Along the Amalfi Coast

Goethe began his poem "The Minion", which became a symbol of German longing for Italy, with this:

Do you know that land where lemons bloom,

In the dark leaves where does the orange shine?

This morning we drive towards these orange and lemon hills. The bus glides along the curves above the blue abyss. How will the Amalfi Coast surpass Sorrento, the town that we experienced as a poignant and beautiful poem about Caruso? Still, we expect something special. These fifty kilometers of coastline along the Strada Statale 163 Amalfitana road have a mythical status among wealthy tourists. The rich of this world – I learned this in Monaco – do not stay only in the most beautiful places, but above all where they are guaranteed physical and financial security. If a place is also known for being beautiful, then they do not ask how much it costs.

I see through the window that on the right side, deep down below the cape, along the coast, a rock juts out of the sea. It is famous. It is called Đermano – the German. The large number of horizontal limestone layers that the sea has shaped have created a human bust that has ignited the imagination of travelers. Cartographer Giovanni Antonio Maggini mentioned this place in 1620 in the Atlas of Italy as Đermenello. At the beginning of the last century, everyone was already calling it Đermano.

After the war, the residents of Positano called it Adenauer because its profile resembled that of the then German Chancellor. Local fishermen recognize the rock as Garibaldi's head, and tourists call it the Indian Rock.

And we are already approaching Positano. We arrive in the town perched on a steep cliff in the morning. The heat has not yet cast its scorching mantle on the coast. We descend the streets towards the church and the port. Along the way we admire the houses that seem to have grown into the rocks and rush towards the coast like a waterfall.

A friend, an architect, explained to me that vernacular architecture is actually technically called vernacular architecture. Cities built in this way were not created according to the plans of an architect, but developed naturally over the centuries, adapting to the terrain. Positano could not grow in width, so it jiggled in height. The roof of the lower house is often the terrace of the house above it.

In the historic center of Positano, a labyrinth of steep staircases and narrow passages awaits us. More than seven decades ago, American Nobel Prize winner John Steinbeck published a note about this then modest fishing town: "Positano touches the soul deeply. It is a dream place that is not quite real while you are there, and which only after you leave persistently calls to you, becoming real."

We look around us and cannot believe where and how people built houses. And everything has already been said about that. Steinbeck again: "You don't go to your friend's house; you climb up to his house, or you crouch down on that cliff with him, or you descend the steep slope to his house."

One of the scenes warns us – we won't be alone here. Crowds of tourists disembark from excursion boats, ferries and buses.

As we descend towards the sea, we are greeted by the colours of the facades – terracotta, pink, peach, ochre and white. Historians believe that the role of the bright colours was to reflect sunlight and prevent the interior from overheating. But locals say that fishermen painted their houses so that they would be easier to spot from the open sea when returning home in fog and storms. I am rooting for this second version, because it has a song – peach colour, take me home.

I notice that a row of houses have shallow, white domes instead of flat roofs, as in the Middle East and North Africa. These domes create an insulating air pocket that keeps the inside of the house cool during the hot summers. And they are evidence that people on the coasts learned faster than others.

It wasn't until we got down to the beach that we realized why social media champions love these backdrops. They encourage people to travel to take selfies right here.

In the scene I'm observing, I recognize a special dome on the church we just passed – the dome of the Church of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary. It is also covered with majolica ceramics in yellow, green and blue. It shimmers to fishermen far out at sea.

This church houses a 12th-century Byzantine icon of the Black Virgin. According to legend, the pirate ship that stole the icon was caught in a terrible storm, and the sailors heard a voice from the sky saying "Posa, posa!" ("Put it down, put it down!"). When they left the icon on the beach, the storm stopped, and the place was named Positano.

There is an older legend about the origin of the place's name. Positano was founded by the Greek god of the sea, Poseidon, and named after his favorite nymph, Pasithea. Greek sailors believed that sirens lived in the nearby archipelago and that their song would seduce and sink ships.

During the 9th century, the town developed around the Benedictine monastery of St. Vitus. Later it became a key port of the powerful Amalfi Republic. From this period date the massive towers on the coast, which served as defense against Saracen pirate attacks.

