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Article written by Carmen Wise, Photos by Mike Wise, originally published in Gira! Scope online magazine.
We arrived in Sorrento, Italy, the first week in June of 2000. Our first day there we enjoyed the romantic aura of the Isle of Capri, to which we traveled by boat. The second day, the Circumvenusiana which is the local train, dropped us off at the glorious ruins of Pompeii. We hoped that on our third day we would tackle the circuitous and precipitous road along the Amalfi Coastline.
"Come on, Love," he pleaded. "Lots of fresh air. We can stop anywhere anytime we want. They're so easy to park and what a great view, all the way!"
The Amalfi Coast highway, carved into rocky cliffs, is one of the most scenic and dangerous drives on earth. Towns and settlements flourish hundreds of feet above or below the highway. Although I did not visit a family dwelling, I am convinced that anyone living along this coast must have to walk several stories just to go to the bathroom! The sheer verticality of the countryside around us bewildered us. It was impossible! Houses could not perch this way. People could not walk up and down such heights in the daily course of their lives. The awesome landscape, sheer cliffs shattering down for thousands of feet to the grand ocean at their base, diminished us into tiny entities. The Sea itself, so far below us, so tempting and seductive, was distant and unreal, untouchable, like a magnificent backdrop, a painting by a great Italian master in which we were but a barely detectable brush stroke. Out in the air on our Scooter, we felt exposed, vulnerable, yet able to enjoy sights and sounds, like the wind whooshing around us, in a direct way that we would never experience in a bus or a car. As awe-struck as we were by the brilliant heart-rending beauty around us, our Scooter enabled us to become part of the grand scheme of this incredible moveable feast that is the Amalfi Coast. It was a near perfect day. The blue of the sky reflected the scintillating azure of the Mediterranean Sea. Fresh, salty, salubrious air whipped our faces and hands. Our first stop was the exquisite Emerald Grotto. We parked in a little corner of the tiny parking lot and rode an elevator that shot us down some seven stories to the sea. A rowboat took us to the Grotto where we transferred to a wide flat boat inside the cave. Unlike the Blue Grotto on the Isle of Capri, this Grotto was near empty and the pool blissfully calm.
The water glowed with green translucence beneath us. Natural light streaming through an opening to the ocean reflected on the brownish particles of sand to create the emerald colour. Our Guide added to the mysterious enchantment of our silent ride by lifting his paddles and letting the water stream and drip as thousands of sparkling green-tinted stars. It must have been an optical illusion but a truly mystical one.
Pasqui, Sole della misa vita, luce della mia ombra, stella de la mia notte! I sighed. Dreamily. Young love... Well the old lovers needed to get going so off we went to our next stop on a bridge overlooking a chasm, where low and behold, below us lay a tiny fishing village. Other than the inlet of water, access to this collection of houses appeared to be by thousands of stone steps leading down from the highway to the sea. Surely the people in this little place didn't have to walk up those steps to get to their local grocery store. They must use boats for all their errands, we agreed. It amazes us how people accommodate to what appear to be geographic impossibilities. We next pulled into the outskirts of Positano, found a garage to park in, and walked the rest of the way into town which was, of course, straight down. Positano was a lovely town with a main street, for pedestrians only, that wound its way down to the ocean. Colorful one-designer boutiques and shoe stores lined the way. I couldn't help myself. I sent hubby ahead while I tried on at least a half-dozen dresses in six different stores. Each item was uniquely designed, in brilliant colors, cut and sewn of fine fabrics ranging from soft cottons to yards of silky opulence texture. In the end I just couldn't decide. I met Mike in a lovely outdoor restaurant and we feasted on a lunch of shrimp, crab, and only a little wine. We still had a long way to go. It was, by the way, a long walk up hill back to our scooter.
