It turns out the train system in Italy is really quite easy to figure out. We don’t use public transportation much in Colorado, as it’s not nearly as thorough as it is in Europe. So I entered Italy with this somewhat-rational fear that I would really struggle with the trains while trying to get from city to city. But who knew that walking into a train station with your ticket downloaded onto your phone, and looking up onto a big screen that says partenze, or departures, finding your train number and then reading it’s binario, or platform, and following the signs to your appropriate train, could be so easy.
I took two trains to get from Rome to Salerno. The first one stopped in Naples and I bought the ticket so that I’d have an hour to explore Naples if I wanted to. But once I arrived in the Napoli Centrale station and walked outside, I wasn’t feeling it. So I hung out in the station and found some food before hopping on my train to take me to Salerno.
But on my train from Rome to Naples, I was ecstatic. There I was, sitting on a train going through the Italian countryside, past vineyards and old farm plots, all by myself. Ten year-old me would be so proud of twenty-three year-old me. I was absorbed in the little cloud of freedom that I had found, with my feet up on the seat in front of me. There was no one else on the train car that I was sitting in, so I was relaxed, spread out, and enjoying the ride.
Then one of the Trenitalia employees, this one an older Italian man, walked by me to check my ticket. He took one look at me with my feet up on the seat and waved his finger at me with a stern “no”, like I was an absolute trash person who puts their feet on chairs. Clearly I disgusted him. “Sorry!! Spiacente!” I tried to smile at him under my mask. He looked at my ticket, glared at me, and continued by. I still haven’t figured out if it’s bad form to put your feet up in Italy, but I’ve been on dozens of trains in the last month since I arrived in Rome, and I haven’t put my feet up once since.
My first night in Salerno was fantastic. My Airbnb was a private bedroom of an apartment belonging to an elderly Italian couple who had lived in Salerno their whole lives—Anna Maria and Tony. The didn’t speak much English, but they were wonderfully kind. I needed to do some laundry, and Tony insisted that he put my dirty clothes in their washing machine and hang it up to dry on their clothesline for me. It was part of the service, I guess, but I managed to pick my clean underwear and reusable masks out of the pile before he hung them up on the line. I didn’t want my limited underwear supply and essential masks getting blown away by the wind, and this old Italian man shouldn’t feel like he has to touch my undies. It was awfully funny.
I left the apartment and began walking around downtown Salerno to explore a bit and find a good spot for dinner. The main road next to the beach was lined with touristy restaurants and sushi bars. I wasn’t interested in that… I walked up a few blocks to the hilly part of town and found a tiny restaurant with a few tables outside in an alley called Casa Cavour.
My waiter’s name was Diego and I (later) found out that he owned the restaurant. I told him that I was learning Italian, sto imperando l’italiano, and he was very gracious and picked out a dish for me on the menu, promising me I would love it. A little while later, he brought out one of the prettiest plates of pasta I’d ever seen. A large, oval shaped, shallow bowl with square-shaped penne-like pasta. There were two whole shrimp, squid, mussels, and arugula scattered between the pasta and seafood. Bellisimo cibo! Diego wished me, bon appetito, and left me to enjoy my pasta and seafood-induced bliss. The pasta was perfectly cooked, a little al dente, the seafood was so full of flavor but not fishy tasting at all, and the arugula was a perfect touch of freshness. I washed it down with a fruity, smooth, and delicious glass of red wine.
When Diego came back to take my plate, I told him that this was the best pasta I’d had in Italy so far, il miglior pasta in Italia finora. He was so flattered, so humbled, by my extreme compliment. I have come to understand that in Italy they take these things seriously! What I told him was true, and he brought be a glass of limoncello, the sweet and tart lemon liquor of the Italian riviera, on the house.
I love that Italians take so much pride in their meals and appreciate people appreciating their creations. I will gladly appreciate amazing Italian food and proudly tell them that it’s amazing, any day. What a simple and wonderful existence—a love for food and fresh ingredients, and for both new and familiar flavors. I love this country.
View of the Amalfi Coast from Sentiero Deghli Dei.
One day in Salerno, I woke up early to catch a ferry into the town of Amalfi, one of many small towns along the Amalfi Coast that I was looking to explore. I’m really starting to Planes, Trains, and Automobiles this trip.
