First Day Biking: THESE are artichokes!

Time to start the bike ride part! 

When I swung my leg over my bike Greenie Meanie, all loaded outside our AirBnB on our first day in that little town Sorrento, I had no idea what to expect. Traffic stress at least. The main road was a steady morning stream of Fiats, mini trucks, Vespas, and motorbikes. After waiting for a while, we realized there wasn't going to be a big fat break so we just sort of poured ourselves into the flow. I felt tense a bit as we climbed out of town, and we stopped multiple times to remove a layer, adjust a rubbing brake, dig out a face covering for all the diesel exhaust. 

But the little cars gave us space, and gently wove around us (while in USA I'm always ready for a Ford 150 truck to apply the gas pedal to the floor as it passes me). We climbed the switchbacks up out of town. I unwound and relaxed, realizing almost all of the cars were half the size of the vehicles in the US. I began to look around. "THESE are artichokes!" I exclaimed to Matthew. And olive trees growing dryly and impossibly on the slope of the hill. 

Vehicles coming down the switchbacks gave little toots, a friendly "scusi! coming thru!". Horns here are communicative rather than angry. Vespas zipped like little bees around us. Everyone seemed quite disinterested in our colorful-loaded-bike presence but never disrespectful. I didn't feel impatience resonating from any of the drivers as they waited to pass on the curves. Tiny, zig-zaggy roads. The whole experience was quite put-put and flowy. 

And then we got to the Amalfi coast and could barely move for blathering over how gorgeous it was. Ragged rock loomed so tall straight out of the bright ocean you had the crane your neck to see the top of it. The road hugged the edge of this rock as if it were a curving shelf. Hundreds of meters below was the teal water. Cars, buses, fancy Italian men on fancy carbon bikes, and us oddballs all peacefully curved along this stunningly beautiful ribbon road. 

The scene felt like a Disney movie set in a place of Far-away Magic, the teal water, the looming crags, the houses stacked impossibly vertical on the hillside's shoulder. The whole scene was so perfectly pleasing we only shut up gushing about it if we were climbing up a rise. And there were tunnels! 

This place was so beautiful I wondered how has the entire planet not heard about this and come here? Why was every human not on bikes along with us, experiencing this bliss? 

Well there certainly were a lot of people enjoying it too. At one point the road was very narrow, and two opposing buses had caused traffic to bunch up for a long line. Sitting in this, breathing diesel, felt very unattractive. The Vespas wove to the right of the stalled cars on the shoulder, then down the middle of the stuffed road to the left of them, threading thru the openings and escaping. We decided to WWVD (what would Vespas do) and try this ourselves. I felt so resourceful and resilient squeezing between a stopped bus and a creeping Fiat, barely wide enough for my panniers, escaping the Tetris. I'm sure tunneling thru a traffic jam sounds absolutely terrifying to those in the US reading this, but here it somehow felt protected, calm, possible. None of the stuck drivers seemed aggravated or angry. You could just look out over the teal water, blink in the sunshine, and sate yourself with an incredible view as you waited. 

The night before in Sorrento, we had a similar traffic navigation learning experience as we padded about on foot. Waiting on the sidewalk to cross the dark street, we stood there for no short period getting impatient. Then appeared an older gentleman on our sidewalk and he just set foot into the street. He didn't even stutter his step or change pace. The cars flowed around him gracefully. To us he appeared like Jesus walking on water. This was completely normal apparently. People on foot! Respectful cars! 

We decided to try this; we stepped off the curb and for us the cars slowed too, as if choreographed, no sudden slams of brakes like you get in the US where drivers seem surprised to see humans walking. 

Back to the road, the sunshine, how was this incredible beauty seemingly endless? Pedaling thru little towns posted on hilltops, lemon trees perched in miniscule front lawns the only seeming flat places, laundry hanging from wraught balconies. 

Time for a morning coffee. Two tiny tables on the miniature sidewalk outside "Bar Internazionale" seemed to be the place? Here, "bar" is for coffee in the morning and alcohol drinks at night; there seem to be no "coffee shops". Ah the fun of discovering the ways of a place! 

Inside the bar, a group of four older Italian gentlemen (grey sweaters, puffy coats, drivers caps, statuesque features) we're drinking espressi. They all talked at once, slapping each other's shoulders with loving roughness; I can't speak the language but I can identify companionable teasing. Wonder how long these men have known each other? Each other's families? Ah small towns...

People were not sitting and working on laptops with plush headphones like in American coffee shops. Here people bunch at the bar, down their espresso, stand in the doorway eating a pastry in a paper napkin. These little local bars are so enticing and so intimidating to me, because everyone seems to know everyone, and they are spaces no larger than a big closet sometimes. And the ordering, downing, and paying happens so fluidly it makes me feel like a hiccup-y outsider. 

Which is the point of traveling I suppose. To feel completely out of your element and enjoy the bemusing novelty of everything. 

And to be constantly perplexed by everyday things. For instance, the number of times I've inadvertently locked myself in a bathroom has become embarrassing. I can't seem to intuit the right combination of key and knob turning? Rummaging noises result, with me imagining the next number of hours sighing away alone with a toilet...until sproing! the door gives way as if nothing had happened. I've done this at least once a day so far. Matthew is finding this hysterical. 

So I order us cappuccinos at the Bar, and we take them outside and more or less sit IN the intersection the sidewalk is so narrow. Bus wheels roll right by our feet. This was an amazing experience for me, being on the hill, in this town, our bikes parked across the street against the stone wall with the Vespas. The cappuccino! The foam was so thick it could have stood up without the supportive cup. 

And so went the first day. Enraptured by everything.