Our main interest was the striking Moorish Cathedral of Amalfi, currently being restored. It contained treasures and sacred relics, paintings and sculptures dating back to the twelfth century. After a cappuccino, serenaded by cute little mutt who stared at us from between the rungs of a balcony, we bid arrivederce and hopped back on our preferred mode of transportation. We continued toward what would be our final destination, the exquisite town of Ravello. Here I must pause as I savor the memories of this precious jewel of a place. It was a walk through an Italian version of a Hans Christian Andersen fairy tale. Ancient buildings, cobblestone streets, charming stone walls, yes these are everywhere in Italy, but even more beautifully packaged and adorned in Ravello.
It was only a drive of 40 kilometers but we had left at 8:00 and didn't get home until 6:00 p.m. That's how slow it is driving over the convoluted Amalfi Coastline Highway. Yet it was an easy day of touristing. We hopped on and off as we pleased. We enjoyed several cappucino stops. We had leisurely walks up and down the streets of picturesque towns and along the beaches. We saw great treasures of art, perfectly groomed gardens, grand estates, met friendly folk, and came home safe and sound and filled with memories that will last a lifetime. We couldn't help but feel a bit smug, however. Especially as we wove our way around the huge cumbersome tour buses that creaked and groaned around the bends of the road. Or as we flew in and out our stops and parking spots along the towns and attractions. And it was great fun to wave to friendly folk along the way as we sped along from place to place. It was so easy! Somehow all the sights and sounds were much more up close and personal than they would have been on a bus or even by car. Driving along the Amalfi Coastline by Vespa Scooter is the only way to travel. |
It occurred to my husband, who had not touched a motorcycle in decades, that we should "do" the Amalfi Coast by Vespa Scooter. I felt some trepidation. From the moment we arrived in Italy I had noticed beautiful girls riding scooters everywhere, dressed en haute couture, zooming through busy traffic with their long dark tresses trailing behind them. I admired them with a mixture of wonder and envy. What style, what energy. Only for the young, I thought to myself.
He seemed confident of his motorcycle riding skills and put forth such a convincing argument that I nodded yes. After all, I'm only 54. When if not now!First thing in the morning, sporting snazzy helmets, we hopped on our sprightly scooter, just big enough for the two of us, and zipped into the first of the hundreds of curves that lay ahead.
Only one other couple stepped into the boat with us. The tour guide paddled gently around the cavern, fascinating with its naturally carved walls. Fishermen had placed saintly and sacred figurines in many of these niches, and there was even a heavenly-looking Nativity Scene in a large space under the water. It was so clear that we could see the smile on Mary's face and the dimples on Jesus' chubby hands.
Back up we went, onto our little scooter. We meandered around many more curves before stopping at a particularly scenic lookout. I hopped off the bike to sit upon an inviting stone bench, perched precariously near the edge. Someone had scrawled a message on its seat:
The grand city of Amalfi was our next stop and here we discovered a parking lot just for scooters. We walked through the city gates onto a picturesque street bordered by sidewalk cafes, art galleries, and gift shops.
The main square overlooked the Mediterranean Sea, a backdrop to the lovely town. Indeed as we wandered through the gardens of Villa Ruffolo, we noticed the construction of platform built to jut out over the ocean, several hundred feet below. One of the workers explained that every year in July, a Wagner Festival was held in these gardens and an orchestra full of musicians perched themselves on this specially constructed stage with the Mediterranean at their feet. As a musician, this awed me. I sat there and just imagined it all taking place that very moment. I could indeed hear the Flight of the Valkyrie sweeping out over Ravello and beyond.
Music is the heart and soul of Ravello. Chamber music concerts perform year round. Indeed that very day, one of the gardens was being set up as an informal theatre for a string quartet performance to take place that evening. We seriously contemplated staying overnight so we could enjoy the concert but decided to head back. It was starting to cloud over. We had to catch an early train to Florence. As we rode back down from the charming Ravello, I looked back. I would return.
We stopped at only one place on the way back as we were anxious not to be caught on the highway after dark. This was at a wonderful ceramic factory, a show room of magnificent vases, plates, tables, and many other pieces of artistic as well as practical value. Another middle-aged couple was there. They had arrived in a little rented car. They saw us put our helmets on and get ready to hop on the bike again. The woman squealed," Now, that's the way to go! I am so jealous!" We waved at them as we roared off down the road back to Sorrento.