This first section is a brief explanation of my Italy blog posts, which were inspired by my 2-week trip to Italy in May, 2025. Feel free to skip this section if you’ve read it before.
Dear Reader, If you read my Italy posts in the order in which they’ve come out, it may seem as though we hopped back and forth all over the country, but I have decided not to write these posts sequentially. I want to write about the things that interest me most, as the spirit moves me. For some topics, I may even combine cities. I hope that by doing so, you’ll find it a lot more interesting than if I just give you a tedious day by day description of our itinerary, as if I were your Aunt Mabel forcing you to sit down and watch all her Super 8 films of the family road trip to Niagara Falls from 1966.
If you have any questions, comments or suggestions about how I’m approaching this travelogue-within-a-blog, please let me know in the comments below!
Once we decided to take a trip to Italy, I knew we had to visit Atrani. We had seen it in the miniseries Ripley on Netflix, and we fell in love with the place. We were looking forward to getting lost amongst its winding narrow stairways and alleys.
What we most definitely did not want to do, however, was drive there or take a bus. The roads in that area are treacherous, and are jam-packed with cars during much of the year. I can’t decide which is more dangerous on this highway with few exits: The inexperienced foreign drivers, the impatient locals, or the scooters from hell. All it takes is one traffic accident and you can be stuck for hours. Also, parking in these little cliff towns is at a premium. We didn’t want to arrive in Atrani all frazzled, so what to do?
Fortunately, ferries run quite frequently along the Amalfi Coast, and we would be staying in Sorrento, just around the corner on the Bay of Naples. Sorrento is a major ferry hub. After some research, I discovered that ferries go from Sorrento to Amalfi, which is not only the name of the coastline, but also the name of the town right next door to Atrani. The trip only takes 55 to 95 minutes one way, including a brief stop in the town of Positano. It sounded like a romantic way to kick back and enjoy the views of the coastline, without having to deal with traffic jams or scary narrow winding roads. I booked us two round-trip tickets in advance, and we were looking forward to a romantic little day trip.
On the day of the trip, the weather forecast for the region was cloudy, with a light drizzle of rain in the afternoon. I was actually grateful for that, because I prefer not to bake in the sun, and we’d be doing a lot of stairs, so the less heat the better. We’re from Seattle, so a little rain doesn’t slow us down. (A secret that many humans seem to overlook is that, as a species, we’re basically drip dry.)
This region of Italy has seen a lot of volcanic activity over the millennia, so most of the towns are perched on cliffs, and Sorrento is no exception to this. In order to get to the NLG Ferry dock, you have to go down to water level, and that requires going through a tunnel and ramp system as seen here.
But before we did that, and perhaps a better way to give you an idea of the buildup of the land over time, I should tell you about a fascinating place we walked past and were able to look down upon. It’s called the Valley of the Mills, but some call it the Kingdom of the Sorrentine Ferns.
Imagine that you’re walking along in your town, on a typical street, thinking, as one does, that you’re at “ground level” (whatever that is), but all of a sudden you come upon this deep gorge. And you can see a six-story abandoned building down there. It’s an eerie feeling, knowing that there was once bustling activity so far below a bustling town, and that you’ve suddenly got an aerial view of what, centuries past, might have been considered a skyscraper.
It seems that two ancient rivers carved through the volcanic rock, creating a deep gorge on their way to the sea. The flowing water was a valuable energy source, and there have been mills of one sort or the other down there since the 10th century. Flour mills, saw mills, wash houses, and the like. This rift was sort of the precursor to the industrial age.
The last remaining mill, that you see here, was abandoned in 1940, because the city of Sorrento had built a piazza between it and the sea, and they filled that part of the valley in with debris in order to bridge the gap. That cut this valley off from the sea breezes that kept it cool. The humidity then went up to 80 percent, and people found it impossible to stay down there. On the bright side, a very unique ecosystem soon took over, and plants that can’t be found elsewhere, along with rare owls and bats, now inhabit the gorge.
