The Amalfi Coast is about 25 km of drop-dead gorgeous, vertiginous scenery stretching along the southern shore of the Sorrento Peninsula below the Bay of Naples. Ancient Norman and Saracen fortifications dot the headlands. Buildings cling to the steep cliffs, defying gravity. Lemon and orange trees grown profusely, flowers bloom everywhere, the air is heavy with scent. Driving around here is a unique experience, too.
The coastal road is best described as mostly single-track as it passes through inhabited areas and somewhat wider elsewhere. It clings to the precipitous cliffs, often hundreds of metres above the sea, and follows the convoluted coastline except where a bridge here or tunnel there takes a short cut. Seen from below the road appears even more terrifying than when you’re on it; in many places it is cantilevered out from the rock-face on concrete slabs.
Driving here demands much skill, nerve and, often, patience. The road width, as I have said, varies enormously and is at its narrowest when passing through one of the near-vertical towns that line the shore, where buildings jumbled together in a plan whose logic is lost in history seem to defy any through-route. Bends are frequent, severe and often totally unpredictable. Traffic is often heavy, and this is Italy, many drivers are local and they are in a hurry. Life in Italy is mostly leisurely, in my experience, but driving is a big exception.
But perhaps the biggest shock is that there are not only cars of all shapes and sizes (and, yes, that does include six-door black limousines driven by suspicious-looking men in very sharp suits and dark glasses), and full sized coaches, thank goodness passing slowly through to allow their passengers to point their cameras and video cams through the windows, but also – terrifying to behold – local buses the size of large coaches, with a sharp turn of speed, whose drivers have a heavy right foot.
True, there are traffic marshals with walkie-talkies on the extended narrow stretches, but they operate only at peak times and their real function is to prevent two large vehicles meeting at points where they would stand no chance of passing. You had better know the exact width of your car, because there will be times when you have to get your nearside to within a couple of centimetres of a stone wall or some solid object.
Here’s a typical scenario: you meet a coach; there’s not much room and you slow down. As the two of you approach, out of nowhere appear dozens of scooters and motorbikes going in both directions at incredible speed, overtaking both of you and scything into the narrowing gap. The air is full of a cacophony of different raucous exhaust notes. Somehow, you realise a split-second later, there wasn’t an accident. Or, on one of the almost-straight stretches, you will be overtaken by an ancient and battered Fiat that would surely never pass an MOT, its lights broken and hanging off, which immediately hits its brakes in virtually an emergency stop before negotiating the next bend. A kilometre further on, you invariably catch up with it, bottled up behind a slow lorry.
If you think that’s hair-raising, try driving in Naples. “Should you decide to travel into Naples by car,” says the guide book, “be prepared for highly stressful driving, heavy traffic and parking problems.” It repeats, “Driving in Naples is highly stressful.” I drove across Naples one day last week in the evening rush-hour. For reasons too embarrassing to relate, we had no detailed map, though I’m not sure it would have helped. Having visited Ercolano (ancient Herculaneum), which is sort of in the southern suburbs, in the morning, we wanted to see the Solfatara at Pozzuoli. With only the vaguest of guide-book directions we set out for the north-west.
There are few direction signs (a common failing in Italy). Often road-markings were either never there or are now obliterated. Typically, a wide street will have no lane markings, so you might be driving along in what everyone else seems happy to call three lanes, but when it all slows down, people start to squeeze into any gaps and suddenly there are six cars abreast. Basically, people will drive anywhere to gain a few metres. You learn that if there is any gap whatsoever between you and the car in front, it will be filled by someone driving straight out from a side-street or someone overtaking. Unless the traffic is very fast, pedestrians will walk out and force you to stop and, as they cross, you'd better not rev your engine, or they will just slow down and stare at you. Watch out for drivers doing three-point turns. These happen anywhere, without warning. Someone just decides they’d be better off going the other way, so they just do it. It goes without saying that no-one indicates. The most used item of equipment is the hooter.
To prevent a nervous breakdown, do as the Italians do. I am tempted to say, “When in Rome, do as the Romans,” but I guess that’s another story. Relax! Take it easy – but make damn sure you concentrate and keep your reactions razor-sharp. Don’t get ruffled – no-one means you any harm, no-one gets personal. I never saw any example of road-rage, or anything like it. Just point your car where you want to go and if there’s a gap get into it. Everyone else is doing the same thing, but it all sorts itself out. From above it must look like pedestrians moving along a crowded pavement.
The only bit of driving in Naples that did get to me was returning the hired car to the airport – and here’s some advice: allow an hour to get from the motorway to check-in. The distance is small, but I didn’t see a single “car hire return” sign and, as I had picked up the car in darkness, it was hard to remember where the compound was. (It’s shared by all the major firms.) We drove round the airport approaches four times and had to ask the way (in very bad Italian, but the guy had no English) before we found it. Another family in the car park said they’d had the same problem and that their sat-nav had been no help. You have been warned.
I have to say it was a great holiday. Let me put in a good word for the Fiat Panda we hired. Though its 1.2 petrol engine seemed gutless at times, everything else about it was good. Great air-con, slick gearbox, sharp brakes, good handling, comfortable. It was the right size for the roads and was great fun to drive. But does it really need a “city” setting for the power-steering? Does it really need power-steering at all?
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