The Amalfi Coast: Maritime Power, Pirate’s Pick and now Tourist’s Paradise
Friends in Vancouver had told me that communication would not be a problem in Italy – we would always find people who spoke English. Obviously, none of these well meaning friends have been to Salerno. To be more precise, its train stazione. At 4 in the morning.
When the overnight train from Florence dropped us it was still dark. No one I spoke with had the faintest idea what a “ferry terminal” is and my little Italian phrase book was of no help either. So after being directed to a hotel, a taxi stand and bus stop (in that order) by polite people trying to help, quite by accident we found ourselves on the water front.
Dawn’s early light saw us sitting on a bench with the first boat to Positano still 3 hours away. Plenty of time to see a sleepy town come to life and compose some observations for this blog while munching on an apple I found in my backpack. Dragana if you are reading this, it is the same apple I was carrying around for you in Bologna. Perfectly edible after all these days.
The history of this region is quite interesting. On the Mediterranean coast, Salerno is a little east of Amalfi. A thousand years ago, the Republic of Amalfi was a maritime power in the same league as Venice. In fact it laid down the maritime law that was accepted as code of conduct in the Mediterranean. I believe Salerno was an integral part of that republic.
Around the 13th century Amalfi became the favourite hunting ground for Saracen (Turkish) pirates. This must have necessitated the construction of fortifications and observation posts. The ruins of these can still be seen along the coast line, sailing towards Amalfi itself and then on to our destination – Positano. The incessant pirate raids eventually led to Amalfi’s downfall. The Salerno waterfront today consists of a line of hotels and a large marina.
I have not been able to research this but I wonder of the former rulers of the Amalfi republic were Spaniards. After all Spain did rule southern Italy until 1860. I say this because there seems to be no lingering allergy to the word Saracen. During our exploration of the coast we saw at least 2 restaurants that incorporated the term in their name. Wonder if it could have something to do with the concept that “my enemy`s enemy is my friend“.
As we waited for the ferry we periodically saw people going past us with towels and beach gear. We were a little puzzled as there was no beach in sight. The little ferry wharf is on the leeward side of an artificial reef that has been created by piling up large boulders. It was only on setting off in the ferry did we realize that all of them were swimming and sun bathing on the very same rocks. It all looked quite slippery and precarious especially since without exception, they were all on the wrong side of eighty!
Sailing along the coast we saw a bunch of homes perched atop a cave. (Photo attached) Wonder what our municipal guys would have to say to that development permit request.
Approaching Positano by sea, I quickly realized that it has two types of tourists. There are these huge yachts anchored off shore with sailors in smart, white uniforms transporting their masters to shore in their personal speed boats. And then there is us. The socialist in me cannot help but grin at the thought that the modern aristocrat and I are both enjoying the same view – and I am doing so at a fraction of the cost.
Positano is not paradise but it comes pretty darn close. Thank you Karen Ford for suggesting this place to us and also recommending the little pensione. The entire town sits perched on a cliff side. There is one road that loops around a part of the town and also provides a road link to the outside world. Traffic moves one way only so if you miss your destination, which is very easy, you have to go all the way around and come back. Mini buses, cars, small transporters, motorbikes and scooters hurtle through down those hairpin bends without putting undue strain on the brake pads. Pedestrians have to walk in a single file. Nobody seems to mind. The rest of the “streets” are narrow alley ways, the steepness of which is occasionally interrupted by even steeper flights of stairs.
Everyone knows everybody else. The lady at the tourist office knew our pensione owner, Carlo. Carlo’s sister runs the best seafood restaurant in town. Her son is a good friend of the only gas station guy who parks cars for the little car rental place which only rents out Smartcars.
Seen from any angle the town looks like a picture postcard. Canopies of flowers cover parts of the “streets” from the blazing heat of the sun. The region is famous for its lemons and some of these grow larger than our naval oranges. There is a small, crowded beach and the ratio of shops and restaurants per tourist looks like about 10:1. Shops that are not in the microscopic bikini trade sell ceramics. There was also one cobbler/shoe shop guy who had a pile of soles on one side and a bigger pile of uppers on the other. Women could pick the upper of their choice, he measured them for a perfect fit and while they waited he put the pairs of sandals together. He would not let me take a photograph. Probably thought I might steal his brilliant idea and set up a franchise chain.
