Without Reservations_ The Travels of an Independent Woman - Alice Steinbach [89]
Still, nothing—neither anxiety nor fatigue—could dull the sharp pleasure of the landscape between Perugia and Rome. Through the train window I gazed out at the hills set in bold relief against the horizon. Along the top ridges, rows of tall trees marched in single file like an army on the move.
In Rome, the train station, as usual, was noisy and crowded; this time, however, an element of chaos was added to the mix. After a long lunch in the city we returned to find that our train to Naples was still scheduled and on time. The train was sleek and fast and like most of the others I slept sprawled across the seat until we arrived. In Naples we boarded a bus headed for Sorrento. But first we stopped at Pompeii.
Because it was late in the afternoon, Pompeii was almost empty. We wandered leisurely through the ruined city where men and women and children lived in their time as we live now in ours, believing then, as we do now, that death was far off in the distance. We saw where once they slept and baked bread and made love and raised families. Now, only stray dogs, sleeping in Pompeii’s cool shadowy tombs, offered any signs of life.
But the drive from Pompeii to Sorrento banished the eerie spell cast by the ghostly city. The fertile beauty of the Campania region is a reaffirmation of life itself. We drove as the sun set in a ribbon of light across the shimmering Bay of Naples. Through the windows of the bus I could see olive groves slanting down to the water, covered with gauzy harvesting nets that looked like communion veils. And finally, into view came Sorrento, glorious Sorrento, with its colorful tiled roofs and scent of orange blossoms, perched on sheer cliffs high above the deep blue Bay of Naples.
I felt we had entered a different country. Here, there was little of the commerce of Milan or the brooding mystery of Venice or the art-filled museums and churches of Tuscany. We had arrived in a country ruled by the Mediterranean climate; by the intense heat and sun that even in October left most of the city streets empty between late morning and late afternoon. Here, everything flowed from that heat: the pace of life, the daily routines, the lush foliage of the palms, crepe myrtle, and orange and lemon trees.
For a brief time, we stayed in Sorrento. Settled into our glorious hotel high above the Bay of Naples, we ate fine food and swam in the pool and visited Capri and sat on the gorgeous terraces sipping cold drinks, thoroughly enjoying the chance to do nothing.
From Sorrento we rounded the tip of the peninsula and began the drive up the Amalfi Coast, along the Gulf of Salerno. The Amalfi Drive, a narrow winding road that cuts in half the whitewashed villages tumbling down the slopes of the Lattari Mountains, was breathtaking. So were the towns that we visited. Sun, flowers, coves to swim in, turquoise skies, and unparalleled natural beauty surrounded us: it was heaven on earth.
The problem for me was: I seemed to prefer earth on earth. The Amalfi Coast was almost too much of a good thing. The gorgeous countryside and picture-book villages approached the level of a fairy tale. I yearned for the dark alleys of Venice or the busy streets of Milan.
Enough is enough, I thought one day upon arriving in yet another sun-drenched whitewalled village dripping with red and white oleander, smart shops, and ten thousand steps to climb. But then I remembered what some philosopher or other had pointed out: you cannot know what is enough until you know what is too much.
But just when I thought I’d arrived at the point of knowing “too much” apropos the Amalfi Coast, we pulled into our last stop of the trip: a little