Sorrento for the bone idle

Sorrento is unashamedly a tourist venue, so don’t expect to stumble across an undiscovered gem in this neck of the woods. This town has been a destination for travellers for well over 200 years since the days of the ‘Grand Tours’ and it is a desirable place to be.

If you like your beaches relatively uncrowded and have the energy or the bus fare, head west up to Capo di Sorrento and then stroll down through the lemon groves to Puolo. It’s worth the walk; cheap beds and parasols are available along with restaurants and the all-important cold beer.

Take a drive along the coast if you have the stomach for precariously winding roads. The resorts of Positano and Amalfi on the other side of the peninsula look stunning as you descend towards them.

If you should get bored of all this idleness, you could always give the little known towns of Pompeii and Herculaneum the once over. I’m sure there are some who have a strong aversion to archaeology and historic sites, but I really think you ought to make an exception here.

Quick Tips:

Driving in Italy isn’t so scary as long as you keep your wits about you. Assume there are scooters either side of you in your blind spot pretty much all the time and drive accordingly (there almost always are). If you fancy something of a motoring adventure, just give piazza Tasso a try – it’s one of those places that has no road markings and yet locals move with seamless ease around each other (and down roads you thought were inaccessible or pedestrianised or both) while the visitor sits frozen by indecision.

We found a few good restaurants amongst those peddling standard tourist fare; most are tucked in the narrow lanes of the old quarter. Don’t judge them by their inconspicuous entrances – Sant’Antonino and Il Giardiniello both have pleasant terraces. Do check that the restaurant takes your credit card – we were caught out.

As is often the case in mainland Europe, it is easy and cheap to buy delicious rustic bread, cured salamis, meats and local cheeses. The olives are fat and strong and the ‘standard’ wines are more than palatable. We self-catered and rustled up some great lunches for the beach this way.

Best Way To Get Around:

Sorrento town itself is easy enough to walk around although the descent down to the harbour is quite steep as are the roads out of town in both directions. Four bus routes (linea A-D) run frequent services into the piazza Tasso from the main arterial routes with their rows of hotels. Tickets need to be bought in advance from Tabac and souvenir shops and you stamp them in the machines when you board.

The Corso Italia through the centre of town closes to traffic just after lunch for a couple of hours and again in the evening (the signs take a little interpreting). The alternative route for traffic is round via degli Aranci and be aware that the buses take this detour too and operate to a different set of bus stops.

We hired a car at Rome’s Ciampino airport and made very rapid progress down the A1 and A3 to within 15-20 miles of Sorrento. The journey from then on is painfully slow along a winding coast road – great views are all well and good, but at the end of a long drive . . .

http://www.resortsinitaly.com

We are members of the internet generation – buying bargains without leaving our armchair, planning and booking a grand European tour during our lunch break, finding a holiday apartment to rent, and sending a bloke called Daniele, who you’ve never met, a few hundred euros, trusting that he isn’t about to fleece you.

And so we found ourselves in the bustling centre of Sorrento ringing Daniele’s number for the third or fourth time. My puppy dog enthusiasm is beginning to grate on the Blonde. We are not arguing as such . . .

The local tourist board assured us that Daniele exists and that he is in the holiday letting business. Daniele’s registered office is a seedy looking flat in a Sorrento back street. It’s empty.

And finally he answers his phone and everything is right with the world. In true Italian fashion, Daniele arrives atop a scooter in pristine ‘designer-casual’ and leads us a couple of kilometres out of town to Capo di Sorrento – a small cluster of buildings gathered around a somewhat archaic petrol pump.

The apartment is tucked away off the road behind an electric gate – getting out with the car requires one to think like a local and trust to blind faith and optimism. The apartment itself, however, is delightful. There is a large enclosed terrace, in addition to the main living space, bedroom, and bathroom. The whole place is painted a cooling white and tiled underfoot. Clean functional furniture is coupled with rather incongruous paintings. And there’s the art you only find in rentals – there must be a special shop.