The ferry rounded a corner of cliffs, and the other tourists and I gazed west up along the Amalfi Coast, cliffed up against the light blue Mediterranean Sea. There were huge limestone faces hanging over the sea, and the occasional house built in an impossible-looking spot, with no clear path to civilization. Eventually, the town of Amalfi came into view, with its old buildings looking like they might fall into the sea at any moment. It was a beautiful and charming little town.
Amalfi, the town, revolves around lemons—limoncello, lemon risotto, lemon granita, and if you walk even five minutes out of the tourist chaos in the town’s center and up the main road into the mountains, you’ll see the lemon groves woven into the neighborhoods, wrapping around each and every face of Amalfi’s little canyon, and the hills beyond.
I hopped on a bus that would take me from Amalfi to the even smaller town of Praiano, about a 30-minute drive up the road from Amalfi. The road that connects all of these little towns—Salerno, Maiori, Minori, Amalfi, Praiano, Positano, and Sorrento—is absolutely crazy. I’m a mountain girl, I’m used to roads with heights, cliffs, loose rocks, you name it. But this road was just barely wide enough for two cars to pass. More than half of the road has a cliff with a several-hundred foot sheer drop into the ocean on one side, and my bus driver drove with a frightening confidence. Whenever we’d approach a blind hairpin turn, he’d lay down on the horn to alert oncoming traffic that a huge bus with a hundred wide-eyed tourists were coming, and then zip around the turn, hardly braking at all. There were several times when some confident tourists in an oncoming car would try to pass the bus in a narrow section of road. With only a three-foot high stone wall between their car and a sheer drop into the sea, it was wild watching their faces sink with panic when the bus would squeeze between the car and the edge of the road, inches from the guarding wall and only inches from the bus. Needless to say, I was really happy to get off that bus.
I didn’t spend much time in Praiano. After being on that windy road in that hot bus, I was ready to get moving. My plan was to hike along the Sentiero Deghli Dei, or the Path of the Gods, a trail that was used to travel between these towns for centuries before the road was built. I began climbing up a long set of staircases to reach the Sentiero, which I would follow until it reached the next town, Positano. I quickly caught up with an Israeli couple who were moving slowly up the endless stairs. They were friendly and interesting, so I slowed my Colorado legs down for a bit so I could hike with them. We talked about all the places we’ve visited across the world and the adventures that we’d hope would come. Eventually, we reached the “summit” which was a water fountain with a breathtaking panoramic overlook of the sea, with Praiano to our left, and Positano to our right. The overlook was busy with tourists and I was ready to continue on, so I said goodbye to my Israeli friends and headed to Positano.
The view of Positano was stunning, one of the best ocean landscapes on Planet Earth. Huge limestone cliffs with sparkling turquoise water, and the literal cliff dwellings of Positano crowded up against the sea, all competing for that magnificent ocean view. But as I continued on towards Positano, the trail became busier and busier. At first, I didn’t mind so much. But eventually, trying to pass literally every other human being on the trail became pretty annoying. It actually put a bit of a damper on my mood. I was reminded that I just move faster than most people (which is crazy because I’m not even close to being the fastest hiker in my group of friends back home), and patience was going to be the key to my success on this trip.
By the time I descended thousands of stairs and actually reached Positano, I was pretty done and food was my top priority. I found a restaurant on a narrow street, overlooking town and the sea below. Normally, I would not ever choose to go to a restaurant like this, because I know I would be paying for that view along with the food. But I was hungry and exhausted and this was the first restaurant I set my eyes on, so it was a go. And to my surprise, my waiter sat me at the best table in the house, up against the railing overlooking the amazing view. I ordered a glass of prosecco and a bowl of linguine alla vongole, or linguine with clams. It was worth a splurge.
I settled into some newly-discovered state of relaxation on that balcony, sipping on my prosecco and clams bathed in garlicy-olive-oily-goodness. What is this life? How am I so lucky to be able to do this? I was truly living. I told my waiter, “siamo molto fortunati!!” or “we are so lucky!”.
With a full belly, I ran down to the beach. I was headed for those alluring blue Mediterranean waters. I stripped down into my swimsuit, locked my bag to a railing, was assured by a nice Italian woman that she would watch it for me, and dove into the waves. I floated on my back and stared up at the cliffs and stacked buildings and laughed. I was so free. I thought to myself, I love this life that I have—the freedom to see the world and to do whatever I want. It was like my heart opened up to the world and let out the most beautiful sigh of bliss and joy. I was at peace.
Linguine alla vongole and a glass of prosecco looking over Positano.