Unfortunately, even this bucolic place is not without controversy. A restoration company bought the land in 2019, and began a ham-handed restoration that tore out much of the vegetation in the valley, and rather than restoring the building, they seem to have started to modernize it, in hopes of getting the mill started again and turning it into a tourist destination. But the public outcry shut the project down, and the plants are taking over again. I could find no indication that the situation has been permanently resolved, though.
I’m just glad I got to see it while it still had at least a little bit of its former charm, because it really is a delight, and ought to be preserved only to the level where the building isn’t allowed to collapse. Other than that, in my opinion, nature should be left to its own devices. I doubt I would want to climb down into a humid hole, anyway. I’m content to gaze at it from above and imagine what it must have been like in days of yore. But check out this video Dear Husband took of it, as pictures really don’t do it justice.
And now, let’s head out to the ferry dock, shall we? From there, you can see a lot of Sorrento’s hotels that line the top of the cliff. When the ferry finally arrived, it was smaller than I expected. I don’t know why I was surprised that it docked aftward, just as a car ferry would, but it worked out just fine, and it really did turn out to be a pleasant ride up the coast. The upper deck of the ferry is open, and it’s a great place to go out and enjoy the fresh air and take in the view. That’s what we decided to do for much of the journey.
Seeing all the homes perched on the hillsides gave the area a very cozy ambience. I couldn’t help but think, though, that this would not be a good place to retire. Too many stairs for the elderly to navigate. And the entire region, I suspect, would not meet ADA standards. But if you are young and vital and can work remotely, then yes, this is a great place to spend long, lazy months in, for sure.
I wouldn’t recommend purchasing real estate around here, though. The entire bay of Naples is the top of a super-volcano that makes the one beneath Yellowstone look like an annoying pimple. Parts of the bay have risen 6 feet in the past 1000 years, which doesn’t bode well. Pressure is building up. But it is very closely monitored, and in the meantime, visiting this spectacular area can be irresistible (we found it so, anyway). But I wouldn’t want to live here. Nope. Attempting to evacuate with millions of people on the one and only viable escape route does not sound like my idea of fun.
When we docked in Positano, I wished we had the time to hop off and explore that town, too, but as a friend of mine says, “You can’t do everything.” We had to content ourselves with taking photos from the top deck as it faded from sight.
Here are some more photos of the coastline from Positano to Amalfi. And check out this compilation video I made of several brief videos Dear Husband took along our journey. It was a wonderful ferry ride that gave us a true taste of the Amalfi Coast.
There was no need to be disappointed about Positano, because Amalfi/Atrani did not disappoint. Besides the boxy, pastel houses stacked on the hillside to which I was becoming pleasantly accustomed, my first impression of Amalfi was the vibrant art, everywhere I looked. I wanted to take it all home with me. But we headed to Atrani first, because that was our primary destination, and if we missed parts of it because we had to rush back to our ferry, I’d still be kicking myself. So, Amalfi would just have to wait. We had a tunnel to find.
Now, you can walk along the coastal road to get to Atrani, but it takes longer, and there’s no sidewalk to speak of, so you’re sharing the path with the crazy drivers described above. But I’m convinced that Italians have some sort of construction genious in the very marrow of their bones, passed down from the Ancient Romans, because they created a shortcut between Amalfi and Atrani, in the form of a pedestrian tunnel right through the volcanic rock. It keeps you out of the wind and weather, and allows you to skip the whole fearing-for-your-life experience.
The entrance to the tunnel is a little tricky to find, but any decent guidebook or helpful native can tell you where it is. The most surprising thing about this tunnel is that, between two towns that are so colorful and full of art, it remains a soulless grey tube. But it’s clean and spacious and easy to use, so who am I to criticize?
Atrani is smaller than Amalfi, and a tiny bit more quiet, as not all tourists make the effort to go there. But Ripley and movies like The Equalizer 3 are giving it increased attention. (I swear, though, I wasn’t aware of this Denzel Washington movie until after we got home.)
