I imagine that most people would not have heard of Sorrento, despite its popularity as a resort town. I myself had not, until I started getting into barcraft.
You see, the one thing that Sorrento is famous for is its lemons, and by extension, the limoncello made from the rind of said lemons. Articles about limoncello agreed that the best lemons in the world, and the liqueur itself, came from this particular region. As far as I could tell, however, no one commenting had actually been to the place.
I was therefore, adamant that I should see it for myself. That, and the whole Amalfi Coast.
Part 1 here.
Seeking Sorrento
I arrived in Sorrento way past midday.
The train ride there was not long. An hour or so from Rome to Naples, and then another hour and ten minutes, give or take, along the regional Circumvesuviana Line.
With it being a weekday, I had most of the coach to myself. Thoughts had begun to swim in my head as soon as I stepped off the platform and I, in turn, filled the empty coach with my thoughts. I sat in a carriage of mixed feelings.
A certain wistfulness pervaded; I had just begun to be enchanted with Rome, and here I was on a train, heading somewhere entirely different. The chatter and bustle of the city would be replaced with…I didn’t know what.
The young man and the sea
A whiff of brine was there to greet me at its small train station, along with the blazing sun of Southern Italy. Sun, sea and some black, volcanic sand.
The town of Sorrento, while often described as a seaside town, is more accurately described as being built both on the cliffs overlooking the sea, and on the black sand itself. Hotels, shops, and restaurants perch on sheer craggy cliffs, and steep steps lead down to piers overflowing with boats of all sizes and shapes.
From every perch and every rock in Sorrento, one can see the Bay of Naples, a sheet of sparkling sapphire framed by the imposing silhouette of Mt Vesuvius. The Tyrrhenian sea casts its waves upon the dark shores like a mother caressing a child, the sound almost like a lullaby. If one squints, one might be able to make out the city of Naples itself in the distance, and the numerous tiny towns that dot the rocky shores of the Bay.
Despite the presence of humans in this region for thousands of years, the water is as clear as glass, a mirror for the skies above. When the sun sets, two suns meet in the bay, and from just the right angle, they almost seem to be swallowed by Vesuvio itself. Not long after, a ring of electric fire erupts around the volcano and the coast is set alight as night begins.
Even for a Singaporean who lived near the sea his whole life, the sight is breathtaking.
When life gives you lemons
Befitting a seaside resort town, life seems a little more relaxed in Sorrento compared to say, Rome. Where the Eternal City bleeds sophistication and history, La Gentile- as the town is sometimes called- exudes a certain breezy charm. It’s not exactly folksy and rustic, either – more like a certain unhurriedness.
The fringes of Sorrento are quiet; mostly silent but for the song of waves and birds. I enjoyed walking through the vistas that open into the bay, but also the cool gardens of you guessed it…lemons.
The lemon is one of the Sorrento’s most important crops- the yellow heart of its farming. It’s not just any species of the citrus fruit; limone di Sorrento and its Northern Amalfi cousin Sfusato Amalfitano grow in abundance here and the Amalfi, but hardly anywhere else- and not for lack of trying.
Each ripe fruit is fairly large, but what strikes the eye is the somewhat fat, belljar-like shape of each lemon and the slightly discoloured pitted skin. The former is because of its origins; a result of the crossbreeding of the native bitter orange and lemons from the Middle East. The latter, probably because the farming of the lemons is almost organic. As the rind is used in limoncello, a layer of wax and pesticides probably doesn’t add much taste to the liqueur- and might just poison you, besides.
Of course, I tried the lemon for myself, and indeed, the flavour was quite unlike the regular variety we get in the markets back home. They were sweeter, milder, juicier and distinctly more fragrant, though as I learnt to my surprise, still packed a powerful tangy punch. It was almost like the yellow fruits were each a drop of the Mediterranean sun.
These Sorrentine lemons are used mostly in production of the limoncello, but also in the food itself, gelato, lemonade and strangely enough, soap. Incidentally, I did try all of the above.
Curiously, the photographic evidence mostly ended up in my belly faster than my camera’s shutter could fire- excepting the bath products. The limoncello, in particular, was served in shots during most dinners- as a complimentary welcome drink, or a digestif.
