To reach the Southern tip of Campania, I had one last stop, and had first to climb some hills. Leaving Palinuro, I resisted the urge to take an inviting trail, as it seemed to lead to a dead end up top. With a rainy forecast and mud already dominating most trails, I think I made the right choice. Soon I was in Marina di Camerota, and after taking a deliberately long swing through the town to see what all the hubbub was about, I kept going.
After a long series of switchbacks and increasingly panoramic views of the coast, I reached a high road lined with vast olive groves, all of them with nets laid down for the olive harvest. Some farmers had not yet been by to collect the fallen olives, and I took a few moments here and there to appreciate the different shapes, colors, and sizes of the olives. I had learned long before on this trip, up in Liguria, that olives do not taste good from the tree, having to be immersed in water in order to lose that sharp, bitter taste. Still, I could not resist the thought of eating ripe olives from the tree, and grew to like that mouth-coating sensation. 
So, grabbing an olive here and there, and taking a few photographs, I kept moving to a little mountain town called Lentiscosa, where I had my lunch on the piazza, with expansive views of Marina di Camerota and the surrounding mountains. From then on, it was more ascent, a heavy, misty rain, and some breathtaking pastoral stretches that reminded me of Autumn. I saw vast groves of chestnut and oaks, with various shades of turning leaves. A farmer was burning a pile of chopped olive branches, giving off a fragrant smoke that mingled with the heavy, though not unpleasant, haze that settled lightly on the hills. As I saw these quaint rural scenes, I listened for the first time (on this trip) to Beethoven's 27th Sonata, Op. 90, and am thrilled that this sonata will henceforward be connected to this late-afternoon imagery, to grazing flocks of sheep and stone huts amid glistening forests. And all of it a short jaunt from the sea.
Arriving at S. Giovanni a Piro, I stopped in the first bar I came across, happy to be out of the rain, which grew ever colder with the sunset. Seven or eight men stopped their card game to give me "the eye," and I respectfully and resolutely stepped toward the bar for an espresso, the asking price for all good information. Before I could ask, however, the barista asked what my story was, and I recounted my story in the short version, which was enough to have the coffee offered by a portly middle-aged local. Slowly the curiosity surrounding the dripping stranger died down, the men went back to playing cards, and I asked about local lodging. Between the barista and the man who had bought me the coffee, they decided on a hotel, and as the man knew the owners, offered to take me there, and even called in advance to secure me the "local's" price. As I had found my resting spot for the evening, I was no longer in a hurry to face the cold, sticky rainfall. Instead, I sat and watched a few rounds of scopa, chewed the fat with the old men, and digested my coffee.When I was ready to go, I let Giuseppe, my guide, know that I was starting to walk, and he followed a few minutes after by car, so that we arrived simultaneously at the hotel.
Before settling too much, I took a quick trip to the barber across the street, and received my second Italian haircut, with another offered coffee to go with it. I have not mentioned it before, but I have noticed a marked increase in barbers, stylists, beauticians, and groomers in general since crossing the imaginary N-S line, and as a result I profited from the fierce competition in the industry, paying less than half what I had paid in Massa-Carrara, Toscana. Pity I shaved that morning too, because otherwise I could have purchased a shave with a straight razor for 2€. Shave and a haircut, two bits!
Dinner, included in the hotel price, was delicious, and I spent the meal in conversation with a Neapolitan restoration contractor, who was in town working on an 800-year old parochial church. Seeing that I was interested, he talked at length about the process, and in the end, invited me to come check out the church the following morning. Then, to finish off the meal, he bought me a grappa, my third offered drink in as many hours, and it was off to bed.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment