Praying and Eating in Italy



A view down the cliffs from the road in town



At my pretty little church the old ladies of the parish always say the rosary out loud before mass. One person leads half the Hail Mary and then everyone chimes in for the second half. Or at least that’s how we usually do it in Amercia. Here sometimes they all say the first half and only one person says the second half. Actually, I really don’t know for sure this is what is happening as I don’t know the rosary in Italian. But they all have their jobs pretty well worked out. One sweet lady sits in back and hands out the papers for whatever will be that week’s special rosary and litanies. Sometimes I can follow this paper and sometime I can’t because they always seem to break out in song at odd times and with words that are nowhere on the paper. I just sort of la-la-la along with them and desperately try to figure out where they are. Another lady usually does the leading of the prayers and we all jump in for the communal part. But one day the normal leader was missing and another lady took her part. This was the most fun rosary I have ever said. The words to the second half of the Hail Mary go ‘Holy Mary, mother of God’ and then continue on. Well I can understand that much in Italian because they say ‘Santa Maria, Madre Dios.’ That night the lady saying this part was in front of me and it was like I had traveled to a movie set and I was in a dim church with a women wearing a dull, rough scarf over her head and each time it was her turn I loudly heard in a pleading voice--- now you need to say this out loud to get the effect -- "Sahnta Mahreea, mahdray Deeos." I could just imagine the outstretched arms reaching to heaven pleading for the intercession of Mary. It was right out of central casting. I had to hide my smile every single Hail Mary we prayed. Classic Italian and, I thought, pretty hard for anyone in heaven to ignore. It’s Italy!

My daughter and her roommates from Rome came to stay one long weekend and we had a wonderful time. All the ladies in church tried to figure out who these young girls were coming to church praying and going to daily mass, so Don Pio brought an English speaking woman over to get all the info on each of the girls. I’m sure all that information was then passed along to the rest of the church ladies. One old lady named Theresa, the aunt of Adraina, just kept jabbering away to all of us in Italian. We were not sure what she said, but she was having a wonderful time telling us all about something. I received lettuce and endive from her a few days later. So cute!

The girls had to take several busses and a train to get to Praiano from Rome, but were thrilled to be in such an exciting area, even if they did have to walk up my stairs with their heavy backpacks. We did a lot of cooking that weekend as my daughter brought me some coveted food items I couldn’t get in Praiano such as brown sugar, peanut butter, and maple syrup. It rained a bit too so we played cards which was great fun for me as I have been living alone and had zilch English communication. I had also bought Limoncello, Strawcelllo and Prosecco. One night it was St Patrick’s Day and another night it was the Feast of St Joseph, so we celebrated with fervor. We made fresh lemonade with my lemons. I made bread pudding after we went to a great dinner at a local restaurant I wanted to share with them. Another time I made lemon butter sauce with my lemons for flopped German Pancake (their flour is different from ours). Another night I made an American chicken dinner with gravy and potatoes and beans – all fresh—with the Prosecca and Limon and Stawcello. Then we discovered a new restaurant that was just opening for the season. My daughter’s roommates had never been to a fancy restaurant in Italy and had a wonderful time and we all loved the cuisine. The girls also fell in love with one of the very handsome men who ran the restaurant. The next day we all took a long walk to the Praiano beach, but were too tired to go all the way down except for one roomate. She actually ran down the long winding path to the beach and went wading in the cold water. On our way back we decided to stop at the same restaurant from the night before for lunch -- still delicious and a terific view in the daylight. The girls went off the bar one day for coffees and people watching while I made chocolate chip cookies and fresh tomato and garlic on lemon pasta for a good-bye lunch. All in all a fun and filling weekend.



The girls climbing my stairway



I also have been doing a lot of cooking on my own. I buy pasta, meat, tomatoes or sauce and other fresh ingredients and then I make what I think is a small batch of something. Sometimes it is baked, sometimes sautéed, but no matter how hard I try to make a small amount, it always turns out to be at least three to four meals worth of food. The tomatoes are REAL and taste so good, just like the ones we grow and pick ourselves at home.  I have made lemon cookies with lemon glaze and two liters of fresh squeezed lemonade. I put lemons in my water and soda and to help clean the wooden cutting board and any smelly items.  I found a wonderful cheese, Pecorino Sardo, at the store on the other side of town that I absolutely love just plain or grilled. I made a fantastic wine sauce with the lovely chicken they have here and I am thinking of marrying the butcher. Obviously I am going on a diet when I reach America, but not before. It’s Italy!



Dinner at Casa Peggy



Dinner on the town in Praiano



Small Town Life



Children playing on the morning beach in Amalfi





Lunch in Ravello



I decided to go to the famous hill town of Ravello perched above the sea and containing some very famous villas, gardens and a yearly music festival. To travel there I would need to take the coast bus to Amalfi, then wait for a different, smaller bus able to traverse the even narrower winding mountain roads. Ravello dates back to the fourth century as a refuge against the barbarian attacks along the coastline. Its population and popularity rose and fell over the centuries and is now seen as a small tourist, cultural and artistic haven. It has a famous cathedral containing the blood of St Pantaleone and a convent containing the crypt of Blessed Bonaventura, a monk with many miracles attributed to him.