When I emerged from the fringes and reached Sorrento’s beating heart, its busy town centre, the town sprang to life. I had arrived at four in the afternoon, when the centre transformed into a giant bazaar.
Its streets, as narrow as those in Rome, were even more crowded. Teeming with people, shops squeezed into every available inch of space, it was the very definition of a sleepy seaside town awakened.
One could not throw a lemon and fail to hit some a shop or street hawker selling food, curios, or surprise, surprise, limoncello. In my memories of the town, the smell of cooking seafood and the sounds of bargaining are indelible.
What then is the food of Sorrento?
I recall stepping into a small restaurant which was quite literally a hole in the wall- ten tables, all artificial lighting, and completely impossible to find again. For those like me who seek authenticity, however, it was quite unbeatable. It was there where I got my first taste of Sorrentine cuisine.
Sorrento’s traditional dishes are mostly seafood-based, for reasons that must be quite obvious by now. The freshness of the ingredients was something remarkable- the source of the seafood was quite literally a stone’s throw away, but the other key ingredient- tomatoes, were just as sweet and juicy as if the chef picked them from the garden with one hand, then threw into the pot with the other.
Did we mention that Sorrento is located within the Campania region, where the world-famous San Marzano tubular tomatoes are grown?
The signature dish of the town is gnocchi alla Sorrentina, a potato dumpling served swimming in a rich tomato sauce, cheese, and a sprig of basil to balance it all out. Uncomplicated and comforting- which is exactly how I like my Italian food.
Naturally, being so close to Naples, the home of pizza, the town offers the oven-baked flatbread as well, with many having seafood as toppings. The lemons make their happy reappearance on many seafood dishes and salads to lend their brightness to the catch.
Bright too, is the wine of the region, and my favourite is the Falanghina, one of the original wines of the region, and one of Italy’s most ancient varietals. Food and wine often walk the same path through history, and wines are often pair very well with food from its own region; Falaghina is grown just north of Sorrento and Naples itself.
The white wine itself is generally quite fruity, and one gets a lot of peaches, apricots and citrus fruits when tasting it. Fairly dry and acidic, it’s a good match for the seafood of the region, and particularly so with the lemon dressing that seems to accompany so many of the dishes.
Wizards of the Amalfi Coast
There’s a lot more to the Amalfi Coast than Sorrento, however, should one have the courage to make the journey.
Courage, you ask?
To describe the bus ride along the coast might be harrowing in itself for the acrophobic. Most of the towns, like Sorrento itself, are built on top of sheer rocky cliffs above the sea. Curiously, the roads between them are built even higher along those same cliffs for the most part, and, as with many coastal mountain roads, can be steep and winding in places. I should add that at times, it becomes a two-lane road: one going, and one coming.
Now imagine doing a hairpin turn on a mountain, with the cliff face on the left, and nothing except the wild blue yonder on the right. In a bus. Into oncoming traffic.
It’s like riding a theme park attraction.
For some, the thrill is its own reward. For others- people like me, the views are nothing short of spectacular, at least after one stops covering their eyes and allows them to feast on the sights.
I think the words I’d use are “completely worth it”.
Despite its proximity, the Amalfi Coast was not under Neapolitan rule for all of its history, with various stints under the Byzantines, Lombards and other powers. For a time during the 10th and 11th centuries, it was a duchy in its own right as a de facto independent state centered on the city of Amalfi itself. As its own maritime republic, it actually warred against the neighbouring Sorrento.
It’s all the more surprising that despite the historical separation between the towns on the coast, they bear a certain resemblance to each other, with their bright pastels and squat buildings.
We made good time on the road and my journey took me to Amalfi itself just before lunch. Being a quick eater, I was able to wolf down my pizza and I indulge in some retail adventures. There must have been a dozen of shops in every town specialising in pottery, and Amalfi might have had more than that. It seemed a shame not to browse, at least.
I have little patience for the mortal art of shopping at the best of times, but it was quite hard to resist the allure of handpainted crafts, particularly the plates and bowls, painted in bright colours, and yes, lemon motifs. I’m proud to say that despite my unstoppable clumsiness, I still have all of the crockery I bought.
