Positano tops it Twice!

Positano been twice honoured this week.
Thanks to Pat Eggleton from  Sicily Scene who also writes for Italy Magazine, I was interviewed in the new Blog of the Week  feature.
Italy Magazine.co.uk  is an online magazine with top Italian News stories and feature articles on anything Italian.  It always makes a great read.
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Yesterday Ali Filmer from Romesecret blog informed me that
Bell’Avventura made it to the list of
the Top 10 Secret Italy Blogs  in blogs.com – the best in blogs .
Bell’Avventura comes into the category of Secret Amalfitana Coast blog.
You’ll find Secret Italy all the way from head to toe in a selection of blogs covering recipes, life and travel in Italy as the  Italians do it.
And do head over and read SuperAli’s  Romesecret. It’s witty, charming and full of hidden Rome!  Thank you Ali.

Sorrento revisited – Where Tourists don’t dare to tread…

Sorrento. Chaotic, loud, irreverent, as a local I’d only visit with a purpose and fight my way back home.  The pretty alley ways were full of tacky souvenir shops with handwritten signs assuring buyers of cheap wares made in Italy.  An occasional local with bags of vegetables battled their way through English crowds dressed in shorts and flip flops,  past an art shop selling prints of the Coastline and a 3-d picture of a crucified Christ who opened and closed his eyes as we moved.
I had long decided that Sorrento was not for me.  I’d come only for clothes shopping and was most relieved to get back to Positano. Especially because the Sita buses heading towards the Amalfi Coast in summer were nigh impossible to board because of the tourists. The poor devils left on the pavement in the sweltering sun would have to wait for the next bus in two hours time or get a taxi.  It was a nightmare for me every time.
 
But when I accompanied my daughter to her driving lessons this April, it was the shoulder season in Sorrento. The Easter crowds had just died down and as I strolled along the streets I spied a treasure just off Piazza Tasso.
Through the curtains of wisteria (you’ll sense a recurring theme here) a garden of Eden beckoned me into its forbidden grounds. It was the  Hotel Vittoria Excelsior.  A Grand Hotel overlooking the Bay of Naples, the private gardens of which the Porter graciously gave us permission to visit.


The stately Hotel had wisteria clad arbors running the length of its grounds. Secluded niches  housed in rose arbors gave promise of a sweet May flowering. I was awestruck as this was exactly what my dream garden in Positano should look like.
  


Following the pergola to the seaside, we admired the view of the volcano looming over a very short expanse of water and averted our eyes as clients from the hotel emerged wearing only plushy bathrobes from the hotel’s Spa and pool service.
 
My husband then decided to show me something very special and we zigzagged our way along the little streets until we were almost at the Belvedere over the Port. He suddenly took a sharp right turn through a doorway and inside was the most exquisite cloister ever. The  Cloister of San Francesco, just oozing romance, was all for us and a handful of French tourists.
Of course, there was wisteria here too.





Making our way back past the tacky souvenir shops in the pretty little alleyways as the sun became lower in the sky, we bought up on the false-real Italian scarves and trinkets and breathed in the relaxed tourist spirit that Sorrento had offered.
Oh, and I made a note to myself to send my father here to play cards next time he visited !

Desperate Housewives on Wisteria Lane – Eat your heart out!

 

In the impossibly bright days of early April, all superlatives felt meaningless against the glory of early Spring on the Coastline. Energizing and exhilarating,  the perfection and beauty of  the  Amalfi Coast  had me awestruck even after twenty four years here.

                          

My days would begin drowsily, the shutters thrown open to the early morning so as to not miss one second of the sea view from my room. My husband would spoil me with breakfast in bed with  the orange marmalade I’d made in February and small delectable slices of homemade Easter Pastiera or pieces of chocolate egg.

Slowly I’d breathe in the drifting perfume from the wisteria over our pergola mixed with the sweet scent of orange and lemon blossom and listen to the gentle waves lapping the shore. 

 

 

I counted my blessing because not only was I lucky enough to be here in my favorite time of the year but strolling through town was an immense pleasure.  The weather was perfect, I didn’t risk being run over by a jettison of cars and buses, and the piazza at the base of town was still trickling tourists rather than pouring them.

 

But best of all, I’ d caught Positano at it’s height of the wisteria season.

   From top to toe, the town was festooned in swags of  purple blossom. The pastel, white and ochre buildings were draped elegantly across terraces and balustrades and their dripping blooms would pour enticingly through the rustic pergolas.

 

Ancient trunks wove from who–knows-where in the tiny alleyways, to creep across shop faces and apartments.

    All the way down to the beach, shaded walks would draw the eye skyward, and the colors would rival with the clear blue skies and the yellow of the lemons.

 

It felt like paradise.  It was paradise.  I could tell…

Little to do, but what a nice place to do it in.

Positano hibernates in winter. At least that’s what I thought as I walked along deserted streets lined with closed shops and bars. No pizzerias open in my neck of the woods. All movement seemed to be uphill where the only bar open teemed with locals steaming the windows.

 

There was little to write about so I gave myself a blogging break. 

Stormy nights with a wild sea that seemed to be breaking right outside my windows alternated with sunny skies and billowing clouds just warm enough to dry a load of washing. Pelting rain on the domed roofs woke me up with lightning cracking overhead in the middle of the night. Windows rattled with the thunder. The weather is anything but dull here.

The young Positanesi were as busy as beavers, locked away in their garages and cellars, and seen squirreling away large rolls of bubble wrap and foil. They were secretly making their ‘Carri per Carnevale’ or Carnival floats which is a ‘big to do’ amongst the young here. Due to a rainy Carnival week the Parade was suspended until the week after I left, but you can see the effort that went into building the brilliant floats from these photos . A special one was dedicated to Positano’s mythical creature called the Pistrice, housed up above in the bell tower in front of the main church.

