It is with this awareness and with this state of mind that I approach each occasion to admire a part of the Earth, the Amalfi Coast, dotted with moving eternal beauty.
Recently I have been, in particular, between Amalfi and Furore to gather ideas, to be able to fully enjoy moments of reflection in a context that by its very nature gives a sense of reconnection with the world around.
This feeling strikes me and does not leave me ever since I head from the small port of Amalfi toward the square that, all of a sudden, almost as if to take me by surprise, opens up revealing the fountain of Sant'Andrea and the precious monumentality of the Duomo that dominates above, on those stairs that call the mind to the stretching toward the infinite, the Superior.
Gradually the sun sets to give way to a sky quilted with stars around a radiant moon reflecting on the water, and then it is time to continue my little journey. I get back in the car and drive about 8 and a half kilometers mostly of hairpin bends along sheer cliffs that allow me to immerse myself in a lunar landscape, mysterious and plush, and savor the charm of the velvety, sinuous night clutched in the wild, maternal arms of the Macchia Mediterranea. I thus arrive at the place where I have chosen to stay overnight, theHostaria by Bacchus in Wrath of the Family Ferraioli.
"Don't look for the donut of houses gathered around the square here. You will not find it. Furore, the country that is not there, the country that is not a country, with its built-up area scattered on the mountainsides overlooking the sea, offers itself in small doses, lets itself be discovered with coquettish reluctance."
This is how in the book "The Country That Is Not There," Mayor Raffaele Ferraioli introduces his beautiful native village in the Lattari Mountains for whose visibility he has always fought with great passion and strength (click here for the film aired recently during the program Kilimanjaro on Rai3). He adds, "a place has to become the object of a dream for it to prompt us to visit it. Then there is the verification and, when the experience is over, the memory." And as he rightly points out in another passage of the text, this is also the place of walls, "dry stone walls, painted walls, historiated walls. Talking walls. Author walls."
