Amalfi

Saying that the gazillions of tourist boats are creating chaos on the Amalfi coast is an understatement, and maybe I should have given more credits to Navily comments warning us against anchoring there, stating it was near impossible to disembark safely. That is, without paying exuberant amounts of money to stay at its pricey port. But here we were, with guests on board, in the middle of a heat wave melting our brains and reducing our ability to make the right decisions. So, we dropped anchor, ignoring the aforementioned warnings and a sea state we had never encountered before and that should clearly not occur under literally zero wind.

In a matter of minutes, after a loud pop, our dinghy was deflating with two kids aboard, ripped as it was after being violently impaled on the tip of the windvane and ruining our hopes to reach the shore dry. Even kayakers had to wait for the right timing to land on the ridiculously tiny, private (as we would later learn) beach where waves were crashing as if a storm was raging outside. And as a matter of fact, one could argue that tourists were taking Amalfi by storm… and we were feeling it, rolling from side to side uncontrollably on frentic Obelix.

Lunch time approaching, parents, as irritable (me mainly) as their hungry teenagers, were wondering what to do and finally decided everyone should escape this mayhem and swim to shore, investing Thomas with the role of Uber Eats kayak-rider who, fitted with two waterproof backpacks, one at the back, one in front like a mama kangaroo, who would bring us food (I had prepared a large salad, melon and prosciutto, our classic italian lunch), clothes and shoes, then kayak back to the boat and meet us again swimming.

As the first of our tribe stepped on the beach, they were greeted by a visibly annoyed woman guarding it, who barely tolerated we passed through her property to have our picnic in town. Nevertheless, we ignored her and carried on our business of squeezing through the fences to reach “the other side”, where we blended in with the stream of day-trippers at lunchtime. Instagrammers of all nationalities were taking selfies holding with glee their overpriced lemon granite served in whole lemon peel. Quite surprisingly though, the dense crowd vanished as soon as you stepped outside the main streets and ventured further inland towards the via dei Mulini. On our way, kids stopped to exercise on the fitness trail, while naughty parents grabbed a truck load of ripe plums and lemons hanging over from a lush orchard and we walked up to a dead end bathing in a brisk stream flowing under a bridge by the old mills.

Marcia, Camille and their two children Arthur and Theo, our neighbours from Saint Heliers, New Zealand, and friends before becoming neighbours, who were on a post-COVID round-the-world trip to reconnect with family in Brazil and France, had met us in Salerno for a cruise along the Amalfi coast. Based on rave reviews from friends who had clearly never been to the area in high season, we had inadvertently oversold the glamorous escape to them. Add to that the oppressive heat that hit the place and you obtained a cocktail of unfortunate circumstances compromising an enjoyable cruise on Obelix. Yet, I dare say we made the most of it and easy going as they are, we were glad to share a slice of our adventurous lifestyle with them, and furthermore, I’m told, instilling in their offspring dreams of open seas and ocean voyages.

Salerno

In Salerno, which our guests reached by train after landing in Naples, we had our first dinner together at Il Brigante, a hard-to-find family-run hostaria (inn) a British lady met twice in the course of a couple of days had advised us for its character and the quality of its home-cooking, not without mentioning its atypical nature with the bad-temper of the owner, the hand-written menu changing every day at the whim of his wife, the cook, the low-key long communal tables and benches and its parsimonious portions. Quite an experience indeed! We didn’t have to suffer from anyone’s bad mood, but a hard-to-decipher menu, the smell of the waiters’ cigarettes coming from outside, and a stuffy atmosphere that made us appreciate even more the fresh open air that had cooled down after sunset. We wondered the cobble-stoned streets by night, preceded by our boys band leading the way to the traditional gelato and brioche we indulged for dessert before retreating to the boat, in two dinghy loads.

Nights were an issue, not from lack of space, but as the heat from eight bodies confined in the small volume of our 12-metre monohull exceeded what was bearable, and some people had to spread and find solace either in the cockpit or even on the deck. In Amalfi, matters got worse, as even though we had been told madness stopped around nightfall with the last charter boat departing at 8pm, the residual chop carried on all through the night, jolting us awake as soon as we had managed to doze off. And when it wasn’t the boat’s movements, it was the untimely fireworks that roused us from our slumber, fired every night, in every town we visited.

Li Galli islets

The stop I had been looking forward to at the Li Galli islets, where I imagined a secluded anchorage by the cliffs and outstanding snorkelling that would be the highlight of our trip, was a no-go, as motorboats and semi-rigids had taken over the place. Instead, we enjoyed the scenic landscape from the sea sailing the entire day from Amalfi to Sorrento, hailing Capri from afar, under a steady wind strengthening towards the end of the afternoon and pushing Obelix to decent speed, thus offering delightful sensations and rekindling us with the joy of sailing, as will certainly attest captains Arthur and Camille who took the helm a few times.

Pompeii

Sorrento was our strategic last stop to visit Pompeii, an hour-train ride away, and THAT was definitely the climax. I have not heard anyone speaking ill of Pompeii and I won’t either. Human beings love stories and Pompeii is full of them. You can’t help but be transported into another time, another way of life that seems so close to our own, and you’ll find yourself in the midst of it all, wondering what would have been your fate should you have lived there then. Buildings, sculptures, paintings, artefacts, are charged with emotion as last witnesses of the tragedy, and though we initially thought we’d be there for a few hours, despite the heat, the lack of shade, and the harshness or strangeness (thinking of plasters and representations of Priapus, the well-endowed god, seen for example at the entrance of Domus Vettiorum, a.k.a House of Vetti) of what we were confronted with, we stayed the entire day and could have gone back the next, weren’t it for other commitments or weather chasing us once more, away from the Napoli Bay that turned, in a morning, into a hostile wave pool we had to escape from, leaving Marcia, Camille, Arthur and Theo half a day to spare on their own. Who says sailing is freedom must still learn a thing or two about weather constraints…