As I waited for my second bus in Amalfi I had a chance to just watch the native Italians and see what a wonderful pace they set for themselves. Everyone seems to have time to stop and talk to each other. They all smile and yell jokes as they pass. The older women congregate on benches in their drab winter clothes even though it is almost 70 degrees, and many of them wear dresses, stockings, and sturdy shoes. Another young man leans on a rail in his down jacket and converses with someone painting a building across the street. All around busses are stopping, starting, turning around, cars are zooming by, and motorcycles are bobbing in and out. A mother and two children are playing on the beach in the morning sun. Chaos and peace seem to co-exist in a way impossible in America.

My bus arrived and it wound its way up into the mountains and we were let off next to a tunnel.  I then walked through and found myself in the charming town of Ravello. On one side of the town are views of the Mediterranean, and on the other are views of the great canyon we traversed to get there. I saw a bar and headed straight to get my cappuccino. As I stood the barista asked where I was from and I told him America.  His English was hazy, but I understood. He then asked me what I thought of Obama. Unlike Amercians, Italians and most Europeans, like to talk about politics. A good rousing argument is a way of life for them, it’s consider intellectual not insulting.  I wasn’t too sure of our ability to communicate here, but thought ‘when in Rome…’ So I made a bad face and shook my head and said “Non, I don’t like him.” The baristas said “Non, I don’t either.” And then he put up his hand and did the open and close talk sign and I did the same thing back and nodded my head. Then the younger helper chimed in with a big smile and said “I like Obama”. Thus ensued a short, bizarre and good natured political conversation about Obama. I decided to take a photo and each guy was supposed to hold a thumb up or down if they liked Obama. In the photo they both did the opposite! As I was taking the picture and old grizzly, gap toothed guy came in and wanted to know what the discussion was about. Someone told him, and he said he liked Obama and then got up close to me with a big smile and wanted to know why I didn’t like him. I was thinking how hard it would be to explain to a socialist that Obama is spending too much money when I can hardly speak Italian.  We said a few things to each to each other and --  here is where I am sure I must have Italain blood – I start gesticulating wildly instead of really saying anything. It was another of those conversations where I wasn’t sure what happened, but I got his picture with a thumbs- up for Obama. All in all, a fine introduction to Ravello.

After that I made my way to the nearby cathedral for my prayers and candles lighting. I then strolled leisurly around looking in shops trying to decide if I wanted to take tours through the large villas or just wander. I also had to find the convent where the Blessed Bonaventura was buried. I stumbled on a tiny cameo shop that I’m generally not interested in, but I saw some figurines in the window and thought I would ask about them. Inside were all types of carved coral and ivory, mostly jewelry and some religious article. A magnificent two level crèche scene in carved ivory was under glass. I asked if they had any figurines of fisherman. My son is a priest and an avid fisherman, he has also answered the call of God to “be a fisher of men” as St Peter and all the apostles were called. So I have tried, unsuccessfully, to find some painting or figure of a fisherman. The young woman asked the older man ‘Papa’ if they had anything like that. In a moment he finished with a customer and asked me to follow him. We passed through a roped off area and into his private museum. What treasures I was privileged to see! Gorgeous figurines he has collected, crosses, paintings, some priceless artifacts, and many special antique cameos. He told me how blessed I was to have a priest for a son even if I would not have grandchildren from him I would get special blessings. He was sorry he did not have  a fisherman, but said maybe he could work something out someday with me. He had made a coral rosary for Pope John Paul II and several other items for Vatican officials. How nice of him to share his time and treasures with me even when I was not buying anything.

I was then told to go down a street, under an arch and up a few stairs and I would find the convent I was looking for. So I did so and as I was walking up the stairs I was able to enjoy a view of the sea in the distance and Villa Rufolo beside the wall next to me. The stairs were hardly a ‘few’ and I began to feel like I was back in Praiano, but I finally came to the top and there was the convent. I went into the church, found Blessed Bonaventura’s crypt, said some prayers, and lit a candle. As I came out I saw the cloisters to the side and went over to walk through the area. It turns out the cloisters were now attached to some sort of art gallery and large paintings and sculptures were scattered around the perimeter. Kind of odd. After a short art tour I started down the  stairs which were quite lovely as they passed a gated vineyard on one side and the views I already mentioned on the other. As I passed the open door to a hotel, beautiful piano music was drifting out and I could see lovely tables set on a terrace with views high above the sea. I hesitated thinking it was probably hotel type food, but then figured the view was probably worth it. The view was actually outstanding. Slighty windy, but overlooking the sea and coast as far as possible down the boot of Italy on a clear day and overlooking the Villa Rufola’s grounds I sat in a sort of daze not quite believing I was here. I ordered lemon shrimp risotto and a glass of red wine. Piping hot and crisply lemony I savored the food, the wine, the view, the glorious sunshine and my great good fortune. I also discovered the trick to stemming my spending habit when I visit these small towns – wine at lunch. I was so tired, so relaxed I just wanted to go home and take a nap. Home was two busses away so I trotted down the hill caught the first bus to Amalfi. Switched quickly in Amalfi and did the head-nodding thing all the way back to Praiano. If the bus had not been filled with all the high school kids from Amalfi standing in the aisle and yelling back and forth, I may have missed my stop. Tip: avoid the 2:30 Amalfi to Praiano buss, it pretty much becomes a school buss at that time.

