Silence is Golden - Lunch on the Path of the Gods

Il Gatto’ di Patate

 To say that one can scamper up steps to the hamlet of Nocelle tucked inside the hillside above Positano would be stretching the truth just a little.

 Over one thousand two hundred steep mountain steps mark the climb to paradise from the coastal town below.  Nocelle, a tiny village set in the Path of the Gods on the Amalfi Coast with barely more than 60 residents and one shop is like a trip back in time. The village, barren of roads, lifts and mobile stairs, is certainly worth the effort visiting, even if one does cheat a little and take the bus from Positano to get there.

There is not much to do in Nocelle, other than to simply head to the little piazza and soak in the views or take part of the hike along the Path of the Gods for another perspective across the magnificent cliffs all the way to Capri.
The tiny town wallows in a deep mountain silence broken only by the evening arrival of a chatting group of locals with the bus from Positano, or at certain times in the afternoon, by a small group of children careering along the narrow alleys on their bikes. It is a town that prides itself in its surroundings, its heritage and its mountains.

In keeping with culinary style, the two family run trattorie in the town offer only traditional homemade food.
You won’t find any of the gimmicky dishes served in the touristy restaurants on the beach. They don’t even have fixed menus, but will make suggestions based on what Mamma’s cooked that day. Vegetables feature heavily, mostly grilled and served marinated alla Scapece, with homemade bread, a pasta dish and the most tender and succulent grilled meat that I have EVER had, all eaten in a grotto-like balcony overlooking the town of Positano below.

A dish featured in the vegetable antipasti in Nocelle is something my Calabrian mother used to make at home.
A baked comfort food based on fluffy mashed potatoes Il ‘Gatto`’ di Patate or Potato Gateau is simple to make, combining Italian cheeses and salami and is great served with a side salad. The authentic Neapolitan recipe includes a mildly smoked Scarmozza cheese to really bring out flavour.

IL GATTO` DI PATATE
Ingredients
1.5kgs of floury potatoes, boiled, peeled and passed in a potato ricer.
Add 100gms of butter,
100gms of grated parmesan cheese,
100gms of grated Pecorino cheese,
100gms of chopped salami or ham,
a small bunch of chopped flat-leaved parsely,
4 egg yolks and 3 egg whites,
Salt and pepper to taste.
Method
Mix all ingredients together, add a little milk if the mix is too stiff.
Place half the mix in a baking tin.
Add slices of 100gms of smoked Scarmozza
and 200gms of Mozzarella.
Cover with remaining potato mix. Sprinkle with breadcrumbs, decorate with the back of a fork and add tiny dabs of butter. Bake in moderate oven for 30-45mins or until the Gatto` is golden. Rest for half an hour before serving.

Then imagine that you are here in the silence of the olive groves and Oleander and enjoy!

The Path of the Gods or How to be Thankful for Roads again.

There came a time where I wondered what the path to heaven actually looked like, so a friend from Positano (an angel in disguise ?) offered to guide me in the mountains above the Coastline.

We rose above the tiny village of Nocelle (by bus) and took the stairs leading up from the houses where the Path of the Gods began. The track was originally that used by villagers to go to Agerola before the road along the coast was built. The path and gardens of Nocelle were full of blue borage flowers, the air perfumed with rosemary growing in the cracks of the rocks. I quickly realized that not all rosemary plants festooning the cliff faces had same intensity of perfume, so I broke off some of the choice pieces to dry and use in roasts.
My eight year old had tagged along to keep her little one company and the kids were off as soon as we hit the path. L. skipped and bounded confidently off the roughly cut rocks with mine following somewhat gingerly behind. You could tell who was from Positano and who was not.
It was late April but the sun was shining and warm and as we followed the narrow dirt track in and out of the mountain curves we became grateful for the cool respite in the glades full of wild cyclamens.

The whole mountain was a mass of flowers. Bushes filled with dainty spring blossoms lined the paths. I spotted wild lavender , broom, chamomile, citronella, and squeezed mirto leaves between my fingers. We even came across a grassy ledge with wild orchids hiding amongst the leaves.

Walk as we might, we always looked like we were on top of San Pietro Hotel. The path followed every curve in the mountain sometimes perilously close to the edges of cliffs.


A gaggle of goats stopped to watch us. We smelt and heard the clanging of their bells before we actually came across them, their red coats shining a henna rinse. Snakes slithered for cover and a scorpion lay slain by a previous hiker. That is the only scorpion I ever intend to see.

