Walk away from the beach through the small village of Minori and one will quickly find out what else drives the economy besides tourism. Lemons are the main crop here, as they have been for centuries. Tucked up at the top of the town away from the beaches and Trattoria we found this lemon packing plant. Here is where the little Tonka Toy trucks arrive bearing crates of loose lemons. The fat yellow fruit are packed, boxed and palletized, ready for shipment to the cities.
There would be no beach walks today, no crowds of ogling tourists. We were heading out on a long walk up the valley behind Minori, following a little river high up to its source in the mountains behind this seacoast town. We climbed up the tiny main road out of town to where it began to to turn back on itself and die out. Very suddenly I felt myself as if on the set of an old Wim Wenders movie. The hulk of some decrepit old mill blocked our way. The building was at least two hundred years old, long since abandoned for its original purpose. Now it seemed to be a squatters camp, complete with chicken coops, goats, and horses stabled against tumbling stone walls. A young Italian guy slipped out from behind a wall, leading an unsaddled horse. Without a word, he vaulted onto the horse and rode past us. Unhindered and unaided, we found the trail hidden behind the old mill building. We threaded our way through the camp and began to climb along the creek, quickly disappearing into groves of lemons on a hot spring morning awash in the heavy scent of wildflowers.
The trail wound ever up the valley, past more lemon groves and the remnants of villas long abandoned. The way alternated between stairs, long sections of gravel and dirt paths, and flagstoned walkways. Our route was lined with star jasmine, wild orchids, and many wildflowers we could not identify. It was a riot of color and aroma. And not a soul on the trail. We met one Italian woman on the way up the valley, exchanged greetings and avoided her three annoying little dogs.
The trail doubled back on itself at a tiny hamlet nestled into the upper folds of the valley. We refilled our water bottles at one of the public spigots set into a stone wall, a lovely convenience. From this small collection of houses hung from the hillside, we crossed the creek and thence a saddle at the top of the climb. From here the walk led over the next ridge, climbing to a Convent on a rock outcropping overlooking the sea. But we had kilometers to go and things to discover.
There seem to be two lizards for every stone step. They skitter everywhere, including over your feet and hands as they try to dash away. Not the brightest of creatures, but very fun to watch.
Along the trail to the Convent, we began to see tiny ruins scattered on the hillside above us. I investigated and discovered what appeared to be monastic cells, single room dwellings for monks or nuns. As we continued, we found the ruins of a monastery or convent at the intersection of two trails. It was a wonderful spot for a break, so we wandered about, exploring the ruins.
Yours Truly lounging about on the ancient walls.
Here is a link to a video I shot while goofing off:
The trail wandered along the ridge and climbed to the promised Convent. There we found a small group of very sweaty Brits, hiding from the sun. The Convent was less interesting than the ruins, so we left it to the Brits and continued on our way. The trail wound down the ridge and broke into the open, gifting us views of the coast. Below us was Maiori, the next village down from ours. Larger and busier than Minori, it is still a charming place.
From here the trail became steep steps, descending with a vengeance. We dropped through tiny hamlets hung over the sea, independent villages that date back to the 11th century and are still accessible only by stone stairs. The old folks here must have the constitution of mountain goats. We plunged our way back down to Minori, thighs and calves burning from applying the brakes.
Hiking the Amalfi coast is hungry work. We finished off the afternoon with a late lunch of salad and Saltimbocca, a pizze folded in half and cut like a quesadilla. Just the thing for replenishing those lost calories. Then it was off to the balcony to enjoy a good cigar and watch the crazy motocilisti race up the coast road.
Another magical day on the Amafli Coast of Southern Italy. Today was a fine reminder that if a traveler is willing to make use of his legs and expend some effort, solitude and wonder can be found, even amidst this busy tourist destination.
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