Sorrento, Capri and the Amalfi Coast

Shells for sale in the Amalfi market.

"Torna a Sorrento", I could almost hear Dean Martin or Pavarotti or Meatloaf singing as the crowded commuter train sped toward the coast. Yes, we were on our way to Sorrento. We had changed trains in Naples. Since there was a huge rush hour crowd, we had to wait for a second train.   (They run about every half hour.) We were stuffed in the coaches almost as tight as a Tokyo subway. The old train with gaudy graffiti screeched and rattled over the tracks at seemingly breakneck speed. There were other travelers like us on the train.  A young English mom tried to shield her young daughter's eyes from a lesbian couple very much into each other. Chinese tourists were huddled together.  The beggar

played an accordion with a cup and a picture of an invalid child attached to the instrument. The train rattled on stopping frequently. We weren't concerned about missing our stop... Sorrento was at the end of the line.

It was dark when we reached our destination.  We inadvertently took a wrong turn after exiting the train, but a friendly Italian came to our rescue. She said the she had seen us walk by her shop several times and thought maybe we needed her help. She was quite perceptive. Casa Astarita was about ten blocks from the train station and not easy to find.  Eventually we found Corsa Italia, the broad avenue on which our bed and breakfast was located.  In the middle of what appeared to be a stone wall about twenty feet wide were two weathered heavy oak doors.  There was a small sign indicating the name of the bed and breakfast, Casa Astarita, on the right side of the doors. One door was open.  Inside were some motorscooters and a bicycle. At the rear of the covered area was a stairway to the upper levels. Our host met us and led us as the stairway traversed across the rear past three landings before reaching the entrance to the bed and breakfast. There was a beautiful grotto on one of the landings. There was no doubt that Italy is a Catholic country. Our lodgings were on the top floor. There was a nice common area beside the breakfast room near our bedroom. I think there were only three guest rooms. Our room was big with a queen size bed.  Quickly we unpacked toiletries and hung some clothes in the wardrobe. We were hungry and were in desperate need  of food. Back on the street we noticed that we were only a few feet from The English Pub. Decidedly, it was a good time for fish and chips. This was to be the worst meal we had in Italy. The fish was greasy, and the chips were soggy. Ugh! The only good thing was that we met some nice folks from Canada who were familiar with our fair city of Charleston. A bit of window shopping and it was time to hit the sack.

Great breakfast. There was a large selection of fruit, pastries, meats, and cheeses as well as a variety of jellies and preserves. Juice and everybody's favorite, cappuccino, we available too.
Claudette enjoyed one of her favorites, croissants with Nutella. We met the other house guests. There was a French family, Luc Buchard, Marie, and their two boys. It was interesting to talk with them. They were completely unlike the French we met at the bed and breakfast in Cody, Wyoming, who only spoke among themselves in French but spoke with the host in English.  Luc and his family told us of their home near Paris and about the boys' school work. According to Marie, French students must decide if they wish to learn English or German for a second language. The boys enjoyed practicing their English skills. The Canadians we had met at The English Pub were house guests as well. With some table guests it's sometimes difficult to leave breakfasst. We discussed our destinations for the day.  The Buchard family was going to Capri while the Canadians and my wife and I were going to Pompeii. Breakfasts like this are representative of what we like about bed and breakfasts.

Since I have written about Pompeii in another post I will not dwell on it here. I will say that it was very interesting and well worth the effort to see the ruins of the ancient city.

We returned to Sorrento fro Pompeii exhausted and hungry. Inn Bufalito satisfied our hunger with traditional cuisine of the Campania Region.  This restaurant had been recommended by our guide book and lived up to its accolades. After a gelato from a small store on Vico I Fuoro we were ready for bed.

