Catch up on KA’s honeymoon here…
The morning after our Ravello adventure we set out for an overnight jaunt to Sorrento, Pompeii, and Herculaneum by way of Positano. We took a ferry from Amalfi to Positano, and quite expectedly, it was a much better way to travel than the perils of the SITA bus.
It’s difficult to find what to say about Positano. After all, this is the village that charmed even a writer like Steinbeck into a bona fide romantic. And it was Positano that drew me back to the Amalfi Coast, with a memory of bougainvillea and lemon tree shrouded villas clinging to the cliffside–a place my seventeen year-old self thought was the most romantic in the world.
But I am embarrassed to say I more or less forgot about all that during our afternoon there. Funnily enough, that magical moment had occurred on the long walk into town from the tour bus parking lot, and this time, arriving by boat–while preferable to arriving by bus–I was waylaid by the busy marina, and intent on responsibly checking when the last ferry would leave for Sorrento, and then heading out of the insanity to an almost-as-magical seaside pizza feast at Lo Guarracino.
After stuffing ourselves with whole pizzas–oops–our whirlwind visit continued with digesting on the calm, half-empty, spiaggia del fornillo and debating if there was a corner I could hide in to sneak into my bathing suit.
Once we thought we could walk again, we decided to exit the beach the back way–as in straight up the hillside, where we quickly discovered that Positano was even more physically challenging than Amalfi, Atrani or Ravello. But it was in these intensely vertical side streets we wandered above spiaggia del fornillo that I saw glimpses of that lost romance of Positano, far removed from the hordes of tourists cramming the labyrinth of pricey souvenir shops in the center of town.
And, you know, the Missoni store.
After winding our way back down to the waterfront via a gelato, we learned that what we had thought was the last ferry just didn’t run that day, and the actual last ferry had already left. Oh, right. Italy. So we hiked back up to the bus stop, hunted down a bar selling bus biglietti and settled in to wait a half hour at an intersection that combined the Positano views I first fell in love with and riveting almost-traffic-accidents. It wasn’t a drink at Le Sirenuse, but I’ll save that one for next time.