In Sorrento

While my urban design friends would argue that old-school European streets, the ones where cars and pedestrians share the narrow roads in a windy, non-grid pattern are actually better for pedestrians (I think, in part because it's so awful to drive in those places and therefor more pedestrians in general), I gotta say I felt like I was taking my life into my hands on several occasions walking around Sorrento. More, I was scared to death that my father, who kept walking out into traffic without looking, would get killed by a car or a motorcycle.

So far, we're still alive and getting used to navigating. My old trick of just being assertive doesn't really work, because the motorists play chicken with you. Better to just wait until you are absolutely safe to cross the street, and stay on the sidewalk if at all possible. Of course, sometimes, all you have is this:

The above picture shows the tiny strip of "sidewalk" that I walked as I was trying to get back up the hills after visiting the port in Sorrento. I had climbed down a very steep staircase to get down to the bay, but wanted to avoid that particular staircase because there was a section that was covered, without any lights. As night was falling, I didn't feel totally safe climbing back up in the dark. Besides, the teenagers I saw making out needed their privacy and the blankets I saw would probably be used soon by whoever was using that covered part of the stairway for sleeping. 

The port in Sorrento was pretty run-down. I was reminded of the Wes Anderson movie, the Grand Budapest Hotel and the idea of a tourist destination that was once grand and beautiful and now rife with decay. I think in the case of Sorrento, it's not so much that the tourism has dwindled, but the commerce has. There are actually tourists everywhere, but I don't know how much the bay actually gets used by industry. So there are less people in the town that aren't there working in tourism- related jobs. 

I guess there's nothing wrong with tourism, per se. I mean, hey, in certain areas, things are thriving. Boatloads and bus-loads of people hopping into restaurants and walking the streets in search of limoncello and other lemon-related propoganda from the Limoncello capital of the world, inlaid wood art, commedia dell'arte knick knacks and Italian fashion, priced in the hundreds of Euros. And of course the food. And the gelato and the hotels and all that crap. Keeps the world spinning. 

The view from the Bay of the cliffs and the old hotels that stand on top of them is pretty magnificent, actually in some ways more interesting than just looking out to the sea, although I may change my mind on that tomorrow if it's less foggy. I didn't get a very good view of Mount Vescuvius. 

Like when I was in Detroit, I was attracted to the broken-into aspects of the city, the things that were falling apart, the graffiti, the blight. I don't know why, but I find something so tantalizing about the juxtaposition of beauty and decay. 

One prime example of this is an old mill that hundreds of years ago was thriving, but now, is sunk down below the main part of the city, covered in vegetation. I'm not clear about the story of why it falls so far below- maybe it's volcano related or if it has to do with the water, but it looks magnificent. 

I just love all the layers of history you can see in the architecture.  Both along the cliffs as well as throughout the town (I've experienced this at other places in Italy), you have old Greek and Roman structures, medieval architecture, 19th century neo-classical buildings and lovely hotels, and 20th century buildings as well.