Despite the wet season and relative cold (if you can call 12 degrees Celsius cold), with the first burst of sunshine, there would be someone taking a dip in the sea.

But with the mountains looking like this, it was better him than me.

La Dolce Vita Blogging from the Boot

Would you like to see the best of Italian expat blogs for 2009? 

Head over to the Blogging from the Boot Contest to see the finalists in their categories and like me, discover great new blogs.

I have had the surprising honor of being a finalist in the Paparazzi Photos from Italy category, and would love your vote for the photos on my post on the Path of the Gods (or How to be thankful for roads again) published in May 2009 !     

 

I will be heading to Italy in a couple of days and amidst much relaxing and watching the sea, I hope the sun will shine with it’s amazing coastal light so that I can bring you more photos in other posts.

Do have a good read and cast your vote for your favourite posts for 2009.

Suoceri down South

A Guest post from Cherrye Moore in Calabria:

People move to Italy for all kinds of reasons … some come for work, others for adventure, and still others, like me, come for love.

No, I’m not talking about love of the bel paese, which in the last three and half years has imbedded itself in my soul and taken a hold on my heart. I’m talking about love of man. Or in my case, the love of one.

As is the case with married women around the world, you don’t just marry the man-you marry the family. This is perhaps amplified when you are an expat and you live in close proximity to your in-laws, or if you are like me, to your father-in-law.

Those of you who are familiar with My Bella Vita may remember stories of my Calabrian suocero,  whose goal it is to fatten me up, spoil me with Nutella-covered treats  and teach me new-and often amusing-Calabrese expressions.

In fact, as I was writing this guest post that Scintilla has so graciously offered to publish on her site, he walked into our bed and breakfast, told me something about eating more “because it is Friday” and asked if we needed more milk.

I know …

Life could be worse …

One of the most difficult things about my father-in-law, though, is that he absolutely refuses to be caught on camera and won’t-for the life of him-consent to being featured on my blog.

So … I cheated.

For those of you, like Scintilla, who love hearing about my grumpy old suocero and are anxious to catch a glimpse of him, just check out the video below. I promise you won’t find a better rendition of him anywhere on the net.

 

Cherrye Moore is a southern Italy travel consultant and freelance writer living in Calabria, Italy. She is currently hosting Blogging from the Boots: The Best of 2009  - the first annual expats in Italy blogging awards.

Submit or nominate your favorite expat-written blog posts today!

San Domenico on The Path of the Gods

The gorge in the mountain dropped steeply before us. Stepping carefully to it’s edge, I peered over to see if a path was discernable.

Nope. My friend was going to get us all killed.

The church on the other side was her target and following goat tracks down steep slippery embankments, children in hand, her only means.

It was a few days after Easter Monday, the traditional ‘must picnic or die day’ for Italians. I could hear the distant squeals of laughter from children on the terraced gardens far below.

‘If they got there, we can too’ my friend insisted.

But little did we know that they’d taken steps up from the road rather than grasp at tufts of grass to get down stony cliff faces.

Looking around to ask for directions, I glimpsed a mule far up on the mountain being led by his owner but he was too far up to call to. I hoped that along with the donkey and goats, he had a herd of sniffer dogs or Saint Bernard's to rescue us with, if it actually came to that.

 

Heart in hand, we very carefully (or rather foolishly) grappled with the descent, dancing with meager foot holds in firm rocks and tree stumps alongside dizzying drops, trying not to let go of our children at the same time.

With relief we hit the first of the cultivated gardens and my friend found the steps leading from the lowest garden to the church square.

   

Children were scattered among the terraced grape vines playing hide and seek, seemingly unaware of the beauty of the surrounding scenery. Their shrieks rang in the silence of the mountains broken only by the distant clanging of the goat bells above.  A waft from the juicy Italian sausage sizzling on the picnicker's fire set our mouths watering but I’d foreseen lunch and brought ciabatta rolls for our kids.

 

Wandering up to the unimposing Church facade, I crossed the dark entrance out of the bright sunshine and into the cool  interior.

This Church, San Domenico, built in the 16th Century, was a revelation. Expecting the ornate decorations of the Baroque Churches in the area, the simplistic frescoes framed with cool whitewashed walls left my jaw hanging. The red, blue and ochre hues set into niches contrasted perfectly with the white columns.

.

Most of the beautiful art work had fallen into disrepair and paint was chipped badly.  Restoration would be God sent here.

 

The monastery has long been in disuse. The place none the less remains a magical one with the tall mountain backdrop and the shimmering sea far below. Concerts are held here on balmy summer nights and a festival of lights celebrating San Domenico is held at it’s sister church in Praiano at the Convent of Santa Maria a Castro in the first week of August..

Of course religious festivals would be celebrated here too, and as we walked past the stations of the cross which lined the endless mountain stairs alongside the burgeoning grape vines under planted with potatoes, I couldn’t help thinking what a penance that would be on Good Friday.

 

 

On our way down the steps to Vettica di Praiano, we came across a man with a hefty sack of manure over his shoulders going up to the gardens. He cheerfully said hello and made a joking remark as we went past.

I so admired him as had I even been able to climb up  that far carrying anything, no more than a huff or a puff would have escaped my lips, let alone a cheerful greeting. And I would never have dreamt of creating a garden in such a spot!

San Domenico is a must see on the Path of the Gods… click on the link to read my first post on the stair way to heaven (May 2009).