I can’t imagine that there is a person out there who has visited the Amalfi Coast and not considered moving there. Our first morning in Positano, we had our usual Italian fare on the terrace where we had dinner the night before. Viewing the sea from a hotel cut into a cliff was a new, and I hoped not one-time, experience for me. After a few minutes, we were done with the distance between us and the water and we hit the beach. The only beaches I’ve ever known are on the southern and eastern edges of North and Central America: New York, New Jersey, North Carolina, Georgia, Mexico, Honduras, and last but not least: the Gulf coast. The Amalfi Coast is, naturally, different from all of these. We stepped onto dark gray sand in front of sapphire-blue water. The floor of the sea is covered with smooth gray and black rocks and drops off after a couple of shallow feet. The water is cool but not cold, and the waves are gentle and low. The immediate beachfront is filled with row upon row of rentable chairs packed tightly together. In August, when all the Italians flee the cities for the sea BECAUSE THEY KNOW HOW TO LIVE RIGHT, these chairs are filled to capacity. Surrounding it all are restaurants and shops stacked on top of each other on the cliffs. Our walk from the hotel was a spiral down the cliff alongside these shops and a beautiful church.
Other noteworthy differences from familiar beaches: topless little girls (I guess Europeans lose their modesty early) and banana hammocks as far as the eye can see. And many more than the eye wants to see, on people the eye doesn’t want to see them. But no one seemed to care what they looked like: there was no preening or adjusting, just people letting it all (in some cases, close to literally) hang out.
After a couple of hours in the baking sun, we grabbed a table and some shade at a restaurant a few feet from our chairs and ate prosciutto, mozzarella, and pineapple–and continued our tradition of ending every meal with a limoncello shot. Okay, so we didn’t start that tradition, but we were happy to carry it on. A few more hours of sun and we were ready for dinner.
Anyone I know who has been to Positano (and there aren’t nearly enough of you) recommends La Tagliata for dinner. With good reason. The restaurant (like many in the area) provides a shuttle service from your hotel to their location near the top of Positano, up miles of steep and curvy incline. Price is per person and includes endless supplies of the following: antipasta platters, pasta platters (homemade), meat platters, dessert, vats of wine, and of course limoncello. The bathroom, should you ever find yourself there, has a window with a breathtaking view of the city and sea below it.
Positano has one big club, a discoteca called Music on the Rocks located right beside the sea. We were among the first people there that night. After a few drinks at ten euros each, one of us said, “I don’t know if the guys are getting better looking or I’m getting drunker.” That basically sums up the kind of night it was. I met a Brit who thought it was hilarious that I’m from Alabama and made constant references to coon hunting and To Kill a Mockingbird. Surprisingly, we did not begin dating. But all girls made it home safe and sound at 4:30 am after a long, winding walk from the beach to the hotel. This might explain why I didn’t have a devotional entry for the day. But sometimes just beholding that kind of beauty is a devotion in itself. (The beauty of the city. Not the club. FYI.)