I barely made it to the top of my steps and fell into bed. I had made a date with Nan from Canada to go for dinner that night so I needed to recover. Once awake and refreshed I got ready and went back down the stairs. I stopped to talk to the girls who own the ceramics/toys/bra shop that Angelo told me to talk to and I think we decided I would go back the next day and look at boxes for sending home my extra purchases. Small communication gap, but not impossible. As I walked to meet Nan I met Angelo walking toward the Bar. I asked if he was going for coffee and he said "No. I justa go to a boolsheet witha da odder mena in da town." And that is what they do each evening, they stand or sit each evening in this tiny piazetta with two benches and they 'boolsheet' for a couple hours. Each evening I hear their voices gently float up above the stairs and houses to my balcony and I look down and see them standing and sitting and gesturing to each other. I wonder what they are saying and long to understand Italian so I could listen in on these daily meetings. Where has this sort of life gone in Amercia?

I met Nan at a hotel down the road where she was using the internet all week as the place she rented did not have internet. We had a drink at their bar while Luigi poured the drinks. He runs the hotel with his sister, mother, and father. He went to school with Jeanluca who helps run my market at the foot of the stairs. So I got a little town gossip. I mentioned where we were going for dinner and Luigi told me about the crush he used to have on the woman who runs that place. I love small towns!

We walked up the road to this restaurant I discovered when my daughter visited. Then the night  had been cold and dark. Now it was warm and still light out. I was surprised to see all the windows pushed open, the bougainvillea and wisteria blooming and a table waiting for us to watch the setting of the sun over Positano and the mountains. It truly was picture perfect. We had more delightful, delicious food: a complimentary glass of prosecco, fresh dover sole in white wine sauce , another smooth lemon risotto, real tomato bruschetta, strawberry tiramisu and a bottle of local red wine. For the second time in one day I had managed outstanding views in a great restaurant. I also barely made it home and was a total washout the next day. Oh well. Buonissimo!!!

One thumb up and one thumb down for Obama

One thumb up for Obama



Dinner in Praino with the setting sun in my face




The evening 'boolsheet' session



It's Italy!



Positano from the beach


 The storm finally passed and the broken window glass was cleaned up, but I have no idea if it will be replaced before I leave. Adriana seemed to think this was a big problem to get new glass for the window. It’s Italy! The mold growing on the walls in my hall was a different story. Since I needed to show Adriana the broken window I thought she may as well see the fuzzy mold growing along the floorboards and in patches on the wall. I wasn’t too bothered because I shut my living room doors all the time and didn’t see or smell the mold. She was upset though and claimed it had never happened before. She had to get her sister to come in twice to clean and spray it with bleach, as she is pregnant and can’t handle the chemicals. I now believe I am the renter from hell having broken an ice tray, a handmade ceramic cup, a ceramic baking dish, a window and now encouraged mold to grow.

People relaxing at the bar in Praiano



Speaking of ‘It’s Italy’, I tried to go to Positano three days in a row. I was very excited because the small local bus, which runs inside Praino taking people up and down and then over to Positano was finally running. I had received the schedule when I first arrived and it announced the start date as March 27. I studied the routes in each city and marked down the bus stops. I wrote out my own schedule so I would have a back-up in my purse. I tromped down the stairs with money in my purse and a camera ready the first day just to ride the whole circle so I could see where the bus goes and get a view of the surrounding area. I went to the Tabachi to buy my ticket. The man there doesn’t speak English and I finally realized he was telling me to buy my ticket on the bus. I didn’t like that idea because I didn’t have small bills and I really didn’t want to get screamed at by the bus driver. I headed back to my market because they had a sign saying they sold tickets. I asked Silvio if I needed one or two tickets if I was just going to ride the circle there and back. He was not sure what I meant, but did say I needed two If I didn’t want to spend the night in Postinao. So I bought two. Next I ran into Adriana and I asked her If I could just ride the circle there and back. She didn’t really get this idea either, but finally said the bus stops in Positano and I must get off. So I looked at my schedule and realized that would strand me in Positano for three hours over the riposo and if everything closed I would have to have a three hour lunch by myself. So I decided I would try for the earlier bus tomorrow. I crawled back up the steps.

Next day I was at the bus stop for the earlier bus, which would give me about the right amount of time I wanted to spend in Positano. I waited, and I waited. After over an hour I gave up, went to the Tabacchi, and checked the schedule. Lo and behold, there was now a special new schedule for just the first two weeks. I asked if they had a copy, and the lady said no, take a photo. So I did. This schedule was not on their website either. It’s Italy! The third day I went down at the time posted on the new, temporary schedule and was ready to throw my body in front of any bus going that way. Finally, I saw the local bus coming at the time it was supposed to be going to Positano. I unself-consciously waved it down—I was not missing this baby – and it took me all the way up through Praiano first, which was not the way the schedule said it should go, but the driver did say it was going to Positano. Fine. I sat back and fretted about where I would get off in Positano.

