A bend, and suddenly the cliff drops, golden and frighteningly sheer, to the seemingly bottomless depths of the Mediterranean sea. I just know I鈥檓 going to drop into that cobalt abyss and be lost forever - until another twist brings me back to the safety of whitewashed houses, ancient watchtowers and thick verdant bushes.
But the scary zigzag stretches all the way to the distant horizon, there is no straight stretch of road in sight, only azure precipices, solid walls of rock - and drivers who think this is the next best place after an F1 racetrack to show their speedy prowess. I hold my breath at every turn until I feel I am turning blue in the face鈥ut it is worth it. After all, a good pinch of fear adds to the excitement of driving (or, in my case, being driven) along the narrow road that follows the sinuous contours of the Amalfi coast.
I chose to visit Amalfi to chase an illusion of summer, a last glimpse of sea, sky and sun before leaves start falling and the frosty pincer of winter closes in. And this curvy Unesco-heritage coastline is as balmy as it is beautiful.
Positano
The sun dances on the white, cream and pink houses of Positano, at the start of my journey. Clinging to a steep hillside, they tumble down to the stately Chiesa di Santa Maria Assunta.
This grand dame of a church has medieval origins and 18th century looks, the result of a revolt from the local clergy who pushed the then abbot Liborio Marra in a corner, and renovated the much neglected building in elegant late Baroque style. Its dazzling, majolica-tiled dome looms large but graceful over a tiny beach, virtually the only stretch of flat land in the village.
Beyond it, a couple of azure fishing boats bob gently in the breeze, at the foot of the belfry. The wind is barely perceptible but it is there - unlike the unearthly calm which, story has it, stopped a galley just off the Positano coast back in the Middle Ages.
Desperate to resume their journey, the captain and his crew offloaded part of their precious cargo in the waters but even so, the ship wouldn鈥檛 move. Until suddenly, the mariners heard a gentle voice whispering 鈥淧ut ashore, put ashore.鈥 Puzzled, they looked around for the source of that counsel, and realized it came from a Byzantine icon portraying the Virgin Mary, which they had aboard. Heeding the heavenly words, they headed towards the tiny village harbour, and, miraculously, the galley glided over the sea, as if pushed by a friendly wind. When they landed, they gave the icon to the people of Positano and asked them to build a church to honour the miracle.
Rather more prosaically, the icon was probably brought to the village in the 12th century by a group of Benedictine monks who lived in a monastery by the church and sailed along the length of southern Italy. The monastery was later abandoned and fell into disrepair, but the golden relic still graces the main altar of Santa Maria Assunta.
Behind the church, candid flights of stairs (called scalinatelle) criss-cross the Positano hill, linking buildings and vistas in an ascending maze. It is easy to see why Positano earned the nickname of vertical village鈥攖he steps are so steep that a mountain goat would feel at home here. Except that it would probably gnaw the myriad hats, dresses and shirts for sale that line the length of the scalinatelle.
Positano has been the darling of the jet set and film star crowds since the 1950s, when John Steinbeck wrote about it on Harper鈥檚 Bazaar in 1953, calling it 鈥渁 dream place that isn鈥檛 quite real when you are there and becomes beckoningly real after you have gone.鈥 So it is unashamedly a fashionable resort, complete with couture (and tat) shops, tourists in shorts, and paparazzi swarming after the celebrity du jour - but the slices of sea peeking blue through the white of ancient fishermen鈥檚 houses more than make up for any touristy feel.
Click here to read the second part of this itinerary.
