Buon Natale! Auguri!
(written Sunday, December 25, 2011 in Amalfi, Italia)
Last evening, we watched glorious displays of fireworks over the dome of Amalfi’s cathedral, with startling explosions continuing well into the night. Earlier, Sophia, Vladi and I took a one-and-a-half –hour bus ride (SITA) from Amalfi to Sorrento, passing through Furore and the famous Positano. The views along the serpentine coastal drive are shockingly beautiful….jagged rock outcrops jutting abruptly into a shimmering Tyrrhenian Sea….sea and sky meeting to create one harmonious blue expanse.
Sorrento itself lacks the geographical drama of Amalfi and Positano, but has its own charm with narrow alleyways for streets in the oldest section. The best attraction for me at this Christmastime was seeing a variety of presepe, the fascinatingly detailed scenes of Jesus’ birth combined with folkloric elements of scenes from daily Italian life in past centuries: fishmongers hawking their wares, men gathered in their favorite local bar to drink and play cards, a woman dressed in lovely folk costume flirting with an admirer. It is a miniature world unto itself, lovingly created by artisans specialized in the designing of these artistic figures and all of their minute lifelike accessories. The city hall displayed antique figures from 18th century Napoli artists, while along the coastal road, we glimpsed from the bus a fantastic presepe tucked into niches in the natural contours of the cliff. When we passed by in the dark on the way back to Amalfi, illumination produced a truly spectacular, magical effect. 
One of the most interesting and amusing experiences of the day was observing our bus driver in action. First of all, clearly posted at the front of the bus for all to see was an official sign which read “Non parlare all’autista.” (Do not speak to the driver.) From the moment he boarded the bus, our driver chatted incessantly with one after the other of the local passengers who sat in the front seat to his right. Not only did he actively converse as he drove along the wildly curving road with a sheer drop to the sea below constantly menacing on our left, but he turned his head constantly to look at his interlocutors, joking, laughing, as if he knew the road so well he scarcely needed to look at it.
In addition, he stopped numerous times to hail friends and acquaintances standing in bar and shop entries, or driving vehicles headed in the opposite direction. He seems to be very well connected! At one point, a well-dressed woman in a chic teal skirt, black long-sleeved shirt with a black scarf artfully knotted at her neck, wearing patent-leather black wedge pumps, boarded and stood neatly posed in the front of the bus, again chatting with the driver. We stopped after a while to let her off, then waited while she entered the pesceria (fish shop), picked up two large, odoriferous bags of extremely fresh fish for Christmas eve supper, re-boarded the bus with the smelly cargo, and on we went.
Several other passengers boarded and descended at or near their doorsteps along the route, with special thanks and auguri to the
driver. (Auguri is the Italian for best wishes.)
Dark descends by 5:00 pm at this time of year, so when we headed out today at 2:00 pm for a walk in the sunshine after last night’s rain, we knew that we had only three hours of daylight maximum. A town of 6,000 inhabitants, Amalfi is built into a steep rocky slope; thus, much of the town is accessible by climbing streets consisting of flights of steps, often quite steep. We followed a series of steep steps that skirted the northern end of the town to climb our way up to the ruins of a castle tower high above the sea. Even at that level, there were a number of houses tucked into the cliff-side, each with a balustrade and terrace looking out towards the sea. We reached a point above the castle ruins itself, and noted yet another interminable flight of steps heading up and up with no end in sight. My legs, especially my calves, are still sore from our first hiking excursion the day before yesterday (December 23) when we climbed uncountable numbers of steps to walk from our apartment via Atrani to Ravello. 
The path led us through rural and rugged landscapes, often reminding me of hikes we made in Capri two years ago. We saw orange and lemon groves perched on steep slopes, covered in protective cloth to ward off frost. At one point, we glimpsed large pigs and sows far below, and passed numerous small vegetable patches cultivated on plots carved out of the ravine. If I hadn’t known that it was nearly Christmas, I might have thought it was autumn – there was a definite feeling of fall in the air…colored oak leaves, wood smoke curling from chimneys, acorns and olives strewn heavily underfoot.
Ravello itself is a charming mountain village which has enhanced its charm for tourism purposes. We didn’t have time to visit its Villa Rufulo where Richard Wagner once stayed and purportedly found inspiration for Klingsor’s garden in his Parsifal. We did, however, enter Ravello’s church where an organist was practicing familiar Christmas carols, most likely in preparation for the evening service. A church always feels more holy, more inspiring to me when its chapel reverberates with the swelling sound of an organ.
We hurried back down the cliff to reach Amalfi before darkness fell, and ran into an obstacle descending into Atrani. Workmen had abandoned a project to rebuild one of these mountain paths, leaving it partially blocked. We managed to climb through the barricade and make our way down without being forced to retrace our steps.
Looking out over the sea and coast from our balcony windows, I now understand why Monet painted those haystacks over and over…the fascination with light and its effects on an object or a scene….the view of these jagged cliffs dotted with cream, rose, and ochre-colored houses becomes a constantly-changing image throughout the day with the sea as its mirror and companion.
I find the beauty of this place so intensely stimulating that I want to absorb it through all my pores, all my senses….it makes my senses raw with stimulation. I feel that I could melt into a puddle of emotional response and be swept away by the waves of the sea!