The drive was beautiful and Positano is a giant next to Praiano. We wove around and around and up, then down, and suddenly the driver parked the bus. I knew the stop I wanted was the last one at a Piazza called Mulini. We were at a tiny lot at the end of a road above the main city and the driver was getting off!?! Finally a nice Italian man said I had to get off here and walk down and if I went with him he would show me to the bus stop. So we walked down a lovely curving road and came to all the crass tourist shops that populate Positano. He works at one to help a friend. He pointed to where the bus picks up passengers and where I go to get to the cathedral and the ocean. I heartily thanked him, as I would have been lost otherwise. I went to the so-called bus stop and it had a tiny little schedule and a bench. I would have had no idea it was where to pick up the bus if the man had not taken pity on me. Now I knew why everyone was confused about me wanting to take a circle ride. The bus just stops and the driver goes and has an espresso.

I went straight to the cathedral as I have learned to absolutely schedule my day around riposo. If I cannot find the hours of some attraction ahead of time, I assume it will close between noon and 4:00 PM to be safe. I didn’t realize that this part of Positano was all touristy and nothing closed for riposo, but God comes first anyway. So I did my tour of the great cathedral, said my prayers and lit a candle. Then I walked out to the beach, which gives fantastic views of the town itself. Houses are built on top of houses and you get the feel of a great, multicolored, crooked wedding cake; very charming with two beautiful beaches. But way too populated, busy and ‘discovered’ for me. On the bus in I had passed one of the places I had considered renting and I was greatly relieved I was staying in quiet, unpretentious Praiano. Unfortunately, I managed to find many things to purchase and haul along with me. I finally stopped at a bar and stood while I had a cappuccino then made my way to the bus stop. Staying home in Praiano is much cheaper.

The stores in Praiano are really interesting. Praiano tends to be the town everyone drives through to get to Amalfi or Positano. Even though it has the best position and views of the coast, the other towns are larger and more geared to tourism. At the bottom of my stairs are three stores in a row, then the bank, a taxi and the bar. Except for the bank, the owners are   are all related. That was why when one of them died, everything closed. Most of them live right above the stores or across from them. I think I have been introduced to all of them, but I am totally confused on who is married to whom and which old man is the grandpa to which child, and which is an aunt to which girl. I do know who sits in which store. But the best part is what is in the stores here in Praiano. The three stores right below me: one is the food market which also sells booze, one is half ceramics with another wall of old kid’s toys, and women’s bras and female accessories behind the counter, and the  third shop is shoes, purses, nail polish, hair and body soaps and some underwear. One of the old men is always in charge of the last shop. I felt a little strange trying to talk about nail polish to an old Italian man in my bad Italian. Down the street is a tiny shop about 8x14 that is half ceramics, some toys, more women’s bras, and hanging from the ceiling is all manners of women’s sweaters and tops. Another small shop sells just these dresses shaped like housecoats in these weird sort of tropical florals that didn’t make the cut somewhere else and another old man is also tending shop. Then there’s the little hole in the wall where the fresh fish are brought and you can go and buy today’s catch. And a beautiful little store with the Limoncello factory connected to it. I had a wonderful quasi conversation with him –he only spoke Italian - about what he makes and he proudly took me into his shipping area and showed me pallets of Limoncello, Strawcello and Meloncello that he said were being shipped to New York and Arizona. The two butchers are the most exciting thing in the world to me because you actually see the meat being cut up for you, ground for you, made into sausage for you. The chicken was so juicy I could make a beautiful wine sauce from a single breast! And the hair salon is across from the man/women’s quick mart. So from the bizarre to the sublime, I have it all in Praiano.

I decided I needed to send a box home because I seem to acquire a few too many trinkets whenever I leave Praiano. So I went to the Post Office even though I was terrified of the screaming women. I even wrote down everything I had to ask so I could just hand it to her and run away if necessary. Luckily the young man was behind the glass and read my question about buying and sending a box. He looked and said they were all out and to come back tomorrow. I came back twice and still no box. The third time he said for sure tomorrow. It’s Italy! Meanwhile I ran into Angelo the man from New York related to everyone at the bottom of the stairs. He told me to ask one of the girls in the ceramic shop about sending a package – that’s the ceramic/toys/bra shop. Well they have gone out of their way to help me find boxes and are going to cover and address and send it UPS for me. I saw a relative of Adraina’s who goes to daily mass with me on the stairs. I haven’t been going lately because it is late at night and my knee has been acting up. I didn’t want the priest to worry, so I asked her to tell him why I wasn’t around. I finally saw the priest today and tried to explain, but he said he had heard and not to worry. Everyone is so nice and helpful.

Of course, nothing is ever simple either. Today I needed some groceries, tape, and a nail file. At home I would have jumped in the car and made one stop. Here I had to stumble down my 127 stairs and walk to four stores for those items: food market, butcher, tabacchi and ceramic/toys/bra store. And, since I was already out I took a stroll below the church first, visited the church said some prayers and lit a candle, and then went to the bar and sat outside with a cappuccino. So I got my exercise, I got my coffee and people watching, and I got to mingle with the town people and feel just a little like an Italian. Life is all about finding the good part of the tough stuff. Mama mia!