The kids had a break for a panino and then came the hard part. My friend had every intention of visiting a small monastery fallen into disuse called San Domenico tucked away in the folds of the mountain near Praiano. When she pointed it out, I thought it an improbable option as no path actually led there (or so I hoped). But she determinedly scouted ahead to see if the track continued down the cliff. We slipped and scrambled our way down steep stony goat-dropping infested paths, mostly on our bottoms, so as not to fall. Just as the path seemed to want to catapult us over its edge, it would twist suddenly and cross to the other side.

But the peril was well worth the visit. Frescoes graced the arches of the church with a simplicity which was refreshing.

A bell was positioned over the town of Praiano.


From then on the going was easy. A long stairwell brought us all the way down the mountain from the monastery to the village of Praiano. Halfway down some very steep stairs, a cardiologist had chosen a corner for his studio. Maybe it was for those who were on their way to the pathway to heaven.
For more info on the Path of the Gods, here is a good site.
Ciao Chow Linda’s has to take all credit for letting me know how to adjust photos for the blog. Take a visit and see her blog for yourself. Thank you Linda !

Technorati Tags: Wild goats,abandoned monastery,Praiano,Path of the Gods,Nocelle,Positano walks,Hikes


The photos from this post were the winners in Blogging from the Boot.

Nocelle - The Sounds of Silence.

Are you sick of the cold ? Let me heat you up a touch.

It's high summer. I decide to go for a late afternoon trip to the village of Nocelle in the mountains above Positano, to catch the last rays of sun long after Positano sits in the shade.

The bus from Positano to Nocelle quickly fills with sticky bodies scantily clad in after-beach wear and after the main Mulini bus stop it is impossible to fit anyone else on. The bus driver begs anyone not going as far as Montepertuso to wait for the next bus, but very few people condescend to his requests.

It sets off immediately, winding along the sinewy bends, windows thrown open to let a minimum of fresh air in.

A Spanish couple standing crushed above my seat ask if the bus is stopping at Montepertuso in broken Italian. They want to dine at Donna Rosa where Jamie Oliver gave rave reviews. I'm sitting on the mountain side as the curves sweep past, and cannot tell how far we've gone as the mass of people in the bus block my view. It's hard to tell how far up the mountain you are just by looking at the battered cars sitting snugly in their roadside spot against the cliff. Some have been there a long time, the fact that they are covered in brambles a testimony.

Positano nestled in the shade

Finally we arrive at the bifurcation at Montepertuso which I was looking for, and I tell the Spanish couple to get off. Fortunately more than three quarters of the passengers gets off with them and we are less than a dozen to continue on to Nocelle.

Many years ago, my first excursion to Nocelle was in September. We had caught the bus to Montepertuso but for the rest of the way we had had to walk as the road didn't yet reach the tiny mountain town. I had gone with my then -to -be -husband on the romantic path above the mountain gorge.

I remember the welcome we had got at the village on our arrival, as many recognized him and the fritatta con cipolle which we had had at the only trattoria in the place with an incredible view. 'Bellonia' now gone, was the buxom lady who prepared the meal and she had a fearsome deep voice. If you wanted to eat anything else you had to order it beforehand otherwise it was just make do with what was available from her garden. We had taken the stairs down the mountain all the way to Positano in the early evening and I had fallen in love with the place.

Praiano in the distance

This time I arrived with some of my children but no husband in tow as he was meeting us later.

The reception was all together different. As soon as the locals has disappeared into their homes a heavy silence befell the village. We entered almost as if we were trespassing. I felt as if we should be on tiptoe so as not to disturb.

There was an elderly lady who had come to her door to inspect the newcomers arriving with the bus and she gave us a buona sera. On our way back, she was seated on a kitchen chair outside her front door on the lane with two others chatting. The rest of the place was deserted. The tiny piazza with its breathtaking views to rival Ravello and its shade tree was all for us. Even a whisper sounded too loud.

Eventually modern technology caught up with the silence and a deafening mechanical contraption for bringing goods up stairs broke the peace. A wife and husband made several trips up stairs from the device to their car, both equally laden with heavy boxes on their heads carrying the freshest vegetables I have ever seen in Positano straight from their garden.

A cross on the tip of the mountain

The mountains seem to churn out hard working people. 'Angelo' was our postman from Nocelle for many years. He would walk down along the 1700 proclaimed steps to Positano everyday from the mountain; do the rounds of Positano delivering mail on the endless staircases with a towel draped around his neck with which to wipe the sweat in the heat, then return home in the late afternoon to tend his garden. This was in the days when the road didn't reach the village !

We take the easy way back and wait for the bus, the sun still lingering on the mountain top.