The only downside of the apartment is the lack of a decent outside space. The defunct pizzeria next door has a large patio area that we can share with the other apartment in the block. It’s a bit of a trek and the furniture has seen many better days. We improvised in a small paved area next to our building, but it was less than ideal and, if you share the Blonde’s obsession with al fresco dining, you will be a little disappointed.

Capo di Sorrento is fairly well equipped for a ‘one pump’ town. There’s a bar opposite that serves perfectly serviceable carafes of red, a small grocery that has pretty much all you need and a pizzeria/discotheque (see other entry). The walk back down to Sorrento town takes about half an hour although there are no pavements. Capo is the end point of one of Sorrento’s bus routes too – they run every 20 minutes or so and the tickets cost €1 each (buy in bulk from the Tabacs).

We enjoyed being at a distance from the resort that is Sorrento – it provided us with the peace we were looking for with but a short stroll to the best beaches in town. The Blonde was happy and, therefore, so was I.

The Blonde and I would probably class ourselves as fairly picky diners. Being in a resort area adds that extra dimension – restaurants that are catering for tourists and serving tasteless nonsense at ludicrous prices because they can. Sometimes, however, convenience wins and that snobbery gets pushed aside . . . and maybe you get lucky.

Being honest, we did not expect a restaurant/bar/discotheque called Disco Kalimera 2003 to be up to much in the dining stakes but, at about 100 yards from our front door after a fairly long journey from Rome, it looked welcoming despite the neon. The staff was very welcoming too, which was hardly surprising seeing as there wasn’t another soul there. The dining area was a large uneven garden perched on the down slope. I decided to sit facing uphill – if my plate has to move, I prefer it coming towards me.

We continued our survey of regional antipasti and large carafes of vino. The Kalimera duly obliged with perfectly adequate entries in both categories. I opted for a pizza while the Blonde tucked in to a huge bowl of mussels – she seems to like dishes that involve work and the creation of debris. All the food was delicious – simple, but exactly what we wanted.

At various points through the meal, various members of staff homed in on us to practise their English and divert their pets away from the table. We started to wonder whether the restaurant was actually open. Had we wandered into a quiet night in and they’d just been too polite to throw us out? But then the disco started and it was time to leave.

It was at this point that we discovered that plastic is not the universal currency just yet . . . and that the Blonde and I couldn’t scrape together a rather modest €39 between us. The smiling bonhomie disappeared, the cute puppy started to sneer, I adopted a look of helplessness and made assorted offers that the owner seemed perfectly prepared to refuse.

We got away without having to do any washing up (I guess it wasn’t a particularly generous offer considering we were the only diners) and promised to return with the balance. I could see the scepticism in their eyes as we hurried away. Suddenly staying right next door to a restaurant that we’d stiffed didn’t seem such a smart idea.

The look of astonishment on the proprietor’s face when I returned the next day with the balance and a hefty tip warmed the very cockles. No big cousins or concrete needed, an evening for the Blonde spent learning the Italian for ‘my husband sleeps with the fishes’ wasted.

If you find yourself in Capo di Sorrento and can’t be fagged to head down into Sorrento (and have euros in your pocket!), give the Kalimera a try . . . and if you have a penchant for ‘80’s Europop then hang around for the disco too.

After a week of heavy culture, particularly the volume encountered in Florence and Rome, it’s time to kick back and indulge in a serious bout of inactivity. At least, that’s what the Blonde tells me. I’m not so good at sunbathing – I’ve never really trained for it and just don’t have the level of commitment required (as well as being a tad on the freckly side) – but relationships are about compromise so give me a good book, a snorkel, and a large parasol and let’s hit the beach.

Sorrento is a fairly mainstream package tour destination and, as such, the town’s beaches were pretty crowded with English, Germans, and Americans basting themselves in a sardine-like fashion. The beaches of Capo, however, were pretty quiet. This was probably due to their relative inaccessibility.

We first made our way down to Punta del Capo. A 20-minute stroll down a narrow road past the disco Kalimera brought us to Ruderi Villa Romana Pollio. These Roman remains perch on top of a rocky outcrop and offer great views back towards Sorrento and across the Bay of Naples. From here, treacherous-looking wooden walkways led out across the rocks. We started to see people perched on various ledges, precariously enjoying their few square feet of bathing space.

