The Winds of Change.

The wind has returned to the Coast.

The gales whip shimmering curtains of light across the turquoise water. Umbrellas are folded politely across the back of the deck chairs and bathers roast unfeelingly in the noon sun.

I love to watch the wispy veils of silver graze the surface of the placid sea. The boats, their weight lightened by the force of the air, twist and turn in unison.

The colours are intensified. I dream of painting our old wood-wormed furniture to match.

But it also means sweeping dirt, real DIRT from inside the house. Leaves from the gardens spangled with bougainvillea pink and purple, somehow make their way through the underside of closed doors. The terrace is swept clean but the stairs accumulate piles and piles of leaves. All doors, inside and out need to be fixed tightly to hooks or blocked with weights to prevent a deafening slam knocking the frames out of skewer. We fear for the glass in the fragile iron frames of the terrace windows. Replacing a pane in the rusty holdings, in this part of the world, in this part of the year, means begging.

Our young Jacaranda tree, already two stories high and permanently fixed to a pole, risks toppling over as we foolishly removed the other two poles that we had placed there against the winter Tramontana wind.

An old blanket and beach towel are taken overboard with the wind and lie in wait for retrieval in the abandoned gardens below the house for several days. When finally the gardener takes a ladder and brings them back up to our place, a tiny snake hidden in the blanket folds stays tight till the late afternoon, before slithering across the terrace head held high and slipping under the umbrella stand.

It takes a good deal of courage on my part to lift the stand and scare it off with a broom back into the abandoned gardens after it insists on staying put where it was.

I think I deserve a medal for that!

Technorati Tags: Snakes,Positano,Sea gardens,Sea winds,Amalfi Coast gardens

Phantom Neighbours.

When you live in a small village with international fame, you don't necessarily get to know your neighbours. You may overhear snippets of conversations or pick out a foreign accent from over the wall, but you may be just as likely to learn more about them from a third party. I heard something from a third party which really saddened me.

About five years ago, one of the properties was sold, with which we share a neighbouring wall. A construction company mysteriously appeared and the flat was gutted and completely redone. A pretty bench inlaid with tiles, a wood-fired pizza oven and BBQ adorned the patio. New floor to ceiling windows replaced the old ones in order to drink in the view and dichondra grass was planted between pavers for the finishing touch. The ancient bignonia creeper planted in the corner over fifty years ago, was pruned, but left to act as a pergola shade for both the two flats above the house.

The painters were in, the carpenters and tilers, then nothing for five years.

No one came. A local family had the keys to the house but were not caretakers, so the place became overrun.

In Sleeping Beauty style the climber grew and grew until it completely covered all the facade, windows and doors included. I don't know what the musty interior was like but mould and mildew must have been equally as rampant. Season after season, leaves and dirt piled high in the patio and the paint began to peel off the walls.

Until late last summer.

After years of silence, one day, my other half said that he had heard voices next door who seemed to be speaking in English. From the other side of the wall I discerned what seemed to be a young man with a New York accent and another woman speaking English with a foreign accent. They were very obviously sweeping out the patio of the rustling dried leaves.

'That's good', I thought, ' someone is finally taking charge of the place.'

Last week my other half was in Positano again. There was activity in the property once more and the painters were in. Asking about the owner, they informed my husband that the flat belonged to an American model who had the place refurbished. She then died without ever having used it.

Her parents going through her files came across the deed to the place which she had never mentioned owning. They had they discovered it only recently, five years on.

Shattered dreams. Isn't that sad ?

Down The Drain

You may find this post dull, but this is a problem in our house at Positano which I have at heart, because in the twenty years that I have been there, it is still not resolved and gets worse.

I read with interest the report on Positano News regarding the sewerage build up due to clogged drains in the Grotta Di Fornillo area and the subsequent flooding of the street after the first seasonal rains. The brief article also hinted at the inconveniences experienced by locals along the stairs due to the lack of channeling for storm water. I had recently touched this problem in my post here, and think that this is a good time to show you what reality is at our place with photos. I apologize for the quality, I scanned a scanned photo.

The public drain pipe along our house in Fornillo, was laid in 1973 under the steeply descending stairs, when only a few original houses and villas in the neighbourhood were attached. Since then houses have sprouted all along the cliff side and more importantly Hotels in the area have been built and have branched on to this same pipe, creating an important flux of waste water especially in the summer months. The drain pipes, already stretched to maximum capacity in summer, clog regularly and during rainfalls, regurgitate the overflow into any escape route nearby - namely out of our shower plug hole and out of our toilet bowl.

During heavy rain, we don't just mop up rain water which has leaked in under windows and doors but also need to clean up the filthy water around the bathroom floor. Sometimes this overflow has been so important that the water has gone past the bathroom and into the bedroom. Our solution has been to place a barrier on the floor against the door to prevent water leaving the bathroom , and to drill a hole in the base of the bathroom wall with a tube channeling dirty water directly into the garden.

