Italy - Amalfi Coast

The air in our villa was cool overnight, but heavy blankets kept us warm, and brilliant morning sunshine filtering through the lace curtains on the arched windows helped us welcome a new day on the Amalfi Coast.  During our time in Rome, I used a moka pot to make my morning and afternoon coffee, and I continued this practice on our first morning in Furore while looking out over the Mediterranean.  The moka pot was patented by an Italian in 1933, and even though its existence was unknown to me until the age of fifty, my life has been enhanced by adding this most excellent brewing method to my coffee preparation arsenal.  The basic principle of moka pot brewing is steam forcing surrounding boiling water through finely ground coffee between two filters into a spout topped receptacle.  While the making of true espresso involves a similar method, the pressure is much higher resulting in a more concentrated extraction. Coffee produced in a moka pot is thicker and stronger than drip or pressed coffee, and the flavor is rich and completely satisfying.  To my coffee-loving friends:  check out the moka pot and enjoy an old school coffee-induced pleasure—here endeth the lesson.

Other than a jar of high-fiber cereal which we quickly consumed, there was no other food in the villa, so the first order of business was to locate the closest market and stock the larders.  The district of Furore is strictly residential, while the nearby town of Agerola has markets, a post office, and a cash machine; so we donned our coats and backpacks and set off to explore our surroundings.  When the residents of this section of the Amalfi Coast need to travel on foot, they use the public stair network marked by rails coated with glossy red paint.  The stairs cut off a great amount of distance from the roads and their many switchbacks, but the traveler pays a great physical price by scaling steep cracked stone steps that seem to go on forever not unlike the stairs climbed by Frodo and Sam on their way to the pass of Cirith Ungol in the Return of the King.

The steps to the main road, see Joseph at the top?

Vineyard view from above

Thanks to all the walking we’ve been doing for the past three months, we made it up to the main street of Agerola without too much huffing and puffing, and after a brief time of recovery, we were off to the town center hugging the side of the narrow road to prevent goring from the side mirrors of speeding cars.  Agerola is a quaint village with a population of seven thousand souls living two thousand feet above the Mediterranean in the midst of a twisting network of narrow roads.  The few markets in town are small with limited inventory, and we had to visit four shops to gather everything we needed for two days' meals.  This bout of shopping was no small feat due to the proprietors’ lack of English vocabulary and our equal lack of Italian, and somehow we wound up with a ten-euro block of parmesan cheese the size of a six-bar pack of dial soap - we’re now discovering many new ways to add freshly grated parmesan to our meals.  

The highlight of the shopping trip was watching Francesca the butcher carve our chicken breasts into thinly sliced cutlets with deft precision.  The businesses in Agerola are cash-only, so we spent the last of our euro stash buying supplies, and of course the only ATM in town was out of order.  Flat broke but well stocked, we hiked our full backpacks and shopping bags back through town and down the stone step matrix to our villa satisfied with the morning foraging session and ready for a nap.  Our main activity for the afternoon was enjoying the tremendous view, but we did manage to work in some school time, and we wrapped up our day with a meal of pasta and Francesca’s fresh sausage in a tomato sauce with basil picked from the herb garden outside our front door...and lots of parmesan cheese.

Next day we rose early and had a breakfast of eggs-in-a-basket with a side of tangy, freshly grated parmesan cheese.  We had a field trip planned for the morning to the city of Amalfi located down the mountain directly below us on the shore of the sea.  The weather forecast was dicey, but we were encouraged by slices of blue sky appearing through thick, patchy clouds which allowed shafts of sunlight through to the ocean looking like strips of sandy islands on the surface of the water.  We zipped up our coats and climbed the stairs the the main road and hugged the sides of the cliffs to avoid the cars speeding past the bus stop on the narrow highway.  

Surprisingly, the bus network on these dangerous mountain passes is widespread, and a single ticket for a one way ride anywhere on the Amalfi Coast is only €1.80, but the catch is deciphering the schedule.  The routes and times change depending on the day of the week, and all bets are off if there’s a holiday in the mix.  After careful study, we determined our pick-up time from Furore and scribbled down several possible return times from Amalfi which allowed a loose schedule for sightseeing and a pizza lunch.  The bus picked us up on time, and after thirty minutes of masterful motoring, the driver parked in the bus depot, and we were off to explore the beautiful seaside city of Amalfi.  

