Day 8: Salerno to Massa Lubrense

We woke at 7am to a ridiculous Skype fight, helpfully in English, between our Italian neighbor and his long-distance American girlfriend. Now, in my experience, Skype NEVER works properly, always cutting in and out, dropping signal, grey whirly circle of death, etc. Not so in this case.

It was way too loud to even pretend to ignore, so we naturally took sides and followed the story. American Amanda was coming through loud and clear from NYC, and I have to say I agree that Gianluca was being a bit needy and unreasonable to be upset that she was having a drink with her friends. Anyway. After about ten minutes we got bored and popped out for breakfast and showers.

Matt went out first with a cheerful 'Buon natale!' and sat down for breakfast. Mimma and Nunzio, semi- distant before, looked at him like he was crazy and left the room. Now this may be because Buon Natale actually means Merry Christmas and not good morning. Hard to say.

veering to avoid semi, as I helpfully snap pics

After a small breakfast and quick chat with the other guests (a couple from Milan), we quickly left to find our car and begin the drive along the Amalfi Coast. Harrowing doesn't begin to describe it, as drivers race at 60 or 70 in both directions along what is essentially only half of one lane that hairpins its way along mile high cliffs. In some places, parts of the road were cordoned off because of landslides.


Despite this, the jaw dropping views were some of the most beautiful I've ever seen. It was like driving through a postcard, and I was torn between 'helping' Matt drive (mainly by gasping loudly and yelling un-useful things like 'watch out!') and twisting in my seat to try to see everything and take blurry photos. The water was a clear aqua blue, and the towns are all pale pastels and nestled into the valleys along ridiculously steep and high cliffs. I lost count of how many times we nearly went over the rails (not Matt's fault-- he was arguably the best driver on the road) and decided to enjoy what could be our last hours.

We stopped in Amalfi, which was insanely busy, and wandered through the cathedral and up the stairs into the labyrinth of elevated residential passageways. We came upon a private art show in a garden, and wandered through before grabbing a panino, avoiding buying some of the stunningly expensive ceramics, and heading back to the car.


Positano, an absurdly steep and gorgeous town, was our next stop along the Amalfi Coast, and we found a small restaurant with a balcony that overlooked the entire village and the sea. Prosecco (for me) and creamy pasta are the best cures for stress, and we were feeling great by the time we got to our destination Massa Lubrense.


(I so wish I had taken pictures of what happened next, but you'll have to be content with more amalfi pics at the bottom of the post instead...)


We messaged our host Luigi and bought prosciutto crudo, mozzarella, arugula and tomatoes from the market for dinner while we waited for him. And waited....some more. And called. Three hours. No reply. Meanwhile our parking time kept running out every half hour, so we kept having to move the car to different lots and feed different machines. 

We found the tourist office and the helpful girl inside, Daniela, was all confidence until we told her that the name of our B&B (not actually a B&B, more some guy's house) was called 'The Paradise of Sun and Relax'. Which it is. AirBNB can be great but also a bit sketch.

We finally found another number for Mysterious Luigi and Daniela called, only to be put on hold for five minutes while he talked to someone else. Possibly his dog.

Daniela lost patience and put me on with him.I politely said that we must have missed each other and he yelled something about how we should get a good phone. Mmm. OK. I pointed out that it really didn't matter now, but we would love to just forget about it and move on please, and after some more pointers on Italian phones, he finally agreed to come get us on his motorbike.

While we waited, we booked our boat tickets for Capri the next day, something I've always wanted to do.The ferry was already booked out (Matt and I don't plan ahead very well), but there was the option to pay a bit more and take a small 8-seater speed boat for the day, which we thought sounded pretty good.


Matt went to get the car and I stood on the street hopefully with my backpack, scanning the small road for a crazy person on a motorcycle. I saw plenty, but none seemed to be him.

Finally an older grey bearded man with an empty fruit crate improbably strapped to the back of his motorcycle turned up, said 'IT IS ME' and motioned for me to follow... presumably on foot?... as he zoomed away. I shouted that Matt was getting the car and he seemed to understand, because he idled in the middle of the road for a while. Thankfully Matt pulled up soon after, I jumped in, and we were off through the hills, following a complete madman on a bike with a fruit crate. Standard.


We came to a scenic lookout and Luigi (it was him) stopped and pointed out the house where the King of Naples (Napoleon's brother-in-law!) planned the siege against the English in the fight to recapture Capri. Good enough reason to snap a picture or two. More importantly we could see across the water to Capri, Ischia, and even Naples and Mount Vesuvius.

We then were pointed up some steep stone steps and advised to climb up and knock on a big 1700s looking wooden door at the top, as Luigi zoomed away. We had little choice, so followed directions and he magically appeared on the other side of the door a few minutes later with a giant brown mutt called Yoghi.The fruit crate mystery was 'solved' when he explained that it was Yoghi's motorcycle seat. Though I seriously doubt that dog could have fit even half itself in there. But I'm a believer in choosing battles, and happily let that one pass.


I tried a few times to talk to him, and he opened up a bit, but had the habit of breaking off mid-sentence to instead chat to Yoghi in rapid fire Italian. And hold his paws and dance with him. And sing. Meanwhile Matt and I are standing awkwardly beside him with our giant backpacks on, laughing nervously and miming to see if the other wanted to just run for it while he was distracted.


He then led the way up to a small dark house and curiosity won us over. Stale cigar smoke visibly poured out as he opened the arched door with a huge iron key that looked like it was straight out a scene from King Arthur. Inside were two sofas, one with a throw decorated with a panther motif, the other with a big grey rock nestled in the middle of it. Yes, a rock. Our room was huge if very sparse and somewhat moldy, and we shared a small musty bathroom with Luigi, who we decided was most likely harmless. Though we locked the bedroom door to be on the safe side.


He was going out to meet a friend, so we made our salads, ate outside, and settled in on beds that felt like they were bare springs. A rhythmic and constant dripping from somewhere in the corner lulled us to sleep.

Roof garden art show