It was pure coincidence that we happened to have lunch in the Ristorante Savo, the café on the Piazza Umberto which was transformed into a bar where Denzel’s character meets his love interest. It’s a very gory action film, which is usually not my cup of tea, but my strongest memory of it will forever be the fact that we sat at the table right next to the one where Denzel always sat. (I do love me some Denzel. We share a birthday, a decade apart.) The restaurant’s website has some fun video clips from the making of the movie.
An archway or two down from the restaurant there is a poem about Atrani written on the wall. It was written by Segismondo Nastri, a local poet, professor, journalist and writer who celebrated his 90th birthday less than a month before our mid-May visit to Atrani. The poem on the wall, in Italian, is as follows. Below that is Google Translate’s version of it in English, which I’m sure doesn’t do it justice, but still, somehow, manages to capture the ambience of the town.
La Piazzetta di Atrani
Nel meriggio che avanza poche voci
attraversano lara
la kiazzetta vuve
la quete del suo immergersi tra case
linde squadrate,
tra logge e balconate in fiore,
aperta al mare da svettanti
arcate del viadotta,
e si nutre di brezza, della schiuma
acre e salmastra
che l'onda mena a rva.
Dall alta della scala il campanile
del Salvatore da le ore,
ma qru non c e metra del tempa,
leterno vince al passo della storia.
-Segismondo Nastri
The Little Square of Atrani
In the advancing afternoon, a few voices
cross the square
the little square sees
the quiet of its immersion among
neat square houses,
among loggias and balconies in bloom,
open to the sea by soaring
arches of the viaduct,
and it feeds on the breeze, on the
sour and salty foam
that the wave carries to shore.
From the top of the stairs, the bell tower
of the Savior tells the hours,
but here there is no measure of time,
the eternal wins at the pace of history.
-Segismondo Nastri
After taking in this little piazza, which seems to be the heart of the town, we walked up to the Church of St. Mary Magdalene in hopes of seeing its interior, but it was closed. But the walk up there made it worth it. Of course, it’s hard to find bad ocean views in this town.
So back down to the piazza we went. We tried to check out the Church of San Salvatore de’ Birecto. Again, closed. With a population of 764 people, not a single AirBnB, and not having quite grasped the whole tourism thing quite yet, it seems that the Atrani churches are only open during services at this time. Perhaps that’s for the best. I would hate for this place to turn into a tacky tourist trap.
At this point the drizzle was turning into a sprinkle, but we wanted to explore the winding little side alleys that this town is known for. The best way to do this is to actively try to get lost, which you soon discover is quite easy to do. Kitty-corner from the Ristorante Savo on the Piazza, you’ll find the perfect starting point to lose yourself in this Escher-like labyrinth.
And to call this area Escher-like is apropos, because apparently Escher was very drawn to this little village. His first depiction of it was in a lithograph called Atrani, Coast of Amalfi, in 1931. He hadn’t fully developed his famous style at that point, so that one isn’t as well known as three other works in which Atrani makes an appearance: Metamorphosis I, Metamorphosis II, and Metamorphosis III.
The twists and turns and stairways and tiny tunnels afforded us a lot of surprising views and opportunities to see artwork. DH climbed much higher than my back allowed me to, but he took a lot of pictures for me. He counted 230 steps up to a tiny church up top. (Even if my back hadn’t stopped me, my heart would probably have exploded if I had tried to press on.) Every once in a while we’d come across escape route arrows, which is a good thing to have in such a maze, especially given that the area is prone to earthquakes.
As a side note, I do not advise wearing a long skirt on the Amalfi Coast. I did so, thinking that it would allow my legs to be cooler, while still being conservative enough so that the nuns wouldn’t bar me from entering any of the churches. That was true. But given all the stairways, during climbs I had to hold my skirt up so as not to trip on it, and on descents, I was dragging it behind me like a train on a bride’s dress. It was an irritant that I could have done without.
As predicted, though, we fell in love with Atrani. Here is a compilation of some short videos DH took while we were there.
I would have loved to do more exploring. It would have been fun to poke my nose into some of the houses and courtyards, but I’m not a burglar, this was just a day trip, and ferries are on fixed schedules. It was time to find our way back down to the piazza and then skirt the beach southward to find the tunnel back to Amalfi. The Atranians made it easy, with a sign depicting stairs, lemons and the word Amalfi.
