'Michael, make me an offer I can’t refuse.' I
couldn’t resist saying in what I thought was my best Italian accent to Michael
Rizzo, owner of Campania Car Rentals. Michael obviously had heard that dialogue
enough number of times and came swiftly to the point. 'You cannot
afford that 1951 Alfa Romeo convertible, even for a day. However, I do have a
2010 Peugeot that suits your budget. It’s fast enough for the drive.' Seeing my
hopeful look, he further added 'And no, it’s not a convertible.'
It was a beautiful May afternoon in Praiano, a
small town located between Amalfi and Positano, the Amalfi Coast’s poster towns.
I was alternating between admiring the stunning seascape and ogling at a red Alfa
Romeo convertible while occasionally paying attention to Michael.
We were
sitting in Bar del Sole, Praiano's favourite cafe. Located on the Amalfi
Highway and overlooking the stately Church of San Gennaro, Bar del Sole is the
main point of reference in Praiano. One doesn't say, 'Let's meet at Bar del
Sole'. One simply states the intention to meet and expresses a time conducive
to the concerned parties. And the parties will meet up at Bar del Sole. Unless
one states in no unequivocal terms that the meeting should happen at the cafe
at Onda Verde Hotel. Or at the Il Pirata restaurant down at the beach. So, when
Michael said that he would do the necessary car rental paperwork over a coffee
at 5, we had no doubts about where to land up. When you are in a village with a
population of 2000 or so, you quickly get to know the local favourites.
The paperwork is completed after many queries
- CDW - means if I bang into another car, crash into the rocky mountain face or
decide to dive into the sea while still in the car, irrespective of the damage,
all I needed to pay is 100 euros. Valentina,
the leather-clad, chain-smoking assistant of Michael handed over the keys to me. She smiled sweetly and pointed at the little
cross dangling from the key chain. 'That cross is to make sure you don't fall
into the Mediterranean while admiring the beauty of our coast.' I didn't know
whether she was joking or just stating a fact. But actually she had nailed the
subject.
Yes. The Amalfi Coast in Southern Italy is
considered to be one of the world’s most spectacular coastlines. And yes, it is
considered to be one of the most hair-raising drives too. Stretching some 40
odd km from Sorrento to Salerno, this famed road winds through red-roofed villages
clinging precariously to steep mountainsides with the Mediterranean beckoning
seductively below. An omnipresent lemon-scented breeze removes all last
vestiges of doubt about whether it's easier to hop on a coach and join other
gawking tourists or think of oneself as a modern-day adventurer and salivate at
the prospect of tackling hairpin bends behind the wheel of a 1951 red Alfa
Romeo convertible. Fine. A 2010 Peugeot hatchback.
But the point had been made. I think.
We walked to the tiny parking lot where a
magician had parked 15 cars in a space meant for 10. Michael seeing me wring my
hands in a very un-alpha male manner, quickly asked for the magician who
doubled as a waiter at the Bar del Sole. Times are tough after all. After a few
deft turns, my blue Peugeot miraculously found itself on the road. I got behind
the wheel and suddenly my long-cherished dream suddenly became all too real. I
drove straight up to our home stay near Piazza Moresa. Correction. I drove half
way. I found parking near the Praiano Municipal Hall. Blue lines for tourists.
Yellow for residents. Parking spaces in these towns are like the perfect
partner whom one knows is out there somewhere. But it’s a bit unlikely that you
will find one the moment you step outside your front door. I devoted a good
part of the evening to studying the details of the drive ahead.
I woke up to a bleak sky overcast with
clouds. I pondered for a brief moment whether it was an omen. But as I walked
down to the car, the ever-present lemon-scented breeze whispered encouragingly
in my ears. I could barely restrain myself from breaking into a jig.
The easiest part of driving down the Amalfi
Coast was the directions. There is one highway - the famous SS163, or the road
of 1000 bends. You just keep travelling on it, either towards Salerno or
Sorrento. The villages/towns that are located high above in the mountains are
also well signposted. You basically go off the SS163, snake up into the
mountains, down a quick espresso, gape at the views, explore the town/village, and
then drive down till you get back to the SS163. The most difficult part was, of
course, the driving.