This is a bathroom which has been long overdue for renovation but given the important damages it suffers from the inadequate sewerage pipes, we have had to postpone work until the Town Authorities find a solution and decide to do something.

Tube runs from bathroom to terrace.

The drain pipe that runs down along the stairs at the side of our house turns sharply in an L bend at its base. The extreme descent and the force of the water cracks the pipe regularly each year. The odour of sewerage at certain times of the day is so strong that we have to close all windows and doors to avoid the stagnant smell. Sewerage leaks out from under the stairs creating luxuriant foliage in the weedy gardens below, which in turn, masks a swamp of mosquito- infested lurid water.

Soil subsidence is evident in two areas along the leaking sewerage tube causing important structural lesions in terrace and causing the steps coming down from the garden into lower area, to break away from the wall.

We go to see the Mayor about the problem every time we are in Positano. Sometimes he sends his engineer, sometimes he tells us there are no funds for repairs. Sometimes he sends repairmen and they cannot find the important cracks, so they place a tube to displace water from the leak into the gardens of those below us. They create a sewerage leak overflow, the continuous trickle of which sounds to the unwary like a garden fountain.

This year we had a sewerage fountain and a swamp, so the Town hall, at our insistence, finally sent someone to repair the tube. They were at our place in summer on and off for two weeks and did some major reparation to the pipes reducing the leakage fountain to a drip. The problem with the overflowing rain water in the bathrom has not yet been resolved by the Council.

Many years ago, the Town Mayor came in person to our house to see the problem with his engineer. They visited the garden below to get a better view and as they came up, I told him about the increase in rodents around the area due to the sewerage leaks.

He said (in Italian): ' While we were down there, we saw a rat as big as a cat!'

Then I remarked, that when we have a sewerage problem in Luxembourg, we make one call and the Council sends out repairmen straight away.

'Si', 'Ma qua e`venuto il Sindaco in persona ! ' , he replied.

(Yes, but here, the Mayor came in person ! )

Would you put up with this?

Rain again.

The rain finally arrived in Positano over the weekend. After two and a half months of sunshine , it wasn't the after-summer deluge we expected. It was enough to water the very dry garden, but even though it had been a waterless summer, it hadn't felt like one of its hottest, with the exception of only a few days. The thunder in the morning flickered the lights several times and the sky clouded over with ominous clouds but it brought just an average long shower.

I have been through quite a few of these late summer storms and the most severe of them have a pattern:

It know its raining in Positano if:

The craggy mountain behind you goes into shadow and a black foreboding mass of clouds gathers on it's edge;

The bagnini on the private beach sections start collecting the two front rows of chairs and beach umbrellas just in case the sea becomes rough;

Owners of lighter sea vessels pull their craft on to the shore rather than risk losing it at sea;

The rain comes as a sudden heavy curtain blanketing vision across the sea;

You run around the house closing all windows against the temperaments;

You become glued at the window looking at the downpour and mesmerized by the din as it pelts down on the vaulted roof;

It becomes hot inside and the windows fog up;

The bath starts gurgling; the sink in the kitchen starts gurgling as the drains fill up with rain water;

You hear heavy gushing outside. You open the front door and see a waterfall running down the steps. You husband strips down to the waist and climbs barefoot up the waterfall in order to clear the debris from the drains in the alley. Niagara falls trickles to a rapid river. While he is wet, he thinks that he may as well check all the drains around the house and walks through the house to the other side dripping every where.

The windows start leaking from the tell tale moldy signs around the arches where the plaster and silicone has given way. You put rags there to catch the drips and others to catch the water coming in from underneath the doors, and skylight on the stairs which has also sprouted a leak.

The downpour lasts a long time. The kids have nothing to do as the TV antennae has been disconnected as a precautionary measure against lightening (known to strike in the area especially at Monte Pertuso in the hills).

All the tourists have taken refuge in the bars, shops awnings and restaurants and have to wait it out. There is nothing else for them to do. The stairs are nonnegotiable unless you roll up your trousers, take off your shoes ( or happen to have a pair of rubber boots in your summer wardrobe).

You have to use a small umbrella and hold it sideways in order to get through some of the narrow alleyways,

If the rain persists at falling at an alarming rate there may be rock falls or land slides and the state Amalfi road will be closed.

If you live in one of the houses based at the lower part of town towards the end of the sewer pipes, you may find (as we do) that the pipes are unable to cope with the rain water being channeled into the sewers illegally and that this said water begins to rise up and come out of the drain in the showers and over the edge of the toilet to flood the bathroom and any room beside it. You only discover this the next morning (unless you have unfortunate guests staying ), when you go down to hang out the wet rags used for mopping the leaks in the house and step into a room full of dirty water and debris.

By late afternoon, the sun will be shining. If you are lucky you will see the rainbow that falls into the sea.

You will be out in your shorts again avoiding those cobbled puddles on the stairs and making your way down to the beach so that your son can ride the waves to his fill on his boogie board.

