Two Weeks in Italy, Plenty to Report

I’m nearing the end of my two-plus-week swing through Italy, updating our guidebook chapters on Naples, Sorrento, the Amalfi Coast, Lake Como, and Milan. And no matter how many times you return to a place, there’s always something new to experience. Here are a few of my favorite photos and observations so far. Next stop: France.

 

Ritzy Sorrento clings to a cliff high above the Bay of Naples. Directly below is the endearing community of Marina Grande, where local fishermen pull their dinghies up onto the beach between sunbathers and fish restaurants. A long pier with a mix of working boats and pleasure craft lines the horizon, with Mount Vesuvius looming just beyond. Strolling here, you feel a world away from the congested town up above. In your travels, it’s always worth seeking out pockets of real life that trudge on in the shadow of mass tourism.

 

In addition to lemons, Sorrento seems to specialize in stunning panoramic terraces. I enjoy my work updating guidebooks, and normally I don’t mind hustling around town while everyone around me is on vacation. But passing several of these romantic perches, I really wished I could slow down and settle in for a few days.

 

There are several ways to follow the outrageously twisty, outrageously scenic road that runs along the Amalfi Coast. The very intrepid, foolhardy, and well-insured can rent a car. But, comfortable as I am driving just about anywhere else in Europe, I’d never drive here. For a safer bet, most people hop on public SITA buses (they depart from in front of the Sorrento train station about hourly) or hire their own driver for a personal tour (about €300 for a carload for the entire day).  Another option is to join one of the shared tours by Mondo Guide; I went incognito on their all-day Amalfi Coast drive, just to re-assess it for our guidebook, and found it to be a great value — much more affordable than hiring my own driver, and far more convenient than the public buses.

 

Even in late April, the beaches of the Amalfi Coast town of Positano were busy. I was here on a Thursday, in glorious sunshine, and saw only a few people splashing in the surf. Then, when I returned under cloudy skies two days later, the beach was mysteriously packed. My driver explained: On weekends, American college kids studying in big cities head for the beaches — regardless of the weather.

 

Some of the best public spaces in Italy aren’t squares — they’re steps, like this grand staircase to the cathedral in the town of Amalfi. People hang out here, chat with their neighbors, snap selfies, lick gelato, and savor the sensation of being immersed in Italy. I was glad to spend the night in Amalfi, which gave me a completely different experience than the day-tripping logjam of midday.

 

True, Naples is a gritty city. But it also has an elegant history and some beautiful corners. Piazza del Plebescito is a showcase from Naples’ glory days, with a vast open square, a replica of Rome’s Pantheon, and territorial stone lions with more than their share of personality.

 

Having a local friend show you around an intimidating city like Naples makes all the difference in the world. Virgilio, a native Neapolitan, helped me decipher the enigma that is his hometown, including teaching me the correct way to eat pizza. He even helped me do some Christmas shopping. Here, we’re posing with the local good-luck charm, corno: a skinny, twisted, red horn that resembles a chili pepper. The corno is two fertility symbols in one: It’s a horn of plenty, and it’s also phallic. Virgilio explained that to close-knit, family-oriented Neapolitans, fertility isn’t sexual; it’s the greatest gift a person can give — new life — and it ensures that their soul will live on into the next generation. The salesperson explained that if the corno breaks, that means it worked — it took the bad-luck hit so you wouldn’t have to. (Eyeing the cheap trinket, I was skeptical about whether this was a real tradition…or just an excuse for shoddy manufacturing.)

 

The problem with really famous sights is that they’re really famous — and, therefore, crowded. The ruined ancient town of Pompeii (top picture) is jammed with cruise passengers, armchair archaeologists, and pooped picnickers, even late in the day. I had to sharpen my elbows just to walk down the street. Then, riding the train back to Naples, I hopped off at Herculaneum (bottom picture). Like Pompeii, it was consumed by Mount Vesuvius’ eruption in A.D. 79. But because it’s tucked in a gully and was engulfed by fast-moving lava several hours later, it’s even better preserved. And, since it’s not as famous as Pompeii, it’s far less congested — allowing you to really take your imagination off its leash.

 

Riding the train from South Italy to Lake Como — that’s Switzerland on the horizon — was a shock to my system. But the town of Varenna, filling its little spit, was the ideal place to rest up from the busy first stretch of my trip. From here, it was easy to hop on a boat to side-trip to famous Bellagio and some really stunning villas.

 

If a garden is a canvas, then pointy cypresses and knobby plane trees are the Italian landscaper’s favorite brushes. From the Amalfi Coast to Lake Como, I’ve reveled in some glorious scenery. And, just like the food, the gardens change with the seasons. I love being in Italy in the late spring/early summer. It seems the entire country is draped in vivid-purple wisteria. (Perhaps not coincidentally, I’ve decided to plant some wisteria in my backyard this summer.) And this time of year reveals the carefully cultivated bulbs of the skeletal plane trees; before these trees completely leaf out, you can see the decades of care that have gone into sculpting their akimbo limbs. While Italy is also well worthwhile in the late summer and fall, by that time its vegetation is getting parched and sun-scorched, and you see more browns than popping colors.

 

When I travel in Italy, I feel like I’m carbo-loading: Pastries for breakfast. A panino (baguette sandwich) or slice of pizza for lunch. Pasta for dinner. When I complained about this rut to a friend, she looked at me blankly and said, “Well, why do you eat pasta every night? Try some of the secondi.” It hadn’t really occurred to me to delve into the meat and fish main courses. So, inspired, I ordered fish that very evening. It was great. But by the next day, I was right back to pasta. How can you blame me, with options like this on the menu? The thing about Italian pasta is that it’s not just spaghetti and ravioli. The regional variations are staggering — on this trip alone, I’ve had everything from handmade tagliatelle sprinkled with fish eggs (pictured here), to delicate pouches of dough filled with ricotta and smothered in a simple tomato sauce, to dense buckwheat noodles with melted mountain cheese and sautéed greens. You could spend a year in Italy, have a different pasta dish every day, and still not run out of choices.

I’ll have a few more stories from Italy in the coming days, but then I’m heading for a change of scenery (and cuisine): France!