All along the walls of Praiano little niches
have religious stautes and paintings.



While I waited for the non-existent bus to Amalfi
I watched the donkeys carry things up and down in Praiano.

The man/women in the butcher shop





Admiring and Being Admired







Fresh fish in the market in Amalfi



I acquired a new admirer yesterday. I had ventured to Amalfi for the day to see the paper mill museum, the famous cathedral and maybe buy some of the famous handmade paper. The sun was again shining and sparkling off the sea as I set off down my steps to catch a bus to Amalfi. At the bus stop was an attractive, moderately overweight woman in a sleeveless top, and wearing white tennis shoes. Dead giveaway for an Amercian. Actually several: overweight, white tennis shoes, sleeveless top. Only Americans wear white tennis shoes, any other color is ok – I was wearing olive hiking shoes. Only old Italian women get overweight although some younger ones get chunky, after awhile the difference is obvious. And Italians are always cold. It may be sunny and almost 70 degrees, but they still have on coats, boots, leather jackets, and scarves. So I stood there for a few minutes and then asked “Parla inglese?” She smiled and said yes and we struck up a conversation. I was wrong, she was from Canada. Make my appearance generalization North Americans, as she was the third set of Canadians I had run into, all recognizable as North Americans. Over the last two weeks the tourist have really begun to show up and I amuse myself by trying to decide where they are all from. North Americans are soooo obvious.

The bus ride was a joy all in itself. I could ride back and forth on this coast every day. The scenery is so spectacular and the way houses, hotels, restaurants and pools have been slapped into the sides of these cliffs is beyond amazing. Imagination and tenacity have boldly created daring and fascinating dwellings. One spot on the drive has a large rock formation, I forgot the name, of a silhouette of the Virgin Mary holding the Baby Jesus. Huge, and needing no imagination, it appears as you round a bend, and on top of each of their head’s grows a single tree looking just like the crown you see in pictures and statues. Remarkable. As we drove along I had a nice conversation with Nan from the bus stop who was going to Ravello for the day. We decided we might meet at some point for dinner later in the week as we were both traveling alone. Nice to have had more than a two or three minute conversation in English.

Back to my new admirer. The cathedral in Amalfi is very famous for several reasons. For centuries a church has stood on that spot and new churches built over and around old ones. St. Andrew, the first apostle called by Jesus, is buried here and he is also the patron of the city. So the cathedral is both a museum and a place of worship. If you come after 10:00 in the morning it is only a museum and you have to pay to enter. I had to pay. The town centers around the mighty facade of this cathedral as there are 72 or so steps to reach the impressive entrance. I managed to climb all 72 stone steps without a break. Thank you Praino! My first stop was the splendid and peaceful cloisters next to the church proper. Here were many ancient frescoes, sacrafuges, and carvings in addition to a small central garden. From the cloisters I entered the museum that is actually two of the old churches uncovered for visitors to see, and many priceless artifacts and religious paintings and statues. Here is where I picked up my admirer. One of the docents, Franco, an older Italian man, decided he liked me and became my personal guide, which was helpful as his English wasn’t bad and most the signs were in Italian. As I was looking at a large painting of the Annunciation when the angel Gabriel comes to Mary in the garden and tells her the Holy Spirit will come upon her and she will be with child, the son of God, he had a very sweet and Italian way of explaining what was happening. He took my hand to shake it gently and said” This is when God introduces himself to Mary.” He knew his facts and his dates so it was very interesting, especially when he asked if I was meeting my husband soon. I was a bit on auto pilot at that moment and said no I’m alone, and then thought to myself “you idiot!” And then quickly mentioned my two children in Rome who always come to visit, like that was going to scare him. As we were looking at some pieces in a display case he said “You have very beautiful ears.” I looked at him and said thank you, and hoped he meant my eyes, but decided I would check out my ears in the mirror when I got home. Maybe I have some treasure of which I am unaware.

I was relived to move on to the crypt as I assumed Franco had to stay in position in the museum. The crypt of St Andrew is very beautiful with special statues by Bernini and gorgeous marble and of course the relics of the saint. I spent quite a bit of time here in prayer and was offended by the loud people who passed through with no regard to the spiritual significance of the spot. When churches become museums this is what happens. After the crypt I moved to the newer, upper cathedral and who do you think is waiting for me? Franco. I don’t know if he was supposed to move or if he shuffled things around, but he popped out from behind a pillar as soon as I came up the stairs. I then got another tour of the main church with Franco clutching my arm and turning me to and fro. When I was ready to leave, two other docents let us out and he followed me. I thought, oh oh, what now? Luckily there was a young bride and groom having photos taken so I joined in and took some too. I then turned and shook Franco’s hand, thanked him for his help and walked down the steps. Whew!