With that, our tour was seemingly done, but it seemed quite odd to visit the Amalfi Coast and not find myself in the sea at some point. When I spoke these thoughts aloud, my guide Gus was only too pleased to oblige. He, a few other adventurous sorts and I soon found ourselves in a small boat. I can safely tell you that it might be one of the best examples of whinging gone good.
Travelling by sea was – and I use the tired expression with all sincerity- an unforgettable experience. Freed from the irrational fear of literally falling from a cliff, zipping around the turquoise blue waters, unleashed from the confines of asphalt and gravel. It can only be described as liberating.
The Mediterranean has been the conduit of trade and exchange of cultures. Whether in the ages of the Greek poleis, the Roman mare nostrum (“our sea”) or that of the Byzantines, the Emirates, the Spanish Empire or even in our modern era, the sea that touches three continents also touched- and still touches- millions of lives.
From that tiny boat, I saw the remnants of the old maritime republics and could imagine how the traders of old saw them. Along the coast are old forts, repurposed as tourist attractions. There are watch towers and old towns, each with stories and battle scars from the millennia-old cycle of peace and war.
I was only a foreigner following in footsteps of history. One amongst millions, but I was happy to catch a glimpse of it nonetheless.
Retreat of the emperors
Off the Sorrento Peninsula, in the middle of the Tyrrhenian Sea, lies an island that is quite utterly unlike any other within Italy.
The Roman Emperors certainly knew this. The island of Capri was their private retreat from the days of Augustus himself. Ruined Roman villas can still be found on the island, including the sprawling estate of Augustus’ successor Tiberius. Other gardens and estates were built by the rich and famous of the eras since then, and they, too, now litter Capri.
Of course I had to visit it.
Despite its lofty status as one of the original resort islands of the world, Capri looks not so much like paradise island as a mountain of chalk emerging from the sea. Perhaps that was the draw in the first place- an island sanctuary shielded from prying eyes.
There is more to the island than meets the eye. In the waters surrounding it are the sea stacks known as the Faraglioni- the modern evolution of the latin word for lighthouse- “pharus”.
They were shaped by the hands of nature; millions of years of seawater crashing upon limestone, wearing away at the rock inch by inch. Piercing through the blue canopy like the heads of giants, the Faraglioni project a raw, untamed majesty.
Yet nature can be subtle, too. The same forces which created the Faraglioni and the chalky cliffs have also burrowed their way into the island itself.
Like the maw of some alabaster sea beast, these caves lie agape, beckoning the adventurous. When the tide is low and the waters calm, some lucky few might enter these rocky gullets by boat. The chromatic cast of the sea- white, blue or green- is thrown upon the grottoes’ walls and paints all within with coloured light.
And yet if we were to see Capri how the Emperors must have seen it, the island transforms from fortress to holiday home. The bucking waves are now shores with clear water and a pleasing asymmetry. Rocks surface from the sea like stones in a pond, not spears from the depths.
Is it not beautiful?
Even in the modern era, Capri still serves as the island resort to the rich and famous, but one need not be either of those to enjoy it today. Indeed, well over two million people visit each year.
The island is home to boutiques, innumerable restaurants, clubs and bars. Gelato, spritzes and wine flow freely, and the sunset hours offer music, dance, and carousing of all sorts.
For me, however, basking in nature’s glory was enough. If there was one place in the world where one can watch the world go by, it would be Capri. I wasn’t about to waste the opportunity.
Sea you next time
My journey on the coast ended soon after I finished my excursion to Capri. It seemed like a good place to recharge, and to be perfectly honest, it was. The emperors knew what they were doing.
All things considered, my time in Sorrento and the Amalfi had been quiet, far less dense than my travels in Rome. Where Rome was about collecting experiences, this stretch of the trip was more about recollecting them. Lots of time was spent drinking wine, admiring the view, catching up on reading, and just enjoying nature.
Such things are ephemeral, however. All too soon, I found myself at the train station again, reluctantly ready for the next adventure.
As I boarded the train and took my seat, the song of the sea slowly faded away into the distance.
Next destination: Tuscany.
