A few years ago, after finishing university, I and three friends (we’re a cosmopolitan bunch – a Scotsman, a Frenchman, an Englishman and an Italian) took a holiday on the Amalfi Coast. We stayed in Raito, a little village above Vietri, famous for its pottery and glass-making, just north of Salerno. Our host was Eva Cantarella, an academic notable for her work on sexuality in the ancient world. She lives in a villa which faces over the Gulf of Salerno, offering an astonishing panorama of the sea and the city to the South.
She lent us her bashed up Volkswagen to get around and the run of the place. The nights were spent merrily playing Neapolitan card games, listening to music and drinking – the dark curve of the bay silhouetted by a golden band of light, the bustling port of Salerno and its street lamps.
We sped around in the bashed up Volkswagen (by the end of the trip our designated driver was gesticulating, honking, effing and blinding as enthusiastically as any of the locals), winding through the little villages dotted along the coast. There is preserved an old-fashioned atmosphere with quiet beaches, paths down to the sea and quiet restaurants. If party bling is your thing, you can find it at Positano, which has become rather ruined by tourism.