Ups and downs of Positano. Part 1

"Dai Claudio, vieni !" Maria yelled.

The August night sky was unusually clear, notwithstanding the warm air. My father and I lean't on the railings on the terrace overlooking the beach. I could just make out my two sons and their friends fooling around on the beach sun loungers.

I straightened up and shook my hand to get the ants off.

Alexia and her two American friends grabbed a lilo from under Pupetto Beach Bar and ran into the water.

Their New York accents carried perfectly up to our house. There was no babble on the beach nor sounds of motorboats to smother it. I could even hear the chink of the glasses in the restaurant below.

Milly, our small dog, sniffed disinterestedly around the terrace and then came and lay at our feet.

I could pick out my sons and their friends because the beach had been lit up from the restaurant. There were three lilos in the dark water and three people per lilo. I knew that they'd ordered a pizza to eat on the beach and seeing that my boys hadn't come up at all from their afternoon swim, that they still had a swimming costume on. The two Americans were leaving the next day, so it was a sort of going away party together with the Positanesi.

"Are you spying on them ?" asked my father.

"Course not! Can I help it if they chose this moment to have a swim?" I replied.

Milly suddenly got up and started sniffing around the edges of the terrace again. I imagined that there must be a gecko in her favourite haunts as she was taking long sniffs in the usual places.

"Lasciali stare (Leave them be)" said my father. I presumed that he was talking about my sons rather than the geckos.

Milly started getting more and more excited, running from one area of the terrace to another. She finally stopped at the corner which overlooked our garden below. She started whimpering a little.

"What is it Milly?" I asked gently.

Her fur was on end and she was on alert, fixating the tops of the mandarine trees which were at terrace level.

As soon as I asked, she began running down the steps which brought to the garden.

"She probably saw a cat." said my father.

I could hear her barking frantically below. Milly is a dog who never barks.

"Milly, come" I ordered.



She raced up the stairs immediately, returning to her post in the corner of the terrace. She took long deep sniffs into the tree tops then barked and yelped simultaneously. Obviously there was something there.
She suddenly looked up into the pergola overhead, barking and yelping as if her life depended on it.

I could hear a rustling in the wisteria leaves above me. I ran to turn on the terrace light which I had been avoiding so as not to attract mosquitoes.

My father and I looked up. Just as I had suspected.
It was the old rat-in-a-tree trick.

Love Breakfast at Positano

My favourite part of the day at Positano has to be the early morning.

We always have breakfast outside on the terrace in summer. The light is soft, the colours brillant and the sun still not too warm as to become unbearable. The day ahead is always full of promise.

Come and have a coffee with me.

Not just Santa comes down our Chimney in Positano!

It was early in the morning. As I heaved myself onto the white domed roof, a cat scuffled with the dog next door, letting out a menacing yowl. I walked across the roof edging cautiously to the border, afraid that the sight of the sudden drop would make me dizzy.
I took the photo that I was after and made my way back.


A scrabbling noise funneled up from one of the chimney openings. Stopping to listen, I imagined that it must be a large lizard that had lost it's grip as it was silent again.

Later, at lunch time, as I opened a can of tuna in the kitchen ( I had not been to do the shopping yet) , a plaintive cry came from a room in the distance. Again, it seemed to be the sound of a cat. I opened the door to the living room and was just in time to see two grey legs and a tail shoot into the fireplace and disappear up the chimney.

Remembering the episode on my return from last summer's holiday, when I found the window edging gnawed and a dead squirrel under a blanket on the sofa in our living room in Luxembourg, I decided to take no chances and left the door wide open for the cat to exit into the garden.

An hour passed and there was no sign of the cat. I took a broom into the opening of the fireplace and pushed it into the deep ledge inside. "Hiss, hiss , spit." It was definitely still there and I couldn't brush it out.

I tried coaxing this time, leaving the empty tuna can in the fireplace. It came down while I was out of the room but shot in again to hide itself when it saw me. A trail of pasta dipped in tuna oil leading to the garden did the trick, so as soon as the kitten was safely outside I closed the door.

Meowing pitifully, the kitten called its mother, terrified that I would hurt it. It finally left our gardens jumping down off a wall into the property below.

Weird things that happen to us, in our house in Positano

1. The new hairdryer disappears.



2. A rat runs under my legs while I'm seated on the terrace.



3. Mice get into the washing machine and eat the wires.



4. A bat does wee on my husband while he's sitting outside in the dark.



5. A hummingbird moth gets his tongue stuck in a jasmine flower.



6. A heavy glass candle holder that has been sitting on the fireplace mantle piece for years is found on the floor in the morning unscathed.



7. The television emits a flash of light when it's turned off.



8. People party on our roof when they think we are not home.



9. A stranger comes and relieves himself in our garden.



10. Our garden is used as a stepping stone for those who forget their keys to their house.

Stories will follow another time.

Any strange things happen to you ? Do tell !