Pink Sneakers on the Go: July 2019

When the sidewalk disappeared - A sprint along the Autostrada.

Posted by Nora K ,

You couldn’t exactly call it a promenade. This was a trek, an amble of a meander that veered off the beaten track - a slight diversion to our long-anticipated excursion of hiking and sightseeing the trails that lined the Amalfi Coast. We were on a journey to appreciate and explore, get off the grid and bathe in soothing limoncello rays. So what if Google maps inadvertently propelled us in a far more challenging direction, on the path to somewhere but in actuality to nowhere?

It all depends upon your definition of nowhere, as nowhere is a destination all of its own, with maps and signage all in its own foreign language – a discourse of which we were not privy to, as it was terminology unknown.

So there we were, two middle aged women psyched to walk from Piano di Sorrento to Positano, a 9 kilometre sojourn from Point A to Z. A leisurely two hour stroll - if that. Or, so we thought. Little did we know that we would spend the next couple of hours skirting trucks and buses, pawns in a deadly pinball game of traffic dodge-ball. One point for side-swiping, two for colliding and three for flat-lining. The bulls-eye prize for a dead-on hit to be awarded for the trucker splat of the day.

Perhaps we were too enamoured by the aquamarine sky that we paid scant attention to the trail we were treading. A painted kaleidoscope of intoxicating hues and scents – violet and fuchsia inked bougainvillea as far as the eye can see, fragrant blooms mingling with ocean mist, trees dripping olives and lemons the size of grapefruits…

The gravel road had morphed from a pathway into a death-defying highway, lined with concrete railings and signage cautioning way-ward wanderers to beware of plunging 1,000 foot cliff-drops below.

Vrrrrroooom! Boom! Schreech! Get out of the way!

Vespas, cars and trucks accelerating towards the finish line, tour buses navigating treacherous hair-pin curves, the startled stares of the tour bus drivers juxtaposed with the image of a pair of idiotic marathoners clinging to the railings in an effort to shield themselves from oncoming traffic – just a few snapshots of the sights and sounds of a fortuitous day in May when we stumbled onto the freeway.

It goes without saying that we were in quite the pickle, seconds from being taken out by a gigantic truck. In hindsight, perhaps we should have taken the advice of the astonished Italian pensioner who had stopped to offer us a ride at the very start of our journey. Speaking minimal English, he shook his head and declared that we were very “AT-LE-TI-CA” to embark on such a sojourn. In actuality, it was more like “ST-UUUP-IDO”, if one must know.

We cringed in terror as every car, truck, bus and vespa tore on by, mercilessly spitting gravel upon us. What had initially commenced as an “up close and personal” view of the spectacular panorama of the jagged vertical cliffs and azure sea below, had quickly turned into a nightmare of our own making. Sensing that it was futile to continue our trek, we entertained the thought of thumbing a ride with anyone who would stop and offer us one. Wise old man, where are you now? You were right to shake your head in disbelief upon hearing our ridiculously absurd plan to soldier onward towards town, a feat so incomprehensible that it was one that only dim-witted adventure seekers would venture to undertake.

Screech!!

Rescued! And just like in the movies, a knight in shining armour via a sleek and shiny convertible rolled to a stop and commanded us to get in the car. Pronto! Should we stay or should we go? Our choices were few as we only had two. Stay put and we’re guaranteed to be annihilated by a mega tour bus or take a risk, ditch the highway and hitch a ride with a virtual stranger. We didn’t think twice as we clamoured into the vehicle, grateful to make the acquaintance of Tony, on his way to Positano to meet up with the grandkids.

Fortunately for us, he was the real deal, a charming Italian gent, whose good deed of the day just spiralled him up the karma stratosphere.

So concerned was Signore Tony for our safety, that he volunteered to drive us back to Piano di Sorrento at the end of our sightseeing day. We politely declined his gracious offer, insisting that we had learned our lesson and had already booked tickets on the mega bus. After all, we were anxious to witness first-hand the skill and fortitude of the bus driver as he navigated the twists and turns of the snaking lane-ways, all the while keeping an eagle eye out for idiotic tourists out for a stroll.

Just another action packed day on the Autostrada.