Living in Siena has given me the opportunity to explore surrounding areas of the Italy with ease. So a few weeks ago, my roommate Crystal and I decided to venture down south to the Amalfi Coast. Crystal was dying to visit Positano, a small town tucked into the coast of Italy. She had shown me tons of photos from Instagram, and although it looked absolutely stunning, I wasn’t entirely enthused. Positano looked like a resort spot...which to me sounds absolutely boring. I’m from Savannah, Georgia and I’ve lived on the coast with easy access to the ocean my entire life. There is nothing particularly intriguing about a coastal resort type destination to me. A beach is a beach anywhere you go. I’m more of a “throw me into an ecosystem and landscape that is completely foreign to me” type of person (which could possibly explain my obsession with the desert, but that’s another story). I was not completely opposed to visiting Positano, it just wasn’t at the very top of my list. Alas, Crystal convinced me to go. It ended up being one the best decisions I’ve made during my stay in Italy.
Traveling to Positano was almost like traveling to a different country. Due to it’s location, Positano is impossible to reach by train. Arriving to our destination involved 3 different modes of transportation. A bus to Florence, a car to Salerno, and another bus to Amalfi and we were almost there. When we finally boarded the bus to Positano, it made complete sense why trains were not an option. Positano is a vertical town built into the side of the cliffs. To my right, I was confronted with the faces of jagged rocks stretched high towards the sky. To my left was a view that stole my breath. The cerulean Mediterranean Sea brazenly stared back at me with glittering waves climbing over one another. It was a brilliant and awe inducing, albeit terrifying sight. The only thing separating me from the water was a rail that the bus drove dangerously close to.
The landscape was surreal. Since Positano is vertical, from afar it appears to be a kaleidoscope of yellows, reds, oranges, whites, greens, and blues. Upon closer inspection, you realize that this spectacular culmination of colors are the homes and businesses that dot the face of the mountainous cliff, layered on top of one another and confusing the eye. Rows of trees bearing large lemons and oranges are woven throughout the maze of buildings and fill the air with sweet citrus scents. While exploring the town, I ventured off on my own and found a ramp that led up to a path built into the side of the cliff. I kept walking along it and suddenly I was met with a stunning view of the coast and sea.
I have this weird thing with vast spaces. When I am directly faced with images of oceans and forests, I suddenly feel apprehensive and overwhelmed. There is just so much of it. A large amount of our Earth is unknown and indefinite. There are species high above us and deep below us that are yet to be discovered….and we may never discover it. When I’m near the ocean or in a forest, I feel infinitesimal.
Walking along that path, I started to shrink. I felt tiny and overwhelmed. I found myself starting to focus on the wall of stone to my right rather than the endless ocean to my right. My former indifference towards coastal resort destinations was suddenly nonexistent. I guess a beach is just a beach until you’re staring at the Tyrrhenian Sea and realizing that you are in the middle of one of the most dazzling landscapes you will ever witness in your lifetime. Once again, that feeling of apprehension began to appear but this wasn’t the time to feel small. I had to face it.
I stepped closer to the rail that lined the edge of the path and peered over. Families, couples, dogs, and locals were all dots along the jagged and windy coastline. I looked up and stared straight ahead. All I could see was blue, blue, blue. The sky blended seamlessly with the sea; shades and hues were separated only by clouds and sunshine. I stared back at the cliffs and soaked in that brilliant kaleidoscope of clustered architecture. In that moment, it dawned on me that I wasn’t overwhelmed and tiny. I was humbled. Observing the Earth and all of its natural grandeur had taught me humility...and for most of my life I mistook it for disquietude.
From a distance, the sea seemed to playfully tug at the cliffs and all at once I felt silly. My previous condescending thoughts towards beaches had been humbled by Positano’s splendor. I walked away from Positano realizing that I can’t nor will I ever know the entire world. Traveling with predispositions only limits your perspective. I had to rid myself of expectations and bury preconceived notions in order to truly embrace all that our Earth has to offer. Armed with this epiphany, I felt renewed. Thank you Positano.