And they weren’t kidding about the lemons. The whole region is known for all things lemon, but Amalfi, in particular, seems to have embraced them wholeheartedly. I swear we saw lemons the size of a child’s head. It was astounding. The region is also known for a liqueur called Limoncello, made from lemon zest. I tried some. I don’t know if it’s because I haven’t really had a serious alcoholic beverage in about 40 years, but one tiny sip was enough to curl my toes and remind me why I don’t drink. It’s the second most popular liqueur in Italy, if you’re into that sort of thing. But you can get all sorts of other lemon products and souvenirs, too.
We spent a few hours taking our mandatory daily gelato break, fighting the crowds in a town 7 times larger than beloved Atrani, and visiting all the souvenir shops. We got to see some amazing art, primarily in ceramic form, and took in some lovely views. We then visited Amalfi’s Cathedral, which is so unique and has such a rich history that it deserves a post of its own, and will, in fact, be the subject of my next Italy post.
But here’s where the day took a bit of a turn. The sprinkle had increased to a rain, and the seas had become turbulent. As we approached the dock, we saw a large ferry full of people approaching, and it was rocking practically sideways. It was really scary. Everyone waiting for our ferry was flipping out. That ferry finally had to abort its docking attempt and leave.
We were to be on a smaller ferry, so this gave me, pardon the pun, a sinking feeling. The problem was that there weren’t really any other options to get back to our lodging. There was no lodging to be had in Amalfi or Atrani. There were maybe 10 cabs in the entire area, and to say that competition was high to snag them at this point is putting it mildly. That, and it would have cost a fortune to be driven all the way back to Sorrento on that treacherous road in the pouring rain, and we’d have been back well after dark. No busses were running anytime soon.
Naturally, our ferry arrived a bit late, and had a lot of difficulty docking. And there were several hundred of us waiting for it. Morale was low, and when it did show up, only one person at a time could walk up the gangplank, because the boat was rocking so severely that everyone needed assistance from the crew at both ends so as not to plunge into the bay.
And of course, no one wanted to sit outside on the open, upper deck on a rocking ship in the pouring rain, so we all piled in down below. That meant there weren’t enough seats for all of us. I was disgusted to see so many able-bodied men not giving up their seats for women and children. Even the crew took seats and refused to give them up. I had resigned myself to standing the whole way, but then some young girls offered me a seat beside their mother, and I gratefully took it.
Everyone on the boat looked like they were various shades of green. I had to turn in my seat and suck cold air through the open window while keeping my eyes fixed on the horizon to keep it together. That’s how rough the passage was.
At one point, someone finally vomited, and that caused a sort of cascade effect throughout the vessel. People were throwing up everywhere. In trash cans, in bags, out windows. People were sharing their souvenir bags with the less fortunate. I still managed to hold it in, but it was a very near thing. I just kept staring at the horizon, praying that we’d live to see dry land, and questioning my life choices in what had to have been the most nauseating hour and a half of my life.
We got back to Sorrento 2 hours later than expected. I wanted to kiss the ground. I heard several people say they’d never get on one of those ferries again, and I can’t say I blame them. It was hard to believe how different the trip in the morning had been from the trip in the afternoon. In fact, I did a compilation of some videos that Dear Husband took of both experiences so you can see the difference.
And then, there was this annoying kid, whose face I’ve altered for privacy’s sake, who slept through the whole thing.
So, would I do it again? Only if I could somehow be absolutely sure that the seas would be calm both ways. Because it wasn’t just about worrying that I’d toss up the very soles of my shoes. I genuinely feared for our lives.
After that, we had planned to do a lazy walking tour of Sorrento and then have a nice romantic dinner, but eating had lost its appeal. Instead we just went to our lodging, retrieved our luggage, relocated to our next lodging, and later on Dear Husband picked up a pizza and we went to bed early.
It was the best of days, it was the worst of days.
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