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Returned to Calitri After Weeks in Sicily |
Following our return to Calitri, considering our earlier pace, days took on a pleasant offbeat rhythm. Some of us needed rest; others, myself included, required something closer to full-scale recuperation. In fact, after a two-week tour de force through Sicily, a breather felt not only deserved but quietly inevitable.
The order of the day, clearly understood though unwritten, was to do nothing which, it turns out, demands a certain discipline. Retirement already flirts with the soft edges of self-indulgence, where any
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Our Rooftop 'Recupra-torium' |
Sometimes we like to laze, you know, just lie around, practicing the fine Italian art of unhurriedexistence. Italians call this philosophy of life “dolce far niente,” the sweetness of doing nothing. It helps, of course, to be in Italy: sipping cool white wine on our terrace beneath a shading umbrella, the air moving to the native rhythmic voice of Chiara; napping until the campanile bells nudge us back to consciousness; stepping out for a due gusti (two flavor) cone of gelato; or reading a book this time with a fortifying red untroubled by itineraries, absent tours, stairways , crowds, or ‘what-next’ decisions to make. In Calitri then, the tonic, for once, was blissfully simple, do nothing at all.
Being in Italy, even at a relaxed lazing tempo, is a noble endeavor. It is Italy after all. Just being there is special. Without question, it is a distant, long ride from the States, but Italy, an emotion more than a country, remains a place hard to live apart from. Like a yummy dessert, Italy is to die for and only reasonable to entertain leaving when I’ve developed the cultural equivalent to a ‘double chin.’ And just as there is an overabundance of possible ‘desserts’ to enjoy, even after twenty years of visits, there remains much of Italy yet to sample. It’s that draw,
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Amalfi Peninsula with Salerno and Vietri |
Once
again, our Sicilian foursome, Lenny, Joann, Maria Elena and I,
clambered into our little Fiat. How we
manage has become a well-practiced maneuver but still on the level of a circus clown
act, though not as funny. Dropping into
town rather late in the morning, we found the only parking lot I was familiar with
filled. While I hesitated outside the
entry gate for a time hoping someone might leave, the authoritative wave of a
policeman motioned us ahead to a street that veered sharply downhill toward the
sea while assuring us we’d find a spot.
We did, on the side of the road facing downhill, so steep I cut the
wheel into the curb, just in case. Then
in a Houdini-like wiggling move I managed to maneuver out through the inches of
space my door was allowed to open into a streetside hedge. As I said, a clown-show, but we’d arrived
safely.
Vietri sul Mare is famous for its tradition of ceramic craftsmanship going back to the 15th century. Often called the gateway to the Amalfi Coast, it feels more like a lived-in village than a polished resort choked with tourists. Compared to other Amalfi towns, it’s not overrun. It’s smaller, breathable, and feels more authentic than places like Positano and Amalfi farther out along the peninsula. It maintains a
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Vietri sul Mare |
The town spills down a hillside toward the sea. However, the heart and commercial spine of this rather compact and intimate town, Corso Umberto I, is thankfully level. We arrived at one end of this busy thoroughfare when we dropped into town to the crowded parking lot. From there the corso extends about a quarter mile to terminate at a small-tree-lined piazza. Walking it feels like drifting through a living gallery. A constant visual rhythm is evident – every doorway, staircase, and alley reveals something decorative or unexpected.
Store fronts overflow with hand-painted ceramics, many in
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A Ceramic Table Market |
Restaurants and small cafes accented the way in an appeal that offered something absent in the shops, a place to sit, set aside parcels, and enjoy a relaxing break. There was even the thoughtful placement of a bench in a strategic place where the corso abruptly turned. From benches to church domes, all are decorated with bright ceramic, the buildings in warm Mediterranean tones.
We were brought to a halt by a funeral procession, not the
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Typical Shop Display |
Along
Corso Umberto, the rhythm of daily life fell silent. Conversations faded, shopkeepers paused mid-gestures,
hats were doffed; a few people crossed themselves, and here and there, tears
were brushed away. Commerce yielded
briefly, without protest, to reverence.
