Amalfi Coast, the beautiful and damned

Ever since the onset of social media, there has been one place that was mercilessly photographed and paraded there: the Amalfi Coast. You know the itinerary by now, Positano, Atrani, Ravello, Sorrento...even if you only vaguely know where they might be. You have seen those in carefully curated Instagram squares or as a backdrop to films and series. The images of citrus-laden branches and narrow streets, rocky beaches with pristine blues of the water, and the bays speckled with countless yachts. The spaghetti plates and the pastel hues of gelato with the maiolica domes in the background have become a part of our collective digital unconsciousness. I concede, that the world does not need yet another reiteration of the same places, hotels, restaurants, and views, but I still wish to write about how being there feels. Because that feeling is so special and so magical, that it is worth a diary entry.

The first thing that strikes you upon arrival is the chaos of traffic. To drive Costiera Amalfitana SS163 is not for the faint of heart. You realize that all those pictures you've seen of a tiny iconic Fiat 500 milling and crawling cautiously through the picturesque streets, were not a clever trick to add to the charm of the place. Tiny cars and slow driving are the absolute necessities that could make a difference between life and death on the Amalfi coast. Driving in Italy is a blood sport even under the best conditions, which are nowhere to be found down here. The Amalfi coast roads are narrow and cut into a cliff with dizzying drop-offs that induce vertigo. Hairpin curves are tight and unforgiving. How anyone survives the daily commute is beyond me. There is deafening, incessant honking, especially by the fearless bus drivers who announce their arrival behind the curve in that way. Move or die, it's totally up to you. There are buzzing motor drivers who just whiz by you in a flash of wind, carrying their death wish with them. There are no sidewalks that deserve that name, but pedestrians still brave the danger. There are tourists in inappropriately large cars, unable to maneuver their way out of a tight spot, with sheer panic written all over their faces, and the car passengers fighting to determine whose idea exactly it was to come here on their precious holidays. There is a lot in here, but no parking spot to save your life. I know the majority of tourists come for the relaxing, winding drive in a convertible, along the panoramic coastal road which climaxes with the colourful Positano, but unless they are a filming crew with permits to block the whole area for their purposes, it will never happen.

The traffic jam can leave you stranded for hours in a car on a blisteringly hot summer day, with nothing to do but to wait with saintly patience until the deadlock and fighting between feisty Italians resolve themself. The shouts, the hand gestures, the laughter, the aggressive and at the same time benevolent grimaces, and the inevitable applause by the bystanders once the standstill is overcome. In a nutshell, just use the local bus and do not try to drive, it's not worth it. If you wish to splurge, use boats and water taxis. And we visited in April, in shoulder season when the crowds were still not alarmingly large. What happens there in July or August is beyond my comprehension, and why would anyone pay exorbitant prices to endure that? Nevertheless, people do come, and I understand why.

Time flows differently on the coast of Amalfi, no one cares about punctuality, and the rush is pretty much made impossible due to the abovementioned traffic situation. Nowhere else in the world would I be pleased if a 15-kilometer stretch was done in "only" 45 minutes. To add to the confusion, the church bells toll according to a schedule that follows no logic. 15:19 Ding! 10:07 Dong! Random, eccentric, and evocative of long summer days intercepted only by the languid, erratic rhythm of aperitivi and ice-cream breaks. It feels liberating. The endless terraces of canopies of citruses gleam and twinkle like the ornaments on the steep hills, reminiscent of a Mediterranean version of a year-round Christmas tree. The beaches shimmer invitingly because the waters are turquoise and immaculate since the terrain is rocky, pebbly, and not sandy. The promise of a hidden grotto, radiating with unnaturally blue light where you feel like an explorer and the luckiest person in the world, is hard to resist. The local lore is rich with stories involving mermaids that chose the stone's throw islands of Li Galli as their home, which consequently adds to the feeling that there is something mythical and inexplicable about the place.

The food certainly adds value to the charm of the coast. Every imaginable ilk of food made with lemons is on offer here, culminating with the fantasia called delizia di limone, a round-shaped cake filled with lemony cream that turns every day into a cheat day. You think you will be fine with just tasting one, but then you catch yourself plotting how to obtain another. Seafood is predictably divine, but an absolute discovery for me was a sauce called colatura di alici, a golden syrupy liquid used to add gourmet dimension to even the simplest of pasta dishes.

The places that were memorable to see were Ravello and Positano, which is not to say that smaller villages such as Cetara or Priano are not lovely, but they simply could not compete with the vitality, grandeur, and glamour of the former. The people of Amalfi are talkative, cheerful, exuberant, and generous. They are easy to get angry in traffic, but also easy to simmer down, burst out into laughter or a joke. The energy that they have is contagious. They make tourists happy, but there is a genuine love for the people, for daily life, and boundless optimism underneath their professional hospitality duties. Amalfitani speak in the local dialect that is musical and funny, and completely incomprehensible even to the born and bred Italians. They seem to be having a great time constantly and are completely undaunted by the traffic or anything else. The sunsets that we enjoyed from our balcony were probably the most beautiful that I have ever witnessed.

I came to understand going to Amalfi as a rite of passage. It has to be done at least once in your life if you are a romantic, a lover of nature, beauty, and the sea. However, you will be reluctant to come again, because this is not a relaxing, mindless holiday of lounging by the pool, but an adventure and exploration. You will berate yourself while the bus driver is making extremely dangerous turns too close to the deadly ravine: "Why on earth did I need this stress?" But once safely at your destination, you forget all that and just greedily drink in the sights, the citrus smells, and the clamour of happiness all around you. Tourists always wish for a "safe adventure" which is an oxymoronic idea, and Amalfi testifies that there is no such thing. And somehow, against your better judgment, you feel pleased that you have chosen this destination, put yourself out of your comfort zone, and made a memory that is like no other.