It's hot. Time to think about getting back to the bus. No time to browse the shops or have a coffee at one of the lookouts. It's not like we're hoping to run into Hollywood stars like Julia Roberts or George Clooney, who have luxurious villas here, sheltered from the crowds. Still, I imagine vast inner courtyards with columns, hand-painted ceramic floors, and gardens full of lemons and bougainvillea. Leonard Cohen once wrote a line: I recommend you all get rich and famous.

We won't meet the aging rockers from the Rolling Stones, Mick Jagger and Keith Richards, either, although their houses are somewhere here, inaccessible to ordinary mortals. Interestingly, Mick Jagger and Keith Richards wrote the cult concert hit Midnight Rambler right here while on vacation in the late 1960s. Jagger later stated that he didn't even know how they managed to create a dark story about a serial killer in the midst of such an idyll. However, Positano became inextricably linked to the Boston Strangler through the Rolling Stones.

There is no Jagger, but there are thousands of people, who have come from all over the world, who would love to meet him. They were attracted by the myth of a fancy paradise, the Instagram selfies in front of the cascades of houses, the thought that they must see it before they close their eyes forever.

I onda se svi zaglave u uskim grlima – u sokacima koji nikada nisu bili predviđeni za tu masu ljudi. Obistinilo se strahovanje Džona Stajnbeka iz onog teksta, objavljenog 1953: „Skoro uvijek kada otkriješ mjesto lijepo poput Pozitana, nagonski poželiš da ga sačuvaš u tajnosti.“

Steinbeck, with a touch of humor, expressed his fear that too many visitors could destroy the magic of the place. Paradoxically, it was precisely with his text about Positano that the famous writer opened the door to a flood of curious people, who would one day turn his magical town into a nightmare.

An elderly Englishman in front of us, patiently waiting to move even a few centimeters forward, says to his wife: “You wished you could stay in this place forever. Now your wish will come true.” The famous English humor is clearly not completely dead yet.

We're late for the bus, the tour guide has already sent messages twice. This beauty is not for us. The beauty of an anthill.

AMALFI – THE REPUBLIC THAT DOESN'T EXIST

The bus winds above the sea again. The unreal beauty of the landscape almost turns into monotony. The eye gets used to the vivid colors, as if they will always be there for us.

On a sign I read that we are passing through Conca dei Marini. The little town does not give the impression of the most glamorous spot on the glamour coast. But it is. Here, in the 1960s and 1970s, Sophia Loren and Carlo Ponti's villa hosted world-famous guests. This is where Jackie Kennedy met her future second husband, Aristotle Onassis. This is where Marcello Mastroianni strolled around in his swimming trunks in Roman Polanski's bizarre film "What".

We crane our necks in vain, the villa is hidden from view and can only be seen from the sea. Very soon, after a few kilometers, Amalfi appears, a city that in its glory days as a maritime republic had 70,000 souls. Today, barely 4,500 people live there.

We pulled out into the parking lot by the pier. It was time for lunch. We had reserved a table in advance on the terrace by the water. The next hour, with light Mediterranean cuisine and white wine, was the most peaceful part of the day. This is how life could be.

The American writer Gore Vidal lived in the neighboring town of Ravello for more than three decades. He wrote: “It’s a good place to work. And when you’re not working, it’s a good place to do nothing.” Oh, and Amalfi is the best place to do nothing. I can understand this American who explained that he came to this coast for a few weeks and stayed for more than thirty years.

We don't have that time. So we rush to the old town center. Next to the Sea Gate is a large ceramic plaque. It has inscriptions and a geographical map. The history of the place is best explained there.

Torquato Tasso, a poet whose deep traces we have seen in Sorrento, has the following verses about Amalfi in his work The Jerusalem of the Blessed: But the Amalfi people sailed to the most distant shores, because everywhere they possessed their own quarters, bakeries, baths, shops and fountains.

So, the fame of this place did not fade until the 17th century, when Tasso wrote his eulogy. It should come as no surprise that in 1937, artist Renato Rosi decorated his majolica ceramic plaque with the famous poet's writing.

My memory immediately takes me to Lisbon or Porto, and then to Andalusia. In Granada or Cordoba, but also in Seville, you can see a similar type of ceramic tiles. In Italy, they were named after the island of Majorca, some say after the city of Malaga, from where ships brought such tiles, but also brought craftsmen who transferred their knowledge from Islamic Spain to the maritime republic.

