We had ambitions to ‘live’ in a hilltop town in Italy and Laureana Cilento was certainly that. A fantastic view over Agripoli, the Sorrento peninsula and the Mediterranean, with tiny streets and that air of tranquillity you only find in the mountains.
View from a hilltop town
Sunset highlights Amalfi coastline
Our apartment was typically Italian, the entrance through a very old heavy door into a courtyard and very large rooms with one metre thick walls with high ceilings helping it to keep cool in the summer; I would imagine very cold in the winter! The higgledy piggledy rooms had a rustic Italian charm about them.
MOG at apartment doorway
Mimmo, the owner of “Blu di Prussia”, was a true eccentric. We tend to think this is a very British phenomenon, well Mimmo is in a league of his own; but he does have two very good reasons form his character. Firstly he is a painter, and a very good one at that: we all know about artists! Secondly he’s married to an Australian…, no more said… (Sorry Teresa!)
Mimmo and ‘his’ painting
This small business is a café, shop, furniture restoration, art gallery, residence and B&B all rolled into one. Fortunately as MOG was looking for a job Mimmo allowed me to work behind the bar on election night… not for wages, just free drink…it cost him dearly!
MOG being paid, in kind
and entertaining the customers. ..
Mimmo, Teresa (Keeping her eye on the till – you can’t trust a Pom!) and MOG.
Mimmo with "Alba"...FOG to us.
We used the apartment as a base to explore this unspoilt region of Italy. Most of the roads we travelled weren’t even on our Sat-Nav, so we reverted to the ancient art of map reading! This area was inhabited by the Magna Greeks in 500 BC. Paestum especially was a real delight to visit. The temples and ‘ruins’ were in a remarkably well preserved condition and surprisingly there were few tourists; which enabled us to wander through the ancient streets being transported back in time 2,500 years. We were still in mud huts when this civilisation was erecting temples that we would struggle to construct today, even with all our mechanical know-how…
Paestum
Velia was even older and had been lost in time until rediscovered a couple of hundred years ago, but even here the mosaic swimming pools and under floor heating meant we are only just catching up technology wise!
One evening we were invited down to the local church for a Saint’s Day feast and in very English style the heavens opened. It didn’t just rain, it poured and all the preparations were soon abandoned as the place turned into a mud bath…
MOG outside 'chiesa' with the goldfish won by Mimmo’s daughter
We enjoyed the hilltop experience but there is very little to do except walk…, so it was time to move on. We had envisaged staying for longer periods in such a place but we now found out you must have a purpose for a long stay and we had seen enough culture to keep us going for awhile... However we did experience a lot of excitement on the final night. We retired early, as usual, when suddenly all hell broke loose in the little square. Tanoys were blaring, music thumping and the piazza was suddenly filled with cars and people. Quickly we dressed and entered the fray where a sparkling wine was thrust into our hands by Mimmo who informed us they were celebrating the election result. Suddenly, just as quickly as they had arrived, they piled back into their cars and were gone leaving Mimmo, Teresa and the Old Gits to clear up the mess. MOG was just getting into the mood for a party but Mimmo was shutting up the bar and FOG marched her protesting husband away…
Our drive through Naples for the ferry to Ischia was nowhere near as bad we had feared. Yes, there were still many cars that looked as if they had spent the last weekend at a stockcar racing circuit, but the driving was possibly no worse than London… You never indicate in this part of Italy and when you enter the main road you wait until a host of cars are nearly upon you then slowly pull out in front of them. Horns are obligatory and must be tested every 30 seconds and used at every occasion, especially when a pretty girl is walking down the street. MOG did oblige with this particular local custom!
The ferry to Ischia was full of Germans and, we were soon to discover, so was the whole island. I do have a resemblance to our German cousins, having a very square head, but if I hear one more ‘Bitte’ from an Italian thinking I am ‘Un Tedesco’, I’ll go barking…
I always had an image of Ischia as a quiet island with small villages and a few scooters bustling around. This came from a film starring Jack Lemon called (I think), “Avanti”. If you want to understand the culture of the Neapolitan then this film will explain all; it is hilarious. On reflection I suppose this film must have been made 30-40 years ago and there has been considerable development of the island since then. We are only just at the beginning of the season and the island was heaving! It is a beautiful island but the roads are full of manic Italians or bumbling tourists…this combination led to a few waving arms and, of course, horns blaring as we toured around the island.
Naples and yet another volcano...plus the ferry
Ischia Castle
We were the only English in our hotel; Germans being the main contingent. One morning I couldn’t sleep so as dawn broke I wondered up to the pool area to watch the sun rise only to be trampled by the horde of Germans, towels and novels in hand, all bagging the best sun beds; then they all promptly left for a day’s excursion!
Departing Ischia was a truly nightmare ferry journey. Stupidly we had decided to leave on a Saturday…change over day. The port was jammed solid. An officious little Italian screaming at everyone, only managed to compound the chaos…men like that are the same the world over…give them an ounce of power…
Over the last couple of weeks there had developed a new sense of unease on the Old Gits travels; it is difficult to exactly pin point the shift in emphasis. Discussions had switched from our travels to what we would do when we returned home. The constant ‘battle’ with hotels trying to obtain a ‘fair’ deal had become, to say the least, irritating. Our two siblings had called as they had found a property that really interested them and required some help with the research. A business opportunity had also transpired so our planned short return trip, for a Sandhurst Ball, was duly extended with flights altered; at some cost of course. Then the two Old Gits looked at each other and a long silence filled the stifling hot, cramped hotel bedroom outside Rome airport which, incidentally, was in an area that resembled Basra…
Finally MOG whispered, ‘Is it time to go home? Shall we drive back tomorrow…?’
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