Tuesday morning did not come early for us.  After another great breakfast we had to catch up on email. I had some drawings to complete, and Claudette had to update her journal. Slowly we walked past the church and many shops across Piazza Tasso to the bus station. We were taking the bus to Amalfi. This town is on the coast and the scenic highway follows the coastline. There was a man at a folding table in front of the bus station selling tickets. After purchasing our tickets we climbed aboard the shiny new forty-five foot bus. When we had seemed to have waited forever and a day the bus was full. The driver climbed aboard, took his seat and we began our trip. The bus soon escaped the confines of the city, and drove across the peninsula from the Bay of Naples and  began to follow the coastline to the Bay of Salerno. Much of the road (SS163) which follows alongside the mountains joining the sea. Along the way are small plots of land being farmed and many citrus orchards.

The road to Amafli.

Along the two lane road there are many switchbacks. Two busses cannot meet on this part of the road; one must yield. We also stopped occasionally to pick up passengers. It was a very harrowing trip as we passed through small villages, seemingly miraculously attached to near vertical mountains. It is an exciting trip which reminded me of the road to Hana on the island of Maui. But in Italy I did not see rocks falling several hundred feet into the sea as we dislodged them in passing.  Upon reaching Amalfi the bus stopped, and we all exited. There were cafes and shops to relieve the weary tourist of his euros and a great overlook of the Bay of Salerno. The return to Sorrento was by the same route with the same stunning vistas. It is a very interesting and exciting twenty miles.

Upon our return to Sorrento we got a quick bite to eat and visited a grocery store.  It has been our practice to shop in a grocery in every country we've visited.  These grocery stores represent the local culture.  This is where regular people buy their food and we find it quite an adventure to shop for food. The butcher was quick to pick-up on the fact that we wanted sausages and cheese. He sliced them the way we wanted. After getting meat and cheese we wanted some fruit. There were apples, oranges, lemons, and other fruits in baskets on a table with a scale. But where was the price? I noticed that each basket had a different number.  I knew that everything is sold by the kilo, and I had to weigh everything. (a kilogram is about two pounds.) When I placed two apples on the scale I saw that if I put the basket number in the keypad a ticket was printed out with the price of my apples. It had a sticky back so it stuck to the the plastic bag with the apples inside. Pretty cool! After finding some bread we checked out.

At breakfast Wednesday morning we found out from one of the breakfast guests that we could catch the boat to Capri behind Piazza Tasso. There was an open gate through which we walked

Stairway to the street.

onto a small landing at street level. Stairways zig-zagged vertically to the street a hundred feet below leading to the boat landing. Of course we had to wait about one half hour for the boat then went on a fast boat ride to the island of Capri. Vendors plied their trades up and down the aisles on the boat. We were approached by an older Italian man announcing, "I'ma Luigi.  I giva you a tour of the island.  Only twenty euros!" We exchanged glances and coughed up the forty euros. Luigi looked like he had been a boxer in his youth, still well muscled after some seven plus decades. There were deep set very dark eyes under bushy white eyebrows which matched his wavy white hair. His mouth had a perpetual smile and you could get a glimpse of his pearly whites. He quickly took our money and stuck a small round blue sticker on our shirts. "I see you ona the dock," he said as he adjusted the knot in the sleeves of the sweater around his neck as he walked away. I'm sure I heard a collective sigh from every blue-haired lady tourist on the boat. But Claudette and I  looked at each other questioning if we had just been hoodwinked.

The boat docked at Capri, which is the name of one of the cities on the island. The harbor was picture perfect.  There were colorful fishing boats bobbing in the beautiful blue water which had a

Harbor at Capri.

sparkle from the brilliant Mediterranean sun. And sure enough, Luigi was there scurrying around like a mother hen gathering up her chicks.  He found us with round blue stickers and led us to a minibus. There were about twenty of us aboard. As it began to move Luigi announced that we were his means of his livelihood and that he was grateful for our joining him on this tour of his home.

