favoured route begins in the town of Bomerano and heads mostly downhill to Nocelle and on to Positano. The last section is a series of 1,700 uneven steps that test the resilience of even the youngest knees. The entire trek covers about 14km and takes from two to four hours to complete.
Pausing for a coffee and pastry at the start, we soon found our way past slower walkers to discover sweeping views of the Gulf of Salerno. There was enough haze that sea soon merged into sky in the bright morning sun. Deep rifts in the mountains slashed downwards with seasonal cataracts nourishing plants and trees absent on the dusty prominences. Mist clung to the top of the mountains bringing soft relief to the flat, faded sky. Reaching Nocelle, the humidity lifted and let the sun through brilliantly. A gentle sea breeze took the edge off the heat and the smooth concrete streets of this small town revived our tiring legs.
Lunch
Those with common sense take a bus to Positano. We chose to walk down the roughly hewn and uneven staircase. Forty years ago it might have been fun. Now it was unpleasant. By the time we had had enough there was nothing to do but continue to the end, our aging knees grumbling. Hungry and ready for a long lunch, we found out there is no cell service at the far end of the trail. It’s not clear if that is by accident or design, but Positano is off Vodaphone’s grid. Undaunted, we found an open hotel Wi-Fi network and zeroed in on the Ristorante Adamo ed Eva at the top of the Eden Roc hotel. The open-air dining room looked straight down over the harbour and invited some of the same cooling winds we’d found an hour earlier in Nocelle.
Our prix fixé menu was delicious. Buffalo mozzarella salad, pasta with onion reduction, and seabass for Carol. An eggplant parmesan, gnocchi with mozzarella and tomatoes, and seabass for me. A bottle of local Aliseo Tramonti bianco hastened our recovery and rounded off our anniversary celebration. We finished just in time to catch the bus back to Amalfi and take a short nap before exploring the town a little further that night.
Provisioning
Opening early, the local traveling market situates itself at the end of Guilo’s dock and winds around the outside edge of the mole (breakwater). Finding fresh veg and a wide selection of local olives so near at hand was much more than we expected. So, we stocked up and settled our mooring bill with no idea how we’d get out of our slip. A charter boat packed with Dutchmen had pulled up while we hiked, leaving an even narrower gap to swing Aleta out of than when she came in. Rather than bother with the motor, Giulio’s practical solution was to manually back out by taking advantage of the still and therefore frictionless water. Once pointed in the right direction it was a simple matter of passing through the eye of a needle and we were free.
As Amalfi faded, we reflected on our 48-hour lightning visit. It was long enough. With a good hike, a good meal and a couple of nerve-wracking bus rides behind us, we had covered as much of the place as we wanted to. Attractive though it is, we agreed we don’t much like crowds. With that we settled down for a long overnight crossing to the Aeolian islands.
Glad you got to do a lot in a short time.
It’s not the length, but what you do with it. Time I mean!