The ceramic tablet is actually a map of the Mediterranean. It also has the Latin inscription: CONTRA HOSTES FIDEI SEMPER PUGNAVIT AMALPHIS

"Amalfi has always fought against the enemies of faith."

The concept of enemy was relative. In the Fourth Crusade, the French and Venetians, otherwise sworn enemies of Amalfi, played a major role in the looting and killings in Constantinople in 1204. It is also known how the horses of St. Mark ended up in Venice. But the theft of the relics and relics was then organized by Cardinal Peter of Capua, an influential theologian from a wealthy Amalfi noble family, who was the papal legate in the Fourth Crusade.

When the crusaders invaded Constantinople and began a three-day rampage of ravaging, raping, and looting churches, Peter of Capua used his position to collect the most precious Christian relics. He stole the relics of Saint Andrew the First-Called from the ruined Church of the Holy Apostles in Constantinople.

These relics were brought by ship to Amalfi on May 8, 1208, where they are still kept today in the crypt of the Cathedral of St. Andrew. For the Amalfiians it was a historic triumph, while for the Orthodox East it was a wanton plunder.

Although Amalfi was no longer the independent maritime republic it had been in the early 13th century, having been conquered by the Normans and then by Pisa, Amalfi merchants still maintained permanent trading quarters within Constantinople itself. During the sack, Italian merchants in the city helped the Crusaders locate imperial treasuries and hidden treasures.

Admiration of Constantinople's wealth in Amalfi has been nurtured for centuries. The bronze doors of the cathedral were purchased by a wealthy nobleman from Amalfi in Constantinople in 1060. They are the oldest bronze doors in Italy made after the fall of the Roman Empire.

This church intertwines Byzantine mysticism, Arabic decorativeness and Norman monumentality. The Paradise courtyard as an inner courtyard, arches, ceramics reveal Moorish handwriting. The mosaics are Byzantine. They say that the cathedral in Amalfi is not an ordinary church, but a stone chronicle of the Mediterranean – a place where often conflicting cultures and religions met and created superb art.

WHERE THE LEMON BLOSSOMS

There, in the middle of Amalfi, I remember good old Goethe and his poem. We got our hands on our lemon, a huge hollowed-out fruit filled with ice cream. This pleasure costs ten euros per head, but once we're there, there's no going back. The local lemon, due to the unique climate, volcanic soil and the way it's grown on stepped terraces, has become a special kind of fruit. The locals eat it with a little salt.

We wander through the streets of the center, satisfied with the taste of ice cream. But lunch on the coast was much more peaceful. There are crowds of people all around. It's like everything is free.

The square is adorned with a monument erected in 1900, the work of sculptor Alfonso Balzico. It is dedicated to Flavio Gioia, the man to whom Amalfi's historical tradition attributes the invention of the modern marine compass around 1302. Although historians today debate whether Flavio Gioia was a real historical figure or the result of a mistranslation of ancient texts, for the Amalfi people he is a national hero who made safe navigation on the world's seas possible.

As I leave the hustle and bustle of the old town, I take another look at the ceramic panel. For centuries, the local sailors and merchants were a key link between East and West, Catholic Europe, Orthodox Byzantium and the Islamic Arab world. The world's first maritime code, the Tavole Amalfitane, was created in this city. The map lists the names of the cities where Amalfi had its trading bases, such as Constantinople, Alexandria, Antioch, Jerusalem and Tripoli.

The art of papermaking was brought here from the East. To this day, Amalfi supplies the Vatican with handmade paper.

The old glory was restored in the last century in the myth of the most beautiful tourist coast in the world.

I spend some time observing the city from the beach opposite the old town gate. What if I want to stay here, like that American writer?

For that I need a roof over my head. The square footage is a small thing. Positano around 12,500. Ravello around 8,000. Amalfi around 7,000. Sorento around 6,500. Of course, euros.

Given my account balance, there's no point in staying. This is the final farewell to Amalfi after all.

Many sang his praises. Many praised him. I'm happy to have seen him. But I'm also happy because I'll be in Naples tonight.

Perhaps the most beautiful thought about Amalfi was left by the Italian writer Renato Fucini, who lived at the turn of the 19th and 20th centuries. "On the Day of Judgment, for the people of Amalfi who go to heaven, everything will be like any other day."

Those who live in heaven on earth often don't even know it. And when they die, they don't even notice that they've gone to heaven.