"Mal" about Amalfi

Mafia, legendary pirate invasions, cliffs cascading into the horizon, plates of fresh pasta, Fiats, pottery made from Versuvius's volcanic rock, azure grottos and crazy bus drivers. Yes... we were finally on Italy's Amalfi coast!

Our first introduction to the UNESCO world heritage site and one of the most magnificent coastlines in the world was from the window of our easyJet flight. With Capri on the horizon, and if we overlooked the budget seats and lack of leg room, we could almost imagine being movie stars (I was definitely going to be on the look out for George Clooney). This was, in fact, my easyJet debut, and I had been completely unprepared for the improprietous stampede that followed the exit from the airport bus. Luckily my husband was a semi-experienced easyJetter and made a good job of making it up the stairs and securing us window seats away from the loos while I was still standing near the bottom of the plane wondering what the hell had happened.

Our taxi driver (Giovanni), having grown up in Sorrento, was well practiced in piloting down the winding roads that had been carved into the vertical cliffs, so we took off at an expected breakneck speed with him frequently taking his hands off the steering wheel so that he could wave them around at appropriate intervals while he regaled us with stories about Naples and his native coastline. Napoli is all about the Mafia, Versuvius and Margherita pizza, and we did not, unfortunately, have enough time to check it out or visit Pompeii.

Following some awesome stops at the stunning viewpoints, and a side-trip to taste some homemade strawberry liqueur and limoncello (always good before lunch), we were dispatched with a heartfelt "Grazie, arrivederci" at the bottom of the 414 steps we had to scale to reach our B&B, located in Arienzo, Positano, on a working farm that the family had owned for generations, and just under the famous "Walk of the Gods" (Sentiero degli Dei), where you have to (and we did) climb about 2000 steps to get to the top of the escarpment to look over the stupendous vistas. And, yes, the view was totally worth the cardiac arrhythmias and semi-paralytic gasping attacks we suffered.

The authenticity of the coast, with the little white houses stuck on to the cliffs as if by magic, the little fishing boats bobbing on the wave-less ocean, the little stores selling brightly-painted pottery and the total lack of eyesores (apparently the few large, ugly hotels that were built in the 70s were demolished), makes for a landscape almost too beautiful to be believed. And the best part is that you can feast your eyes and your tummy all at once because they have numerous bistros offering fresh pasta loaded with garlic, olive oil, fresh seafood and the reddest, ripest, most flavour-packed baby tomatoes with just a dusting of Parmesan.... and all washed down with a rich bottle of Chianti... and to end off: tirimisu, pannacotta, gelati, a cheese platter with figs, or a host of other delicious choices that are best complimented with Italian espresso... ...what more could you ever want to eat?

The bus schedule never running to time and us only being able to purchase tickets at random garages and mini-stores anyway, we often just did the suicidal walk along the single-doubling-unconvincingly-as-a-double-lane-road-without-an-emergency-lane "freeway" (both fast and with the drivers taking liberal freedoms with the rules of the road) instead. This seemed stupid, especially at night when one particularly rabid-looking dog seemed to take great joy in chasing us down the road, only re-treating when some mad driver came hurtling around the corner. But the buses seemed even more stupid. Seriously suicidal. The bus drivers seemed to concentrate more on styling their hair in the rear-view mirror than on the road, and were quite happy to negotiate sharp turns and blind corners with just a toot of the hooter, all the while chatting on their mobile phones or with the passengers behind them, hand-jestings and all. It was especially thrilling with a sheer cliff on the one side, which it felt like you were looking straight over when the bus cavorted around the bends, causing the entire carriage of the bus to slide horizontally. The bus ride on Capri was the most death-defying because the tiny orange vehicles that ferry tourists all over the island only have 6 seats in them so most of the time you are left standing, clinging for dear life onto the pole and the people around you and hoping that you weren't making the bus too top heavy as you watch your life continuously flash before you. I will never complain about minibus taxi drivers in South Africa ever again.

We visited the mountaintop villages of Nocelle and Ravello, ate at seaside restaurants with the Mediterranean stretching out luxuriously in front of us, took the funicular up to the top of Capri to gaze down upon the rich and famous and survived the crazy byways. We saw cars parked, impossibly, bumper to bumper and with their hubcaps grazing the barrier. We ate home-made lemon cake and fig jam and bruschetta with tomato and basil and enough pasta to carbo-load for a marathon. We passed through groves of lemon and olive trees and vineyards and tomato fields. We walked the narrow cobbled streets of the adorably authentic alleyways and marveled at the preserved buildings with their almost designer-looking peeling paint and just the right amount of disheveled-ness. Now all I want to know is, when are we going back?