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Down South to the Amalfi Coast
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If our host Antanacio looked mildly zany upon arrival at the hostel, then he appeared nothing short of maniacally dishevilled when i wished him 'Buongiorno' this morning, as his 48 hour shift neared it's timely close. I'm continually impressed with the calibre of youth hostels on our trip to date, the Bella Capri another fine example of cheap, no hassle accomodation with friendly (if not wired) staff. We threw down another complimentary breakfast with our mum/daughter mates Matilda and Ada, before strapping on the luggage, bidding our farewells, and bussing 3 hours down south to the Amalfi Coast. Listening to 'Dub Side of the Moon' on my Ipod, i took in another view of Mt. Vesuvius cutting a sharp figure in the distance, as layers of cumulous cloud sat appropriately around the tip of the volcano, like a mock replication of a Vesuvian-style pyroclastic burst.
After our experiences at Ischia yesterday, i was not expecting too much from the beaches of the Amalfi coast. Thankfully, our expectations were blow right out of the water.
Now, i've always thought it would be a tough gig to be a bus driver, especially the type of bus that transports stinky high school children from stop to stop each summer afternoon. But i must take my hat off to Italian bus drivers, who, i've no doubt must must retire en masse 15 years early due to conditions relating to chronic traffic stress. Our bus brimming with high-pant-wearing British tourists and grating fifty-plus yanks in white visors burned around hairpin bends along a road no wider than your average walkway, perched precariously on the edge of a seaside cliff. Upon approach to a blind corner, our bus driver would toot jovially in quick succession, a clear warning to the Vespa driver coming the other way that he just might have his block knocked right off if he wasn't too careful. The views along this road were nothing short of spectacular. A far-reaching blue sea that showed no signs of a horizon, rolling hills punctuating the hazy distance, and pastel painted terrace buildings cascading along mountain spurs and nooks. I have no idea how architecturally sound it must have appeared to these early Italian engineers to build entire villages on top of each other on the very edge of a seaside cliff, but if they hadn't, then this part of Italy would not have ended up looking anywhere near as breathtaking.
When the bus pulled into the centrepiece town of Amalfi, i knew we had struck gold. The sun shone in full force on this gorgeous Spring day, and the water of the beach was light blue and clear and crystal from our elevated vatage point - no Ischia murkiness, and thankfully, no German ski poles. We were greeted off the bus by a very tall blonde by the name of Kari, who invited us cordially to an establishment called 'Willys Pub', for maximum frivolity later in the evening. We figured that a place named 'Willys Pub' was probably not run by an Italian. We strolled around the bend to the nearby town of Atrani, Amalfi's little brother, a somewhat quieter town that brimmed with no less character than its larger sibling. We were greeted at the A'Scalinatella hostel by a very friendly bespectacled gent by the name of 'Fillippo', who dressed in a bright red sweater and exuded an uber-nerdy 'Tony Martin' vibe. The hostel was quaint and cosy, positioned perfectly near the main square and beach of Atrani, and a five minute walk from Amalfi. Ate lunch in the main square, served by the smoothest, most Italian-stallion looking bloke we'd ever come across, instantly dubbing him 'Cassanova'. Cassanova would work the room with skill and cool, taking orders, sitting down with the ladies, and distributing free massage, in an unusually unsleazy manner for an Italian. Cass gave us free shots of Limoncello to cap off the lunch - a yellow liqeuer made from fermented local lemons which are enormous and look like grapefruit. Its good for what ails ya.
After meeting up again with our Canadian mate Con, we chilled on the nearby beach and checked out the local bikini-clad talent. Drinking is very legal here in Italy, so the four of us took full advantage of this, knocking back chilled longnecks of Peroni in the afternoon sun, watching the world go by. For once i felt socially acceptable skulling booze in public, despite wearing a black 'wife-beater' singlet. We met four lovely ladies at this juncture, all staying at the same hotel as us - Emma the Kiwi, Gizzhlene from Dee Why, and yankee doodles, Jen and Hayley. We conducted a little groundwork and in no time had secured some female accompaniment for our evening at Willys Pub.
The night was an absolute ripper. With the champions League soccer final on TV in the background, we got well acquainted with the ladies, who prompted a series of demoralising drinking games and subsequently put everyone in a terribly convivial state. Bar keeper Willy, a rotund, ruddy-faced, balding pom charged incrementally less for drinks as the night sailed on, and his own drinking consumption skyrocketed. And there's really nothing like the Irish to get the party going, making friends with Louise, Big Kevin and a keefy bloke who introduced himself as 'Fookindornald', the latter two having us in stiches with their anecdotes, chirpy accents and high pitched laughter that failed to match their brick shithouse build. The night continued, the drinks flowed on and the conversations sailed into the territory of the stupid. We'd made some great mates, found an astonishingly beautiful town, and knew that only sun and beach lay waiting for us again tomorrow. We walked home down the windy cliffside road through flouro-lit tunnels that cut right through the rock. Up at the point, i looked behind and stared at the lit up cluster of Amalfi terraces and centuries-old churches in the night sky, and the glint of illumination reflecting across the face of the water. Somehow, i knew that one night in Amalfi was not going to cut it.
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| 36. | Down South to the Amalfi Coast - Atrani, Italy May 17, 2006 (  5 ) |
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