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Published: October 3rd 2006
“Oh my God, it’s a dam slalom course!” Franchesca swore, as we wound our little Ford up the back side of the mountain. She then mumbled a new mantra “I hate you” meaning me, under her breath.
I smiled and bit my lip, trying hard to keep my always miss understood nervous laughter in check. I sunk lower in my seat, deciding it was best not to tell her what lay ahead. This was the really easy part. Once we got over the mountain the training wheels would have to come off. Having been to Positano before, I had knowingly risked our friendship and quite possibly our lives for one of the most dangerous, but beautiful drives on earth.
As we exited the tunnel at the crest of the mountain, the deep blue of the Med became visible. I was in awe, the shocking beauty of the cobalt blue sea before me. How could anything be this beautiful? I was mesmerized. “The Amalfi Coast…...” I sighed.
Franchesca was not impressed, not in the least. She took her eyes of the road for a second, only looking at me long enough to roll them in frustration. “Yah, your going
to pay for this”
“But Frankie, look at the beauty!”
“Zip it sunshine unless you want to drive?!” “NO? All rightly then, you are going to get me down the mountain the shortest way possible. Got it? No waxing on about sunsets and lemon trees. Keep your eyes on the map Magellan!” “F..O..C..U..S!”
Fine! I’ll focus.
The map had a road leading down from the town we were in through a smaller town down to the main highway, but had failed to mark it as PRIVATE. As we approached the narrow and steep road Frankie paused.
“I don’t know.” I said with hesitation.
“Well what does the map say?” Franchesca asked.
“It has this road leading to the main road, but I don’t feel good about that sign with red slash through it. I have a bad feeling about this.”
“Well, we don’t have a lot of options so let’s try it.”
With that Frankie turned the car down the steep and narrow road. Within minutes we came to a pole in the road surrounded by planters filled with flowers. A dead end, crap! Evidently you need a resident pass to
get from the road we were on to the main highway.
A very old Italian woman in a floral house dress was standing near one of the flower boxes. “Excuse me, can you tell me how to best get to Positano?” Frankie politely asked in Italian. The woman pointed down the hill.
We both had to laugh. No kidding, really down the hill? Did she think we were idiots?
Frankie tried to explain that we didn’t have a pass needed to bring the pole down. Did she know another way to Positano? With that the woman started to motion that we should drive around the barricade.
“OK, there is like twenty inches around that pole. Did they not design it to keep cars out? How the hell am I supposed to get around it!” In her frustration, Frankie stated the obvious. She then leaned out the car window trying to explain to the woman that there was no way we could possibly get around the pole. With that, the woman started to yell at us in Italian waving down the hill.
Frankie tried to turn the car around. Not possible. She tried to back the
car up. Not possible. The old lady was still yelling at us. Crap!
Just to make things more interesting a series of cars squeezed by, like only Italian drivers can, waving passes lowering the pole and heading down the hill. At this point the little old lady was practically foaming at the mouth yelling at us that we should follow behind one of the cars as they lowered the pole. I was starting to worry that all the excitement and the heat might kill her. Her idea was the best yet, but not without significant risk as the pole, when lowered, stayed down just barely long enough for a small car to pass.
More yelling…..now she was waving her hands above her head. Frankie and I started to laugh uncontrollably. Crap………..! “She is not going to have to explain to the rental car agency why there is pole embedded in the middle of their vehicle abandoned on the side of a cliff in Amalfi.” I said.
“I really don’t think it would be the first time they got that call.” Franchesa noted.
Between the crazy little old Italian woman yelling at us and the fact that
Living on the edge
The view from my lounge chair. It was located on a rocky outcropping. The view was great but because the chairs were so close together every time I fliped over my hips knocked into our little table, spilling our drinks. The chair was wobbly making me think every time the breathed I was going to get dunked in the Med. But, oh what a view!there was nowhere to go but forward, Frankie closed her eyes and gunned it, following closely behind a car over the barricade.
We both looked at each other in disbelief. Oh my God….success! As we headed down the road the little old lady could be heard still yelling in the background. You didn’t have to understand Italian; you only needed to have a mother to know it was a hallelujah chorus of “I told you so”.
The road was private for a reason….only an Italian, born on the Amalfi Coast, would be insane enough to attempt to drive it. It was so steep I actually thought the car might roll end over end into the ocean. Frankie, not daring to take her eyes off the road, not even for a second “I am going to !@#$%^! kill you!”.
Yah, that’s fair I thought. Of course that was based on the very optimistic view that we lived that long.
Once deposited on the “main road” which in any other country would qualify as a one way, one lane road, we were met by the large tour buses coming from Sorrento. We met the first one on a
View from the hotel lobby
We had breakfast here every morning. blind corner of which every corner on this road was. The mirror posted on a tall pole would have helped a little had it not been already broken. As it was the bus took both of us by surprise.
“Holy !@#$%^! I !@#$%^ Hate you!”
Yep, I figured.
20 kilometers of dodging tour buses, vespas, wandering tourists, locals, dogs and cats, all on a one lane road used for two way traffic with rock walls on one side, sheer cliffs plugging 500 feet to the ocean below and hairpin, blind turns, had not left Frankie very happy, especially with me. When we finally arrived safely at our hotel Frankie could only shoot me the look of death as she handed the car keys to the valet.
“So I guess the first bottle of wine is one me?” I offered, trying to lighten the mood.
“I think I have an ulcer” Frankie stated, not looking at me.
We entered a small elevator just barely able to fit the two of us and a hotel employee who was escorting us down to the lobby. I found it hard to stand, my knees still wobbling from the
adrenaline rush of the recent drive.
The hotel lobby was as beautiful as the photos I had seen. There were big white slip covered sofas and chairs, a beautiful hand painted terracotta tile floor. A wall of glass looked out onto a terrace filled with olive trees, lemon trees, bougainvillea and flowers. And then there was the view of the ocean you only see in Amalfi.
As I stared out at the mega yachts slowly swaying on their anchors in the distance, I was brought back to reality by the curt receptionist behind the desk.
“How may I help you.” He said with a look and tone of voice that made it very clear the only help he seemed to want to provide was an escort out.
“We have a reservation and we are here to check in.” I politely retorted.
“Oh really. Do you have proof of your reservation?” He said, still convinced we could not possibly be staying at his hotel. Much to his disappointment we did have a fully paid reservation and he quickly provided us our room key as if to get us out of the lobby and his sight as
soon as possible.
A very friendly maid escorted us to our room. She took us down jasmine and bougainvillea laced stairs. I could hear Franchesca gasp at the view and I didn’t have to turn around to know she was no longer angry. Positano had worked its magic on her.
Our room was airy and white with tall, narrow French doors that opened onto a small balcony coved in pink bougainvillea. From the balcony there was a view over a large sunning deck with teak lounge chairs and cream colored market umbrellas. Beyond the deck was the sea.
As I stepped out onto the balcony, from a distance I could hear the ringing of the Church bells in town as if to say “ Welcome to Positano.”
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