Our Florence guide, Lisa, wanted to have lunch with us before we left for Positano. Lisa so wants to get into costume design and Las Vegas would be a natural place for her to find work. Jack knows someone who may be able to help her. We'll see what we can do. Lisa is a super nice and intelligent woman. I am sure whatever Lisa sets her mind to, she can do.
It's pouring rain when we exit the Uffizi. We're scheduled to meet Lisa at 1:00 but my foot is aching so much that I dive into the nearest coffee shop and collapse in a chair. Jack and Lisa show up a little later and we have a wonderful lunch at a restaurant owned by two of Lisa's friends.
The food was yummy.
There's been so much amazing food here in Florence. All of it simple, and simply prepared, and it just has knocked our socks off.
A killer pesto served with just-made pasta. Oh, yum.
Roasted potatoes with sesame seeds.
Steak Florentine, as recommended by our Milanese friend, Massimo
We set off again for dinner at 8:00 to the first restaurant we happened upon in Florence. There was a bit of a wait, it being prime time Friday, but we were seated next to a raucous pair of guys looking to have a big time on the town. I gave them one of our Las Vegas trinkets, a $1000 poker chip key chain. They were thrilled and bought us drinks, a "lemoncello" which is lemonade on steroids.
Across the street from our flat, there's a little dive called Chianti Road. We've been kept up by the CR patrons since we've been in Florence. Their specialty is Johnny Cash music sung very badly. Walking home from our last excellent meal, we decided to investigate the Chianti Road. When we entered, the featured singer was working on getting rid of about a liter of Chiati at one of the tables. He was delighted to see his first patrons of the evening and insisted I get up and sing with him. Of course Jack was delighted as well and urged me along. Kids, don't let this happen to you. We sang, "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine...”
The poster reflects the quality of the singing talent
Now it's today. We've spent all day getting to where we are. We are in a encampment way, way up the mountain above Positano.
Sometimes traveling isn't the easiest thing, to wit: getting all our crap stuffed into suitcases, then jamming the bags into a cab to the train station, onto the train, off the train in Salerno and then finding the damn car rental agency. Oh but wait - they're closed from 1:00 - 3:00 and of course it's 2:00. We find a coffee shop.
We got a chance to people watch. The clientele is so different in Salerno from Florence.
The car gets signed out to us and immediately we head east instead of west. But we've made it here and are ensconced.
It wasn't easy. Positano is on the side of a sheer cliff overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. The roads are very narrow, crowded, and unforgiving. It's getting dark.
The GPS is pretty accurate in displaying the winding road
We phone the host who gives us extremely ambiguous directions: "You must turn left at the road leading up the hill. Do not miss it. It is very narrow road and hard to find. Then you must drive seven kilometers and I will be meeting for you in the driveway." Jack has better faith than I do. I would be ensconced at the Travelodge right now (if there was a TL in Positano, and there isn't) after telling the host to pound sand.
But we find the road; and the road does indeed take us to our new host, Luciana. She is waiting for us on the narrow, windy road hanging off the side of a cliff. She flags us down. "Tomorrow we can come back for your luggage. Is too dark to carry it all down now - you have maybe one bag you can use for tonight? Oh - and you must park very close to the side of the railing otherwise the bus will have a bad way with your rental car.”
This is where we stayed, perched on a cliff overlooking Positano
Down, down, down we go on steps that have no respect for the requirements of the Uniform Building Code, OSHA Walking-Working Surface Requirements, or even gravity as far as I can tell. I may as well be back on my grandmother's farm, trying to paint the side of her house perched on two 55-gallon drums on top of each other, on top of two homemade milking stools perched on top of each other on the drums. It's kinda the same feeling...
It's pitch black dark and our hostess skips down the steps explaining that she's lived here all her life. Her dad, and dad before him did, too. I quit worrying. On the way, we're guided through a little shed that houses some homemade olive oil, cheeses, and cured meats. A shy dog wags his tail at us from under a table.
We're shown our cottage that overlooks the sea. Later, Luciana brings us dinner (Score! We were famished and this wasn't part of the deal) consisting of zuppa fragiole (a yummy bean soup) some amazing roasted pumpkin (must try at home) cheeses and a salad. Then later she knocks on our door with cake and limoncella. Homemade by her dad.
The sun has set long ago, so it's too late to see the amazing Amalfi coast today. We are promised that sight tomorrow, as surely as the sun will rise. Along with breakfast at 9:00. Ciao Luciana!
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