The little bus slowly moved up the mountains as Luigi described the landscape we passed. There were vineyards, orchards, and small farms.  The soil appeared to be very rocky. All tilled soil as well as untilled land was sloping. I don't believe there was a flat place on the island. After many switchbacks of the mountain road we reached Anacapri, the other city on the island. It is obviously a tourist destination with all the shops that beckon tourists.  Luigi led us to one such shop to sample lemoncello and chocolate. The former is a lemon liqueur indigenous to the southwestern coast of Italy. Purist say that it can only be made from a particular variety of lemons grown in that area. Basically it is lemon zest or peel without pith steeped in grain alcohol and mixed with a simple syrup. Each producer has their own recipe. It resembles liquid fire when swallowed. However, taking a bite of chocolate with it produces a divine sensation that I'm afraid cannot be adequately described with the English language.  After this even Luigi led us to the chairlift which at its zenith would provide one with an unprecedented panoramic view of the island. But not this one. I have a strong preference to keep my feet firmly planted on terra firma.  Claudette and I strode about a bit and enjoyed the views of Capri far below. We had a cappuccino under an olive tree at a small piazza and enjoyed people watching. On the way back

A street in Anacapri.

Sampling lemoncello.

we stopped by the main shopping district for the shoppers in our group. On the way down the mountains to the marina to catch the boat back to Sorrento Luigi burst into song.  His rich baritone voice filled the small bus with "Arrivederci Capri" as he substituted Capri for Roma in the famous song. And the aforementioned blue-haired tourists ladies swooned.

It was an uneventful trip back to Sorrento  and after window shopping a bit we had a quiet dinner at Parrucchiano near our lodgings.  The food and service was excellent.  I had wanted to eat some polenta while in Italy and had not found it on the menu until Sorrento.  I had fried polenta as a side dish. It was great very similar to fried grits in the southern United States. This restaurant was unusual as well. It would have probably served two hundred people. Upstairs we were surrounded by a garden which must have been on the rooftops. Such a great way to finish off our delightful stay on the Italian coast. The next day would find us on a train bound for Rome.  I would be explaining to an Englishman that the biscuits and gravy referred to by a man from Montana did not include the kind of biscuits he was familiar with in England.

Capri from above.

Siena

The train from Florence stopped in Siena a little while after lunchtime. On the street side of the railroad station were taxi cabs. We picked the nearest one, a small Citroen. The driver seemed to be asleep, but a rap on the window elicited signs of life. We asked if he was for hire, and he answered that he was. After we gave him the address, he just stood there. When  Claudette began to put her bag inside the cab he got quite upset at her action saying that he was supposed to do that. Our drive to the Alle Due Porte bed and breakfast was brisk. Like most of cities in Tuscany, Siena is in the hills. Our lodging was at the top of a narrow street. Many streets in Italy don't have sidewalks. There is a good reason for that; there is no space for sidewalks. There was just enough space to get the bags from the back of the cab to the Alle Due Porte entrance. The entry was locked, although the owner had assured us he would be there. What to do now? Since we could not get into our room, lunch seemed a good idea since we had had none.

Down the hill from our lodgings was a nice little restaurant.  We were tired and were carrying our bags, but the smile of a friendly waitress was very welcome and made us feel a bit better. I had the bread soup. It was delicious peasant fare. Sometimes the Italians can do magic with food. A glass of house wine helped digestion. Great lunch. After our meal it was a few hundred yards back up the  hill to the bed and breakfast. The owner had now made an appearance, and he  took care of checking us in and showing us to our room. It was a nice room with a queen size bed and a nice view of the street below. There were hand hewn beams overhead, and I'm certain it was a medieval building. Outside our door was a colorful breakfast area.

We wanted to see main piazza, Piazza del Campo, which according to the travel writer, Rick Steves, is called the best in all of Italy.  I entered the name of the piazza into the navigation app of my cellphone. Walking directions appeared instantly on the screen, and we were off. It was a short walk.  Downhill, of course. We passed a number of shops on the way as automobiles, trucks, and scooters sped by. I think that Italian vehicles operate only at full throttle or stopped.  One of the shops we passed was a shop selling "horror" memorabilia.  I am not a fan of that genre of film, but it was an interesting shop particularly the cage with the partially decomposed corpse. A quick walk through a shadowy alley and we were on the piazza.