Through
this suspended world, the procession continued forward. A hearse emerged from a nearby church crowned
with bright mosaics, followed by mourners who walked with quiet purpose. Around them, in vivid contrast, life lingered. The displays of colorful majolica lay untouched,
the vibrant mixing of shoppers froze, the idled half-finished cappuccinos cooled
on café tables, all seemed to recede into moments that demanded stillness.
The hearse carrying the deceased, a rare, out of the ordinary breed, was also striking. Its form, like its passenger, bore the mark of transformation.
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An Unexpected Encounter |
This proclivity, a form
of caricature, often humorous, really is not unique. Instead of neutral social descriptions,
people often prefer something more visual.
Italian, a vivid, image-based language, serves this purpose well,
affording Italians a visually expressive way, fortified with hand movements, to
describe people. Noses especially, being
central and distinctive, afford Italians an easy, verbal shorthand.
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A Famous Tuscan Nose |
I sank onto a
worn wooden bench while Maria Elena and Joann were
occupied with serious shopping. As if
reserved for me, two local women involved in relaxed conversation shuffled
aside to offer me room. Rapid musical
Italian that somehow makes even arguing sound romantic swirled past me. With nowhere to be, I let my gaze drift across the
steady stream of passersby, each face a small story unfolding in
expression. Espresso cups
clinked like tiny cymbals at a café across from us and a scooter zipped by with
the urgency of a “keep it warm” pizza delivery.
I had no agenda beyond sitting still in the noble pastime of
people-watching. Part of it is
observation, part imagination, and, if I’m honest, part completely unfounded
character analysis.
Italian culture is often more
direct about appearance, its language style capable of turning everyday
observation into something vivid, expressive, comical. There is more to noses here than nostril
gaging. Describing a nose can subtly
imply elegance, strength, warmth, or awkwardness. Even the great masters, like da Vinci or
Michelangelo were fascinated with facial proportions. There is often a word or hand motion involved
in its playful belief that facial features reveal personality.
Being a rogue I
gave it a try.
An older gentleman with a cane was the first to catch my attention. He strode past with what Italians categorize
as a magnificent Romanesque naso aquilino, curved in a negative "nostrological" cant like an eagle's beak. I conjured the thought that this nose had
opinions of its own and expected them to be respected. Behind him, a young woman laughed with what Italian’s
rank as a naso all’insù.
Translated, this means "upturned nose," which being the case, I awarded her a
positive “nostrological” rating. I
imagined her outlook on life involved an air
of permanent optimism, like she’d never once worried about a late flight or sneered
at a bad espresso. A little later, a
cheerful man with a naso a patata, knobby like a potato, ambled by, his
round, soft nose giving him the somehow trustworthy look of someone whose nose always
knows where to find the best lunch, though is slightly suspicious about
pastries.
As the sun
continued to rise toward afternoon and warm the worn bench
slats, the parade continued: bold noses, delicate ones, and a few that looked
like they’d taken a scenic detour along the way. Then, just as our foursome reunited, along came
a woman featuring a perfectly straight naso francese, espousing the
merits of stereotypical attractiveness. So straight and elegant by the centuries-old
French standards it espouses, it made me instinctively sit up straighter, as
though in a glance she might grade my posture.
In this brief experiment, I realized that people-watching in an Italian
town is a bit like flipping through a beautifully illustrated magazine, except
here in Vietri sul Mare, the characters are moving, talking, all the
while being judged for not only facial layout, but no doubt for their dress, right
down to their choice of gelato in an attempt to derive personality. I was an amateur, but it nevertheless was a
fun sport to play even while you’re benched.
