Buon Giorno again!In the event you are unaware, I am leading four other intrepid backpackers on a hike from Amalfi to Sorrento over a seven-day period. On four of the mornings we hike up into the mountains with all our belongings (about 15 kg each) neatly stuffed into our backpacks, climbing rather steep mountains to an elevation of approximately 600 metres, then hiking parallel to the sea for about 10 km on paths that have evidently been employed for hundreds of years as supply routes until the arrival of the automobile 60 years ago. We then descend to the next seaside village and check in to the next hotel. On the other three mornings, when we spend two back-to-back nights in the same village, we have the opportunity to chart a hike higher up and further away, carrying only a lighter day pack, eventually looping back to our starting point.From beginning to end we will have trekked over 100 km, with a total elevation gain of about 7,000 metres. If you see me soon after my return and I am limping, there will be no need to ask why!As I was recounting recently, we had arrived at 1,040 metres elevation to find a large, abandoned monastery. A dense, cool fog had mysteriously rolled in (again) making it difficult to see and it began to feel like dusk even though it was barely 3:30pm. Locating the other trail which would take us down to Ravello was thus proving challenging when out from behind a small outdoor alter set high on a rock outcrop, there most suddenly and surprisingly appeared a skinny, Italian pilgrim with long dreadlocks, wearing a tattered friar's outfit. Until this moment, we hadn't seen another human since refilling our water bottles at the town fountain in Perogela. He reminded me of all the modern day portraits of Jesus Christ so his unscripted entrance in the monastery's vicinity seemed somehow fitting. He confirmed our choice of trails in broken English by reminding us to simply "go down, down" and then he quickly disappeared into the mist as if he were never there. Very strange.Did I mention that the views from high up are breathtaking? Foggy periods excepted, every time a path takes a new twist or turn, a different vista is laid out before us: mountain sides fall away revealing small villages perched below on their faces, beyond which lie other villages further down one slope or another. Below those will appear a seaside village with improbable names like Minori and Maiori, with the shimmering Mediterranean sea lapping at its beaches or smashing into its cliffs. It is quite impossible to tire from the various views of the lemon groves and goat farms, the villages to which they belong, the sea always generous with its deep blue temptations, beckoning to us in the distance.The hike downhill requires less effort normally, however we noticed that the clouds had become more ominous, the air was getting heavy again and we quickened our pace. We arrived in Ravello in no time and stopped in, famished, at the first restaurant that we stumbled upon. In just a few seconds it started raining and then only moments later the skies were booming with thunder as the rain intensified into a downpour fit for a jungle. It was our first of seven all-day hikes and the second of many lucky turns of events (remember the friar way above). The gods were looking out for us indeed!Here's hoping that the gods are on your side, too!Barry of AmalfiPS. Before I let you get back to your everyday musings, I will share one additional good luck story. Upon arriving in Sorrento, we learned that the owner of the hotel, Biaggio, was a "world-reknown" chef and was in fact giving cooking classes daily at 4pm. People come from all over Italy and indeed from the world over to take a week or two of Italian cooking lessons. This is how I find myself, hands-on, preparing spinach gnocchi in pesto sauce from scratch, fried anchovies, eggplant parmesan and a chocolate dessert, too. The kicker is that the entire four-course meal is served to all the hotel guests who choose to stay for dinner. A long table is dressed on the hotel's front terrasse under the warm deep blue skies at dusk and 14 guests, Swedes, Germans, Americans and Canadians, are treated to the meal that I and two others have just prepared, under the watchful eye of Biaggio. Italia rocks!
The day began as any other: by 7am, the Mediterranean songbirds' sweet melodies dance through the open windows and tango with my sleepy sub-conscience. At 7:20am, my phone alarm continued the process with a more startling melody, that is to say, I was now awake. One should really sleep later on holiday, how else to distinguish between it and the rest of the year? However this day would prove to be a long one. And getting an early start was well advised. We loaded up on breakfast, the cool Mediterranean Sea and brilliant sun our witnesses, and then headed out, our bodies laden with backpacks.
It was a humid morning, a telltale of what lay ahead. Even walking downhill the 3 km to Amalfi town rendered us all with a thin coating of hot, slick perspiration.
The center of Amalfi is a spider's web of cobblestone streets and alleys, all seemingly too narrow for cars, but it doesn't stop the smaller ones from squeezing through anyhow. Between them and the many scooters, pedestrians seem to be considered fair game: pay attention to the cacophony of beeps and horns or risk becoming a casualty. The maze of laneways is lined with tchotchkas stores, cafes, homemade gelato and chocolate shops, and restaurants each with its own terrasse. Unlike some other quieter tourist destinations, there are thousands of people jammed together here, each competing with the other for any given merchant's attention. Even the tiny fruit store had a queue of people waiting to be served. On top of that, we hear languages being spoken from all nationalities and with exception of the Americans, everybody is doing his or her best to speak in broken Italian. In the pastry shops even the least expensive offering is exquisitely presented, the tasty delicacies artistically stacked on top of each other behind glass counters. In the ice cream shops the gelati are displayed with such delectable care it is nearly impossible to choose just one flavour. My mouth waters in anticipation just by their presentation. My "go to" preference is always banana but it was the cherry 'amerena' that chose me today and it became my first gelato in Italy (this year). The richness of the flavour coupled with the creamy cool sensation on my tongue as I savoured the refreshment got me hooked (again). I now expect to be enjoying one each day.
Most of the hikes that start in Amalfi require you to walk through Amalfi town, north from the beach. After passing through the crowded shopping zone, we turned left into the most narrow alley and started climbing steps. I cannot remember being warned about this but we climbed several thousand ancient, broken stone steps without pause, through multiple lemon groves where lemons are the size of a small cantaloupe, until we reached the next town uphill, Pogerola. After a refreshing drink from the public fountain in the town square (why don't we have these at home?), we soldiered on.
The routes are not well marked at all so finding the way out of town required a small amount of guesswork, a mixture of advice from the townsfolk and a large dose of luck. We had planned carefully, each of us had a change of dry clothes, rain gear, food, water, extra water, a whistle, a map and a personal med kit, all just in case. Our day packs were loaded up. So you can imagine my shock when we met a solo 'hiker' wearing only beach tongs on his feet! He was 50 or 60 pounds overweight and carried only some water, no other provisions. He was waiting for us, or for anybody to appear, at an intersection, asking us from where we had come. Only then would he know whether he should choose the left or the right or return whence he came. The joke on us was that we continued throughout our week to meet hikers/walkers who appeared to be out for a stroll on the boardwalk, wearing sandals or beach shoes, even encountering an elderly couple high up on The Path of The Gods, the woman using a cane.
We continued hiking uphill, passing a herd of goats, shepherded by a big, protective dog who escorted us out of his zone of control. At this point we entered a rainforest with thousands of ferns covering the steep slopes which we were traversing. An eerie fog soon descended on us which shortly became rain and then a downpour and suddenly we could not see more than a few metres in any direction! Only one thing to do: find the thickest foliage and eat a well-deserved packed lunch under its protective cover!
This trail was not one that I had planned but it was too interesting for us to consider retreating. It became steeper, rockier and cooler as we ascended past 1,000 metres in elevation. When we reached the summit we arrived at an abandoned monastery straight out of medieval times: a wood burning stove in the kitchen, fraternal sleeping quarters upstairs, bunk beds intact and petrified wooden picnic tables outside arranged by a fire pit, recently used it would seem. After a break for some fruit and water we started down another trail which turned out to be a series of thousands of ancient, worn and broken stone steps.
Part II will follow next week....
Barry di Amalfi