Intrigued by the wooden gangway leading off round a blind corner, we headed on. Round the bend we found ‘the beach’ – essentially a large rock shelf interspersed with enormous boulders and pools. There was also a café (an optimistically self-styled beach club) with a private terrace that also claimed ownership of the gangway.

We found ourselves a relatively flat spot near a boulder and settled down. I say settled down; it isn’t easy to get comfy on a rock shelf, however good your beach towel. Particularly not when you’re following a tiny patch of shade as it makes its progress around a rock.

Access to and from the sea isn’t so easy from this beach. It takes a significant amount of care to get yourself to the water’s edge. You then require a certain devil-may-care attitude to assume the water you are about to jump into is deep enough and not concealing anything.

Of course, we had selected the wrong beach. A look across the bay revealed a row of umbrellas, cafes, and comfort. The Blonde set off, determined to find a route round to this seaside nirvana. She came back disappointed, although her spirits had been somewhat lifted by discovering an enclave of naked young men enjoying the sun and each other.

As beaches go, this is not a favourite. If you have buttocks of steel fit for reclining on rocks or admiring by gay men, then this may be your kind of place. Otherwise, it requires a degree of effort to get to that brings precious little reward.

If you prefer your beaches sandy, with sun loungers and a few restaurants rather than the ‘extreme sunbathing’ experienced below the ruins of Romana Pollio, head for Marina Puolo. This small settlement can be reached by following the road from Capo di Sorrento west and taking the path next to the Hotel Denia. A pleasant quarter of an hour descent through lemon groves takes you down to the water’s edge (you can drive down too – there is a fairly cheap car park just above Marina Puolo).

The settlement consists of a cluster of houses and apartments with a line of restaurants and a small hotel taking the beachfront position. The far end of the beach has a private area and pier cordoned off for the use of hotel guests.

Marina Puolo has a beach ‘Don’ who goes by the name of Angelo. Angelo has a monopoly on parasol and bed rentals along with ownership of the dubious looking pedallo. As soon as you reach the bottom of the hill, he or one of his cronies starts setting up your pitch. The sales technique is perfect – no one just opts for lying on the beach.

Angelo knows a fine array of stock Ameri-English phrases and choruses from popular hits of the day, which he shares with everyone that passes. His day is spent playing a particularly fast, unidentifiable card game that involves a great deal of shouting. There is the odd flurry of activity as a parasol needs to be planted but these occasions are fairly few and far between. He has a constant supply of beer and cigarettes that makes its way to him from several of the restaurants along the front. Angelo usually finds time to cram a siesta into his busy day. He and his cronies demonstrate the comfort of their loungers for a good couple of hours most days.

My anthropological study of Angelo and his ‘family’ was assisted by the Blonde’s affection for Marina Puolo. A mere quarter of an hour from our apartment, the beach became our home and Angelo took on the combined role of errant uncle and cabaret for the week. It’s a great little beach popular with locals – on the weekend the small bay was packed with boats that brought families from Naples and further along the coast. There are half a dozen restaurants that always has space and the hiring of two loungers and a parasol for the day came in at €8.

Comfort, inactivity, and cold beer a few steps away – now that’s the kind of lazy holiday I could get into.

We were deep into a lazy week after the Renaissance grandeur of Florence, the mediaeval claustrophobia of Siena and the masterpiece that is Rome. Exhausted and a little ‘historied-out’, we had taken to the beach.

But I’m a pale Northern European and after a couple of days I uttered the words the Blonde has come to dread . . . "Sweetheart, darling, light of my life, how do you fancy seeing . . ."

Now sometimes I have to beg and still fail miserably (anything that isn’t south of Nottingham is an instant "no" for example), but with Pompeii, I was in luck. Clearly, the childhood ordeal that saw my wife dragged to nigh on every museum and sight of interest in mainland Europe had not broken her curiosity completely.