The heavily blocked seawall was our first stop, and we walked the length of a long fortified pier with strong waves crashing into the concrete sending jets of foam high in the air.  The view of Amalfi was spectacular here, and the kids enjoyed taking pictures for a while before heading back to the main avenue leading through the center of town.  Amalfi was a powerful maritime republic in the Middle Ages, and the wealth built from trade allowed for the construction of its unique cathedral.  Inside the church walls, the beautiful and serene cloister is lined with small chapels, their sloping walls bearing the remains of eight hundred- year-old frescos painted for the glory of God.  These frescos were more primitive in design than the ones we’ve seen from the high renaissance, but they are no less powerful even as they’ve faded and crumbled through the centuries.  The crypt of the cathedral has housed the relics of St. Andrew since 1208, and the amazing frescos in this vast hall date from the mid thirteenth century.  Our visit to this ancient church was one of my favorite activities of our entire trip so far, and I’m thankful I could see such an exceptional place so far from home.

Cathedral cloister

Chapel fresco

800 year old fresco 

Crypt frescos

We spent another hour wandering the narrow streets and alleys of Amalfi and built up a Neapolitan sized appetite for some hot pizza.  After checking out several possible eateries, we decided on a little hole-in-the-wall place with plastic tables and chairs covered by a bamboo thatched pergola.  The waiter was an elderly gentleman with long, white hair wearing a blue puffer jacket, faded denim jeans, and tan Chuck Taylor high tops.  He was friendly and attentive, and after submitting our order to the kitchen, he sat at a nearby table and sipped wine from a big glass until duty called him back to his feet.  We enjoyed two types of pizza along with an olive and mozzarella panini, and it was all hot, filling, and delicious.  When we finished eating, our waiter polished off his wine and cleared our table so we could sit for a while and people watch.  Our next stop before heading back to the bus depot was the gelateria where we ordered big cones of amerena and pistachio gelato to complete our fun time in this old Italian city by the sea.

Amalfi town square fountain

We located our mid-afternoon bus back to Furore, but the writers of the schedule neglected to mention that buses leaving Amalfi at this time also serve as school buses delivering freshly educated and highly annoying middle schoolers back to their mountain homes.  While a few seats were occupied by elderly women, the rest were taken up by loud, violent thirteen year old boys and a couple of young girls sitting by us in the back row.  As the bus began lurching up the mountain, the boys were running up and down the aisle, throwing things, and jostling each other.  Two boys started a shoving match that turned into a full fledged brawl, and since the bus driver and other adults were ignoring all the monkey house behavior, I figured it wasn’t my place to interfere either.  Instead, I settled back in my seat ready to watch a good fight, hoping one of these punks would render the other unconscious and in doing so, slightly lower the decibel level on the bus.  To our dismay, one of the demure young girls sitting near us put an end to most of the tomfoolery by giving the lads a loud, Italian dressing down—I wish I could have learned what she said to make the boys go quiet so quickly.  One by one, the kids got off the bus as we climbed higher into the mountains, and thankfully the driver announced our stop for us. The top of the hills were now covered in fog, rendering all familiar landmarks unrecognizable.

After a full day down the mountain in Amalfi, we all enjoyed a little quiet time before supper.  Later that evening, Deena and I prepared our chicken cutlets by dipping them in an egg wash and coating them with our own homemade bread crumb mixture that included salt, pepper, and you guessed it, copious amounts of fresh parmesan cheese.  We fried the thin cutlets in rich olive oil until they were crispy and golden brown.  We served the chicken with sauteed mixed vegetables and crusty bread with butter and agreed that it was a fine Italian dinner.  Later in the evening, Michele and Anna came by to check on us bearing a tray of sugar cookies and shot glasses full of limoncello liqueur which we enjoyed as a nightcap before calling it a full Italian day.