Earlier in the day I had walked way up the main street to find the paper museum. I had seen a map a few weeks ago that showed it high up in the town. Amalfi introduced paper to the western world. The Arabs learned it from the Chinese and they in turn taught it to the Amalfians. Many streams pass down the mountains and cliffs through Amlfi and into the sea. As I walked up through town I could hear these streams running under and beside the street. I knew these streams fed the power wheels that turned the paper making machines. Eventually I came to the museum. Two Canadians (of course) and myself were given a tour in English and shown this ancient equipment that is still used for paper making today. This paper is the type made from cotton, not wood, although they also had an old machine for making paper from wood. The most fascinating part of the process was the use of animal urine to help bleach and breakdown the cotton fibers. Blech! I wonder who and how they collected the urine? Several small shops also make their own paper and each of them put a unique watermark on their paper. The mill claims the Vatican uses their paper. And they don’t use the urine anymore. I bought paper at three different shops in town.

Earlier I had decided to stop for a cappuccino in the main square. It reminded me of the culture shock I have been experiencing this last week – tourists have invaded my little slice of Italy. My first 4-5 weeks here there were virtually no tourists around. I was the stranger. The other day I went to Positano, and got off the bus and had to catch my breath to keep from weeping. All around me were stores obviously catering to the tourists; crass commercialism in my corner of Italy. People with back packs and horrible colored clothing and skin exposed to the sun. What happened? I was devastated. My stay on the Amalfi coast was undeniably altered. Even my little market has changed the operating hours. My sleepy town is awakening to the influx of foreigners. Good for the economy, but an invasion of the world I have created. So as I stood, like a true Italian, having refused a seat, to drink my cappuccino and watch the tourists in the square of Amalfi, I remarked to the barista “Many tourist!” He nodded his head and then I realized that to him I was a tourist and I must sound pretty stupid. How smug I had become in such a short amount of time.

Later when I sat for lunch, I chose a very touristy spot in the square because I wanted to people watch. I had a marvelously simple and overpriced lunch of Salade Compagnalia or something like that. It consisted of three balls of fresh mozzarella over thinly slice prosciutto, darling shaped local mushrooms, baby greens with corn, ripe tomatoes and Italian olives, drizzled with olive oil and fresh lemon, with an order of French Fries for my American craving. Feeling the warm sun, enjoying this simple but, delightful food as the people strolled by, I knew I was living a dream, so I toasted St Andrew beside me and snapped pictures. The lovely bride and groom, both dressed in white, came by again for more photos. This time all the tourists stopped and took pictures. But the the most marvelous scene was this little old man. The couple was both Asian, so neither was very tall. As they walked down the street I watched a bent little man in a beret with scrunched up shoulders and no neck carrying a few bags scurrying to get ahead of them. When he finally managed to get in front of them, he screwed up his head to look up at them, smiled, and said “Amore, amore!” It was beyond precious. Hollywood could not have scripted or cast it better. What a privilege to witness.

When I was packing way back in early January I had queried my daughter on what the Italians were wearing this year as she had been in Italy since September. She scoffed at me and said it didn’t matter what I wore, we all still look like Americans. Having been in Italy several times recently, I knew this to be true, but I still did not want to stick out, literally, from everyone around me, especially in a small town. My daughter eventually admitted gray was this year’s color, purple was still in, and everyone wore scarves. The scarves I knew and black is also a European basic, as it is with me. Now I am proud to report I have on several occasions been mistaken for Italian or at least European. Shopkeepers, people on the busses, and people in town have all started blabbing away to me in Italian only to realize as soon as I open my mouth, I’m not one of them. I feel immensely gratified that I am at least able to blend in even if I can’t speak and am often lost. I do a good job of pretending I know what I’m doing and where I’m going. The best was when I was walking down the street in Praiano  and a car stopped to ask for direction. I immediately said my “Non parlo italiano”line and as they sped off I heard someone say “Oh, great.” I guess I should offer which language I do speak.

After a beautiful, calm sunny day in Amalfi I took the bus back to Praino and climbed my stairs to lemon heaven as a slight breeze started to ruffle my hair. Within the hour another of those mighty, ferocious windstorms catapulted down the mountains and onto the coast. The seawater was whipped into frenzied white caps and everything in the house was rattling and scraping at the windows. I feared for anyone caught on the water or walking the mountain paths. These were dangerous winds. I immediately went outside to secure all the furniture on the balcony so it wouldn’t be flying down the cliffs when I heard a loud slamming in the house. I came into the kitchen and the window I had not yet closed had blown shut with such force it broke the glass. After cleaning up all the shards I managed to close an inner shutter over the opening shutting out the maddening wind and rain. Thus tucked in, I waited for another night of howling and shaking to pass.



Handmaking cotton paper













The "Amore,amore" man.





My admirer Franco



Walking the Highs and Lows of Praiano -- Part 2

The flowers hanging everywhere I walk.



One of my streets.