As we slowly continued along Corso Umberto, with every few steps, we were tempted to pause and explore something of interest. Ceramics dominated the scene, their glazed colors catching the light, but it was something less visible that drew my attention: the evocative musk scent of real leather. Beautiful
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A Leather Accented Italjet Electric Bike |
I’ll not
soon forget the Italjet E-bike displayed there, priced at a
whopping 6600€. It had a sleekness that
felt both modern and familiar, the kind of design that stirred something
half-remembered. I recall saving up as a
kid for a bike. It had a button I had to
press to sound its bell and tassels streaming from my handlebars, something
that qualifies as “retro” today. I’d
even put cards on the spokes to mimic a burping muffler. Unlike this beauty, my bike also didn’t have
a clock embedded in the stem below the handlebar, which might explain why I was
perpetually late getting home.
The Italjet was another species entirely. Its leather accents explained why it was on display there. The handles, seat, and a pocket to slide the battery into, decorated with quality leather, added to its elegance. A vintage knucklehead headlight and finely spoked wheels added to its retro look. Italians, after all, have a well-earned reputation for speed, and this particular jewel could glide up to 28 miles per hour, carrying you anywhere from 31 to 43 miles before needing
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Samples of Lucia's Artistry |
At #69 Corso Umberto we stepped into Zuma Ceramiche, the fine‑art studio of Lucia Carpentieri. She related how as the daughter of artists, she approached painting at a young age in her
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Lucia |
father’s studio. I was struck by the sweep of her early training, marked by the study of great masters of Italian painting from Caravaggio’s drama to the Venetian painter Giovanni Bellini (yes, the namesake of the cocktail). It then progressed to the refined Renaissance touch of Federico Barocci and the mid-19th century romantic intensity of Francesco Hayez. There was also attention to the oleographic technique (oleo in Italian meaning oil and graph, printing), a 19th‑century method for producing high‑quality prints that cleverly “faked” the look of oil paintings for those who couldn’t afford the originals. But ceramics eventually became her expressive language. In 2015, Lucia opened her first workshop in the historic center of Avellino, not far from Calitri, before later relocating to Vietri sul Mare.
The result is an astonishing gallery of her own making. Her pieces entertain enchanting references to optical art weaving geometric precision into illusions of depth and motion. Lucia’s stylistic use of crisp
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Grouping of Cornicelli Amulets |
Continuing
to wander without a plan, we eventually reached the end of Corso
Umberto, or perhaps, in hindsight, its beginning. Piazza Vincenzo Solimene, with its
tree-lined view stretching toward the sea, feels less like the end of the line
and more like an introduction to the town.
From here, we glimpsed a sanctuary of Vietri ceramics that
announces itself long before you step inside.
You can’t miss it. The structure is entirely clad in bright enamels, arranged in a sweeping mosaic motif. Embedded across its facade are sixteen thousand discarded vases, glazed in copper green and
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Solimene Ceramics Factory |
Today, the
factory remains a living workshop where craft becomes
art, and tradition continues to evolve across every painted surface and fired
form. The process unfolds vertically,
guided by a continuous ramp that winds through each level. Along this path, the stages of ceramic
production reveal themselves in sequence, each workspace contributing to the transformation.
destinations.
You move
carefully through it all, sidestepping bowls, pitchers, and
vases that feel equally at home as decoration or daily use. The tiles echo those embedded in walls throughout
the town, reinforcing the quiet sense that this place is tied to Vietri.
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Careful -- Watch Your Step |
And perhaps, that’s the true ending to our walk: not a final destination,
but rather a realization. In Vietri,
the line between wandering and arriving disappears. Every street leads you back to the same idea,
that beauty here is not preserved behind glass in a Gucci or Tiffany storefront,
but made, handled, and lived with every day.
My Vietri experience was built from small, sensory moments ― the
art, the artists, the crafts, people remotely appraised from a bench, another
aboard her final ride (possibly the beginning of a new journey) ― rather
than big attractions. I leave it there,
at what was an end, though depending on the direction you face, maybe a
beginning.
Paolo
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