As I hit the highway, the Italian RJ chirped
merrily that everything's fine with the world. Or words to that effect. She
sounded so positive that she couldn’t have been talking about broken hearts or
crumbling economies. On my right, a steep drop down a rocky mountain face was
the deep rolling Tyrrhenian Sea, whitecaps skittering across the waves. On my
left were mountains with what could be only described as luxuriant Mediterranean
foliage, lemon orchards, pretty houses stacked on top of one another and the
occasional shepherd defying the laws of gravity with typical Italian impudence.
I rolled the windows down and tried to sing along with whatever caught my
fancy. There was hardly any traffic. The tourist season was just about stirring
from its long winter slumber. Come summer, the narrow road ensures traffic jams
are as common as a Fellini film at a film fest.
I quickly got used to the driving quirks of
the locals. The sight of a hairpin bend means a sharp toot of the horn and
sudden acceleration was in order. The prospect that a slight misjudgment might
make one or two cars fly off the road and down the precipitous drop apparently
doesn’t occur to the driver/s. As yet another car blasted past within air
kissing distance at a bend, I started noticing the strategically placed
‘corner’ mirrors at every bend. As I approached the next bend, I kept my eyes peeled
for the corner mirror. An act that revealed a massive tourist bus thundering around
the corner. Forget air kisses, I mentally prepared myself for a messy coupling.
With nothing to lose, I slammed on the brakes and let out one piercing blast of
the horn. The bus driver saw the whites of my eyes and decided to test his
brakes too. And somehow we managed to find space in that tight corner. Imagine
a 6ft6 bouncer and Woody Allen inside a trial room trying on new clothes
without touching each other. The bus driver shouted encouragingly as I gingerly
moved inch by inch past the bus angling the car in ways I thought was not
possible. I almost heard my guardian angel weep with relief as I turned the
corner without scratching the car or bruising my ego.
As I drove on merrily with newfound
confidence, narrowly missing sharp corners and young daredevils with their squealing
amores wrapped around them on Vespas, I came to a theory about how the
highway must have been visualized. When King Ferdinand II gave the order to
build the SS163, the team of engineers (all brilliant, I am sure) must have
been led by somebody who had an immense love for spaghetti. Maybe in his family
of 20, during hard times, whenever spaghetti was made, only a few got to eat
it. Others just devoured it with their eyes. Or, maybe he had a doting mom who
made the tastiest spaghetti in Italy. Anyway, when he got the brief, the first
thing he must have done was to discuss matters over a long lunch where the main
course was, surprise, surprise, spaghetti. As they discussed at length the
vexing problems created by the invention of motor vehicles and how people for
centuries had traversed this region easily by foot, donkeys and boats, the
Chief Engineer noticed a strand of spaghetti lying on top of a map of the
Amalfi Coast. The strand stretched from Salerno to Sorrento connecting all the
places in between. And voila! The Strada Statale 163 was conceived. Everybody
shook hands joyously, thumped each other on their backs (though I suspect this
was more to do with the fact that a couple of them might have been choking on
the excellent mozzarella) and went back to their lunch.
All this is, of course, absolute
conjecture.
This is more or less; the template of
attractions of almost every town on the route, from heavyweights like Amalfi, Positano
and Ravello to little gems like Praiano and Scala. Ancient churches standing
aloof on rocky outcrops. Abandoned moss-covered mills that hint broadly of more
affluent times. Magnificent Roman villas. Unassuming museums documenting centuries-old
traditions of the coast, ranging from papermaking to ceramics. Atmospheric hotels
with vine-covered Michelin-star restaurants. Bustling seafront family-run eateries
serving the freshest of seafood. Octopus salad, anyone? Quirky wine and cheese
bars deep inside cobbled alleys. Colourful gelato and the region’s famed
lemon-based liqueur, limoncello stands. Peaceful piazzas (town squares). Grand
duomos (cathedrals). Hiking trails that showcase breathtaking views of the Amalfi coastline. And tying everything together neatly is the Nastro Azzurro (Blue
Ribbon) or the SS163.
And ideally do the drive in a red 1951 Alfa Romeo
convertible.