I would not recommend trying to get to Pompeii via the industrial estates that make up Torre Annunziata. Any useful road signs dissolve away the minute you leave the autoroute at the wrong junction.

Remain calm. It’s supposed to be a holiday (sound advice, which I’m sure you will all follow).

And so, eventually, to Pompeii. The biggie. The one every schoolchild has heard of with its dramatic accompanying images of violent Vesuvius and a moment in time being frozen in lava. Of all the places we visited in Italy, this is the one I had read most about and for which I had built up the greatest expectations. The sort of expectations that usually lead to disappointment. They say it’s all in the anticipation but in this case ‘they’ are wrong.

I can’t possibly recreate Pompeii for you in words – there is too much of it; its impact on each individual unique. It leaves a vivid impression.

There are guided tours in many languages available along with guidebooks of varying depths. We chose to wander the streets with their high, narrow pavements and curious steppingstones, occasionally catching a fragment of someone’s commentary or making up our own stories for the inhabitants. We snatched a few moments at the theatre (there was nothing on), popped into a tavern or two and took a turn around the forum. There was time for a quick trip to the baths and to pay our respects at the Temple of Apollo before visiting the residential district.

We admired the décor of the Tragic Poet and Caved his Canem. I just love what he’s done with his triclinium. One of us giggled and the other gasped at the vivid image of Priapus round at Vettii’s house. We entered the Amphitheatre to muted applause. Then, on the way home, I nipped into a brothel while the Blonde wasn’t looking (the most crowded building in town!). I think she went to the bakers across the road. We left town through the tranquil avenues of the Necropolis and looked back to see the volcano dominating the horizon behind the town. They ought to keep an eye on that.

Find an excuse. You simply must.

We arrived in Sorrento and decided to take on its road system head on. The Blonde had the confidence and decisiveness that you want in a navigator, bizarre considering we had no map or clue where we were going. Still . . . we weren’t going to let such trivialities stand in our way.

It was as we carefully backed our way out of a street barely as wide as our car that we decided to review our navigational policy of ‘Ooh let’s try down here and see where it takes us’. If only we had one of those motorised wheelbarrows that the locals were tootling around in.

Sorrento occupies a dramatic position on the southern side of the Bay of Naples. It is an incredibly popular resort, particularly with the British, and is crammed with hotel and apartment accommodation catering mostly to the package tour crowd. For the most part, the bars and restaurants of downtown Sorrento are geared towards this clientele. Corso Italia, the main road through town, is home to an English Inn and a Chaplins amongst its motley collection of themed pubs. Many of the restaurants offer a formulaic collection of dishes that seem to appeal to many judging by the crowds.

It would be very easy to dismiss Sorrento because of its leanings towards popular tourism but it has a lot going for it if you can see past the souvenir paraphernalia. The town’s main square, piazza Tasso, straddles a dramatic gorge and the streets on the seaside of Corso Italia are a pleasant jumble of tight bustling lanes. ‘Real life’ is still proceeding here at a leisurely Mediterranean pace amidst the beach towels, lemon-oriented souvenirs and purveyors of limoncello (the local liqueur that can be found in a mind-boggling array of novelty bottles).

Sorrento is also a marvellous place from which to explore the region. The more exclusive resorts of Positano and Amalfi lie on the other side of the peninsula along a stunning (and frankly petrifying) coast road. The famous islands of Capri and Ischia lie a short hydrofoil ride out into the Mare Tirreno and sprawling, intense Naples lies across the bay. And then there’s Pompeii and Herculaneum some 15 or so miles away with Vesuvius lurking ominously behind them as you gaze inland.

Sorrento will not appeal to everyone because of its populist leanings but there isn’t the brashness that you would find on the Costas in Spain (or the all day English breakfasts). There are good meals to be had – we relied on the Rough Guide and really enjoyed ‘Sant’Angelo’ on the Via Santa Maria della Grazie and Il Giardiniello (Via Accademia 7) – and watching the world go by on the piazza Tasso is suitably relaxing. Sometimes it's nice not to have to work at being on holiday if you know what I mean.