Oscar Humphries explores Naples and the Amalfi coast
See Naples and die. Grand Tours often ended in Naples. By the time the young aristo arrived in this beautiful Italian city he was probably feeling a bit homesick — and syphilitic. I didn’t see much of Naples from the coastal road to Positano but I could smell it. The stench of garbage warming as if beside an Aga hung in the air. Every scrap of ground that wasn’t built on or Tarmacked was strewn with plastic bags and decaying Vespas. Our taxi driver said that the garbage men have been on strike since Christmas. I asked the sort of question favoured by Marie Antoinette and American tourists — why didn’t they employ new Polish garbage men? The Camorra run ‘waste management’ throughout most of Italy. So the Mafia was to blame for the piles of filth that looked like tiny Technicolor volcanoes — their tops spewing paper that was carried away by the gentle breeze. ‘No Mafia in Positano,’ I was firmly told, and as I weaved my way along the coast, gradually the air became sweeter, the sky clearer, and my questions less persistent.
Positano clings to the rocks of the Amalfi coast. It is a town of steps, with houses stacked on top of one another from the high cliffs to the sea. From Positano you can visit Pompeii, Capri, Panerea, Ischia and Ravello. Like Portofino, Positano attracts smart Milanese, Roman weekenders, wealthy Americans and a handful of bored people who cruise the Mediterranean every summer. It has none of the flashiness of St Tropez or Sardinia. The Russians have yet to discover this part of Italy and while it is expensive it’s also small. What is the point of spending money if there’s no one there to see you do it?
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B J Lee
August 8th, 2008 3:05pmIt is quite tiresome to read only negative comments about Americans. Try writing sans cliches; your readers will admire you for being unique.
Jock
August 11th, 2008 1:52pmYou neglected to slip around the iron bars guarding the thin Via Krupp descending the cliff on the backside of Capri, and skinny dip in the lapping blue waters, just under the grotto with the secret ruins of a miniature Victorian brick mansion built inside where the arms maker used to entertain i belli ragazzi. No, all you care to notice is how expensive is the shopping. Southern Italy is utterly wasted on a plebian soul.
Jock, channeling the ghost of Norman Douglas
August 12th, 2008 2:03pmI take it back about Herr Krupp and i ragqazzi. Turns out all that may be a libel--utterly false--and yet it caused Krupp's wrongful disgrace, ostracism, and eventual suicide. This according to Norman Douglas who lived in Capri and should know. The gentle, elderly philanthropist, the wealthiest man in Europe, "was by far the most prominent man on the island," said Douglas. "He lived in a glass house, and it is asking to much of fish in an aquarium to engage, unobserved, in homosexual practices." It was Krupp's kindness that "proved his undoing." He took lessons in Italian from a schoolmaster and typically, overpaid him. A rival schoolmaster who had no such illustrious and lucrative client out of envy and personal spite slung at Krupp the worst mud he could think of. The schoolmaster sent to a Socialist rag called the "Propaganda" anonymous accusations of practices with young boys "with which he himself was familiar," as the schoolmaster himself had been convicted of them. Another paper, "Avanti," took up the poisonous gossip; then a German socialistic paper "Vorwärts;" it mushroomed into a major scandal fueled by the partisan press: innocent working class boys victimized by degenerate capitalist. "He was killed by a disgusting press campaign," says Douglas. This from Norman Douglas, "Looking Back," pp. 152-158. The falsehood is repeated to this day in Capri guide-books: it was in the papers at the time after all, so it must be true.