I love walking these little streets and I explored below the lower church to walk some of those lanes and catch glimpses of the sea between the trees and gardens. Since I have arrived spring is fully in bloom. The majority of trees don’t lose their leaves, but the few that do are starting to bud and flower, as are the grape vines. Many flowers are blooming and some sort of gorgeous lavender flower has bloomed lushly and hangs over the bowers under which we walk or people have as shelters in their garden and patios. Every little lane has pots on walls, beside doors, or in gardens. I think it would be a terrible stigma here if you did not have a green thumb. I have traveled down several streets I thought were public and ended up in someone’s front door, and other times I would swear I was at their door when I would notice a faint turn and walk through people’s patios as the little street continued. I’m not sure if the houses or the streets came first. Twice I followed paths that lead down to beaches with stairs of some 300- 500 steps. I wasn’t going to ry the steps, but I did want to get to the head of the steps. Once I sat above a beach in a deserted cove looking down on aqua water able to see the rock formations beneath the sea. Extemely peaceful. Another time I followed a path through houses, then gardens where it seemed to end above the sea in woods. I noticed a faint trail in front of one of the rock terrace walls and decided I may as well follow it. I heard someone chain sawing above me and prayed they weren’t going to just throw wood and branches down on me. The trail continued until some rough stone steps and fragile wooden rails loomed in front of me. I decided to go a bit farther as it seemed relatively safe. The rails certainly wouldn’t hold me if I grabbed them during a fall, but I wasn’t too worried. The sea again sparkled and beckoned with that lovely aqua color through the trees, but the trail sort of ended over an edge I couldn’t see and the handrails were also absent. Realizing no one knew where I was or what I was doing, I decided retreat was the reasonable option. The view was dazzling even if I didn’t get to touch the water.

Another time I had decided to climb up the cliffs behind town to reach a very famous convent that I can see from my house. A trail called the Walk of the Gods winds all along these cliffs and mountains on this peninsula and a part of it, the part considered the best, goes right by this convent. The woman at the Info office said it was 500 stairs up, but they were little and not difficult if you stop and rest frequently. I had my map of Praiano and saw if I went straight up from my house to the top road I could connect with the trail up there. So after almost collapsing trying to get to the top of Praiano, and admiring the really great view from the top, I continued to the end of the street and around the side. Whoa! All I saw was a canyon with a major, big cliff and the convent hanging off the far side way, way, way up high. My first thought was : where is my pick ax and rope? All I had brought was my hiking shoes. Not only that, the path split in two and there was clearly only one path on the map. Way on the far side of the canyon I saw a sort of staircase with a handrail going along the side and I figured that had to be part of it. But in front of me was a dirt path going down and some cement steps going up. I followed the cement steps for a bit and noticed the ground just dropped off to the left with no handrails. I again realized no one knew where I was and what I was doing. I retreated back to the beginning of the paths and just stared. I could not figure out how anyone would say it was easy to get up that cliff. I kept looking back and forth at the map and the convent. It was so high! Then suddenly and man comes around the corner dressed in hiking clothes, backpack and walking stick. We say hello and he moves on. Then he turns and comes back and tells me in accented English if I am trying to get across I should take the lower, dirt, path. He apologized for passing me, he said he was surprised to see a tourist here, and he had a vineyard up there and I could follow him if I wanted. I was sort of dumbfounded and I sputtered I was going to go another day. Before I could get out any more questions he was gone. All I could think was vineyard up there??? He had to put on hiking clothes to get there, how did he get the grapes down? I could just make out some terracing on the cliff walls and figured that must be the vineyard. I wanted to ask him a million questions, but he was already on the other side of the canyon and starting up the stairs. I never would have been able to keep up with him.

My stairs have definitely taken a toll on my bad knee and my back to the point where I limit my going down and up to once or twice a day. If you think I’m being a baby, Adraina just returned from her obstetrician and now that she in in her 7^th month, he said she, a lifelong Praiano stair climber with no pregnancy complications, can only do the stairs once a day. A couple days when my knee throbbed and my back shrieked I have just stayed up in my perch all day which is not much of a hardship when the sun is shining and the temperature is 70. Perfection comes to mind. However, after mass yesterday I really wanted to take a walk after resting my knee for two days. I started out on just a short stroll along the main highway, but when I got to the other side of town I thought, what the heck, I may as well go and see if I can find the grocery store again. By now I knew that if I wanted to walk uphill most of the way I could walk all the way around the point, zig zag up the roads in Praiano, stop at the store , continue winding up the road and end up above my house and slowly walk down a few inclines, and then about 60-70 stairs down to my house. So that is what I did. Luckily the store was open on Sunday (Don’t ask me why, none of them were before – it’s Italy!) and I could buy some water too. It was warm and sunny and I was thirsty. Oddly, the men at the store kept staring at me and looking back and forth at one another and I would like to believe I was looking pretty good that day, but it was probably because they were trying to figure out where I came from, just like the ladies in church. The other nice part of walking here is no one expects you to walk fast. Every walk will necessitate stairs and inclines so this is town of tortoises not hares. Putting your shopping bag down, resting and take a drink of water is perfectly acceptable. The funniest part to me is people are always standing waiting at the bottom of hills and if you watch long enough, someone else comes along and picks them up. They don’t call on a cell phone, it’s just worked out beforehand or someone they know drives by. So, what could have been a 5 minute walk up my 127 steps, became a 3 kilometer uphill walk, costing 20 Euros and ending with a half kilometer downhill stroll including some 50 to 60 stairs, taking about an hour and 15 minutes. I knew there was an easier way around!

The path that lead to one of the beaches.
It is marked as a steet on my map.

Path to nowhere in cliffs above Praiano

Walking the Highs and Lows of Praiano -- Part 1



The tower I look down on each day.



