What the fig?
- Priyanka
- Apr 29, 2018
- 6 min read
Updated: May 13, 2018
Abracadabra Verdict: #Abracadabra - magic everywhere!
Our experience: #WonderfulPeople, #Fruits, #Buses, #PublicTransport, #BreathtakingViews, #Relaxation, #GreatWines, #LaDolceVita
Go for: #Sunshine, #Seafood, #HustleBustle, #Peace, #Beaches, #MediterraneanBlue, #Vegetables, #VegetarianOptions, #VeganOptions, #Ferries, #BnBs
"Dotatto - from my giardino!” he exclaimed, excitedly.
Standing at the bus-stop on Via G. Marconi which connected Amalfi with nearby towns, the blazing afternoon sun beating down upon us, I gingerly picked up one of the lovely figs – pale green with white streaks – from the plate that this kindly elderly man had proffered, thanking him in the two Italian words I had perfected by then. The fig was soft, velvety, and ice-cold from his fridge, and had temperature been its singular characteristic, it would still have been the most wonderful feeling in that moment – a momentary respite from the sweltering heat of summer, even if just for the tips of my fingers! However, it’s ambrosial fragrance preceded it, and as my mind so often does, it was elated in pleasurable anticipation. In naught but a swift moment later, my lips closed on it, and I felt the familiar syrupy goodness of a fig and the unfamiliar, overwhelming explosion of honeydew, soft caramel and berries. It is a flavour that one only gets when these lovely figs ripen on the tree in uninterrupted warm sunshine, and its texture, as with figs, was a contrast in and of itself – the cold, smooth, almost creamy pale flesh, interspersed with tiny black crunchy seeds. After all, the Amalfi fig is stuff of legend – no wonder that Jean-Claude Ellena, Francis Kurkdijan, Francois Demachy and other great parfumeurs have perfumes dedicated to this delightful fruit (flower, if we were to be terribly technically correct). In that moment, I was lost in a magical experience – one of those where everything was perfect. I didn’t care about the bus – which was already an hour late – or the heat, or the fact that I was blocking N’s path to one of these glorious creations of nature and
man.
“More?” he asked, with a smile that hinted that he knew fully well what my answer was to be.
Amalfi has always held a special place in my heart – it was the topic of one of the first TV shows about Europe that I ever saw, and definitely the first one I was addicted to. Sitting on the bed with dinner in front of us, we would watch David Rocco as he waxed lyrical about the fresh seafood, the tomatoes and the people of Costiera Amalfitana. We were mesmerized, and our first trip within Europe was eventually to Amalfi, and we have unfailingly returned there every year so far.
Given that we don’t drive – we’re professional passengers, as Cardi B says of herself too – we decided to take public transport everywhere on this annual excursion to Amalfi. After all, we were no longer tourists on our third visit – not when the gelato stall and BnB owners knew us by name. Traveling by the local SITA buses across the Costiera requires a little patience, a bit of tolerance for heat, and as with most things in Italy, a spot of luck. However, I recomend it highly - it is amazing and I'd rate this as a must do. If you can, sit on the right side of the bus if you're heading uphill, and on the left, if you're heading downhill. You can board buses from Amalfi's central bus stop, which is just a few feet from one of the most photographed beaches in the world. We travelled between Amalfi, Ravello and Praiano at all times of day and night on these old buses, crowded mostly with locals, but also a few tourists (perhaps those in the know, like us!), and it was delightful. The buses have a slight height advantage over most cars, which is often just enough to get a view of the shimmering Mediterranean, with tiny white yachts bobbing gently in its waves, or the beaches, with people enjoying the sunshine and the sea. In the odd moments when my mind could simply not handle any more ridiculously gorgeous views of the coastline, I turned my attention to my fellow passengers. From old Italian ladies shopping, to the odd tourist from Italy asking where to get off for Praiano, from workers in restaurants and beach cafes heading home, to those like us trying to stay there long enough and mutter sufficient Italian to be considered local - it was a microcosm of La Citta Romantica, Amalfi! On one particularly crowded journey, we even managed to make friends with a young bus driver, who ended up stopping for us the next time even though the bus was full. A lovely stand-up fellow if there ever was one.
Just two of the many spectacular views from the bus
One of the other advantages of public transport, apart from doing one’s bit for the environment, is the pause button that gets hit when you reach the bus stop. And in Amalfi, it’s a long pause, for buses are not as frequent as London. Unlike London of course, every bus stop here offers a view which, even if the bus does not come and I had to head back in (or decide to walk!), was infinitely worthwhile in itself. It forced me to pause and just take it all in and even today, sometimes I close my eyes and am transported back there in an instant; to a causal observer, it might seem like I’m waiting for a bus, but what I’m truly doing is living and breathing the spirit of Costiera Amalfitana.
For some of our trip, the closest stop to us was right next to a local winery – Casa Vinicola Ettore Sammarco – and if we were there anytime between 11AM – 5PM, the owner would invariably, very graciously, invite us in for a quick tasting with the other guests who were there.
“Mentre aspetti – as you wait!” he would say, holding out two glasses of Terre Saracene, a white wine made with Pepella grapes from the region. Truly an offer I couldn't refuse!
On the day when we moved to a different BnB, we were standing at a bus stop on a thoroughfare connecting key towns, waiting for a specific bus to take us to one of the towns further away. Here is, and this is perhaps helpful to note, where the patience and luck I mentioned above really come in while trying to use public transport. As we had decided to use public transport, we waited, somewhat patiently, in the hot sun. Buses came and went, but none that were going in our direction stopped, as they were already full. It is here, 45 minutes into the wait, where we met Franco. He was trying to practice his English he said, and had worked at hotels for years, though now retired. After a brief introduction, he decided to broach the topic he knew was top of mind for us.
“Where do you go?”, he asked.
“Positano – but none of the buses are stopping here”, I replied.
“Yes – they do that” he said, matter-of-factly, “it’s busy and hot, so no one walks!”. He glanced at our luggage, understanding that walking was of course out of the question for us.
“Is there another way to get there?” I asked, holding myself back gallantly from asking where I could find a taxi.
“No – this is the only road. You will have to wait for the bus and the driver’s choice to stop”, he answered, chortling merrily at our question. More than one road between two towns must have been a preposterous thought for him.
“But wait here”, he continued, and swiftly unlocked a gate near the bus stop and walked in. “My house”, he said, with pride, and also perhaps to deter the thought that he was housebreaking from entering our minds. And with that, he disappeared inside. It was a simple, yet lovely house – a single floor brick house, painted orange, with bright green windows and a white door – and it was surrounded by a garden. I looked inside and waited for a minute before my attention was distracted by the azure waters behind it, and then rapidly brought back to reality as another bus, chock-full of passengers, passed by us. The third time in an hour, but no less painful than the first! While I was lost in my thoughts, Franco had meanwhile returned with a white plate.
“Dotatto - from my giardino!” he exclaimed, excitedly.
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