Piazza del Campo is shaped like a huge sea shell.  The perimeter was filled with shops for two thirds of the way and the balance with government buildings and a clock tower. We began to walk across the piazza, which was about a quarter mile. There were quite a few people walking about and reclining on the piazza. It was rather interesting to see people lying on the inclined stone surface. Siena was founded around 900 B.C. Legend has it that the city was actually founded by a son of Remus, one of the wolf-suckled infants that founded Rome. I sat and did a few sketches, while Claudette sought the nearest gelato stand. We walked along enjoying our gelato and watching the people enjoying the afternoon. Near the center of the top of the piazza is an ornate rectangular fountain, Fonte Gaia. (The "Happy Fountain" was constructed in 1414-19.) Three sides of the Fonte Gaia have bas-relief carvings depicting Christian and secular iconography. The bubbling water made such a comforting sound and a drinking fountain for numerous pigeons. The three and four-year-olds provided great entertainment in their vain efforts to capture the numerous rats of the air. There were children chasing pigeons. Children chasing dogs. Children chasing children. Mommies chasing children. Just like in the park at home. As we walked the perimeter of the Palio di Siena you could almost hear the echo of hoofbeats. Races are held twice a year, and the riders of the ten horses ride bareback around the Campo three times in about three minutes. These events fill the Piazza del Campo with thousands of cheering fans.

As we continued our walk around the piazza people watching, the sound  of the ubiquitous accordion drifted through the garlic tinged air. Cooking was taking place in the nearby eateries.We left the piazza and slowly walked up Via Stalloreggi toward our bed and breakfast as night approached. 

Along the way we saw a woman enjoying a sandwich with a glass of wine in front of a butcher shop.  "Wouldn't it be nice to pick up some picnic goodies?" Claudette asked.

"Why not," I answered as we entered the shop.

Like most shops it was small and very crowded. It has been our custom to do some "picnicing" in our travels. Not only does it cut the costs of meals, but a restaurant is not necessary. We had also had a late lunch and weren't planning on a big dinner. There were quite a few customers in the shop, so we had to wait for service. The rotund butcher was very busy. There seemed to be a great selection of cheeses and sausages.  Prosciutto is the Italian version of cured ham. The Spaniards have jamon and we Americans have simply cured ham.  All use salt as the primary desiccant, or the method for removing moisture from the meat. One of the major differences in the curing process is that American cured hams are not washed after a few months in salt.  The Spaniards maintain that jamon comes from free range acorn-fed hogs of a certain breed.  The Italian and Spanish hams are extremely delicious and served uncooked. American salt cured hams should be cooked. Both Italian and Spanish hams are cut, i. e. sliced, with the grain, while the American hams are cut across the grain. Meat sliced across the grain is easier to chew. There was such a variety of  food in the shop that I could not resist the impulse to record an image for posterity's sake. However, before my cellphone could capture the image I heard,

"No photo! No photo!" in heavily accented English. It was the butcher from behind the counter, as he pointed to a small sign with an image of a camera with a diagonal line through it. And, he was pointing at it with an extremely sharp looking carving knife!  I obliged and asked why. To the best of my understanding, (My Italian leaves a lot to be desired.) my taking photographs was the equivalent of stealing trade secrets. Finally, it was our turn at the counter to select our purchases. As we were looking at the various meats and cheeses there was a crash from the outside of the shop. It seemed that the woman we had seen eating outside the shop had dropped her wineglass, and it had shattered on the stone pavement. She came into the shop holding only the stem of the glass mumbling what sounded like an apology in Italian. We decided that she had probably had too much wine by the way she navigated her way through the crowded shop. I fully expected an explosion of Italian from the butcher, but he merely shrugged. My wife and I finally decided on some sausage and two varieties of cheese before leaving the shop.

The next morning we were up early. As usual we had packed the night before and were waiting when breakfast was served. Breakfast was an hour later than we expected, but we found out later that there had been a time change, like the American Daylight Saving Time, and we had not reset out timepieces. Breakfast was great; one of the best, if not the best we had while in Italy. After breakfast our host called a cab for us, and we were on our way.