I think I have now walked most of Praiano. I have not climbed all the stairs and there is one high street I still have missed, but considering the shape of my back and knees, I am doing pretty well. I found a map of the town and that has also helped my explorations, as it often seems I am walking into someone’s home when it really is a street and vice versa. At least with a map in my hands I can hold it out and play dumb. Actually, I’m not playing.



Praiano is an ancient town built on a point. One side faces east toward Amalfi and the other faces westward toward Capri and Positano and the Sorrento Peninsula. I am on the westword side, but actually face due south so I catch sun most of the day. Both sides have breathtaking views and cannot fail to please any traveler taking the time to pause and gaze around. Praiano, of all the surrounding towns, has the best view of the entire coast; a coast that is dotted with old watchtowers built relatively close together in the 900’s to warn of invading Arabs, Muslims, and Turks. Some were built later, in the 1500’s, in a conical shap with circular bases and are quite beautiful. When they were no longer needed they were all sold, and remain now in private ownership. One is open as an artist’s studio in Praiano and I was able to go inside under the premise of viewing his wares. I think everyone must do likewise as his art is rather odd.

Praiano has always been a fishing village and until recently fishing was the main profession. The old village was situated right by the sea, but because of invasions and natural calamities they were forced to move higher. I guess that explains this cliff dwelling I‘ve been doing. They were famous for their coral and anchovy fishing, linen manufacturing, and, I keep reading this but I still don’t get it, production of hair nets. I keep visualizing those awful hairnets food service people have to wear and I just don’t think that’s what this town was famous for, but I haven’t seen any other kind of hair net and I don’t know how to ask about that in Italian. In addition, during the Roman Empire this was the summer holiday place of the doges or chief magistrates of the regions. The move up the mountains also initiated the farming as I see it today in all these garden and the farms outside of the towns.

I have walked down many winding streets that we would just consider narrow walkways between buildings in big cities. These walkways are often cobblestone, sometimes cement and usually have a little ceramic marker somewhere along the wall naming the street. On the streets that are mainly stairs, they will also tell me the number of stairs to some landmark or other street. When I visited the Information office the woman rattled of the number of steps to the beach, the number of steps to the convent in the cliffs, the number of steps to the high church. These people all know the amount of steps to most places they need or want to go. Normal streets also wind through the town and take you to the top eventually and then just end in a little spot large enough for a car to turn around. The main highway stays on a fairly flat surface and follows the coast about one third of the way up in town.

The first walk I took to the other side of Praiano I made an interesting discovery. I had walked the coastal highway around the point and then crossed to the ascending town road. The views just kept getting better. At this time I had not acquired a map so I was walking blind and when a fork in the road came up there were about 10 or 12 of those little signs pointing in different directions to places that meant nothing to me, so I went a little higher and then took a road that started going down. I vaguely remembered going this way to the large grocery store in town via car at the beginning of my stay. I came out at a piazza with a marvelous view of the sea going east to Amalfi and on my left was the other famous church in town, San Luca. I couldn’t see any way to get to the churgh though, so I decided to walk back the way I came. As I left the piazza I noticed a tunnel and bent and looked through and there was the church! I walked through the tunnel and came to the church’s large piazza. They were more equipped with piazza’s over here! The church doors were open so I decided to make a visit. When I walked in I realized why all the literature claims this as a must see destination: beautiful and set on another perfect location. I had stumbled upon this church’s 40 Hours of Adoration of the Blessed Sacrament and there were 6 different women there praying. As I sat down to pray, they all took turns turning around to see who I was. I’m sure their devoutness was interrupted by the fact that they had no idea who I was. After all, in my lower church they know who I am, in this upper church, I am an ‘outsider’ and it wasn’t tourist season yet!!!  When I left I decided I would try to find the grocery store because I remember it being directly above the church. I knew this would require climbing steps, but I looked up and saw the backs of buildings and figured it wasn’t that far – as the crow flies – always remember that on the Amalfi coast. Nothing is very far as the crow flies, but I have yet to sprout wings, which I do forget. I started climbing the only staircase in that direction and it was made of cement and had normal size stairs!!!!!! I had not encountered this in Praiano. I went up one way, took a breather, the stairs turned another and I went farther, then they turned again and went up higher and this continued for several minutes and I ended up on another little tiny street and no grocery store. Hmmmm. So I decided to go back in the direction I came. The walk was charming, as so many of these tiny streets are, and I enjoyed passing doorways and gates and potted plants and a man repairing the big stone walls that border these little streets. Then I came to a short, wide staircase I descended and ended up at the first piazza. No grocery store, but I had discovered why I was still aching and gasping every time I go up my stairway. Normal stairs were not nearly as difficult as mine. Mine are very deep and the heights are irregular as is the surface. No rhythm is possible on mine, and my torso and legs are constantly getting twisted from the surface. Since that day I have climbed many other stairs in the town and I am decreeing my 127 stairs by far and away the most difficult. I am in the older part of town and I guess that would account for the lack of modern skill applied in workmanship.



One of the 'streets' below the church.







To be continued...







The coast toward Amalfi with one of the watchtowers in the
foreground and one in the distance.







Smooth, normal stairs on a street -- not mine.