波西塔诺是意大利南部拿波里附近的阿玛非海岸上的一个小镇。最近我曾到那里的海岸上远足,回来也想写点儿什么,可是,有个叫做 John Steinbeck 的人在五十多年前写下以下这些句子之后,你让我还写什么呢?
Positano bites deep. It is a dream place that isn’t quite real when you are there and becomes beckoningly real after you have gone. John Steinbeck
(波西塔诺咬得深。那是一个梦乡。你在时,它不很真切。你离开后,它变得栩栩如生。)
Nothing in the little town is designed to disturb your thoughts provided you have a thought. John Steinbeck
(那个小镇丝毫不会扰乱你的思绪,假若你有思绪。)
Its houses climb a hill so steep it would be a cliff except that stairs are cut in it. John Steinbeck
(那些房屋攀在如此陡峭的山崖上,它们本身便是山崖,只是其间刻有台阶。)
Steinbeck 那时候的波西塔诺是个安静的渔村,现在的波西塔诺是个旅游热点。不过,就地方本身而言,除开增加了许多游人外,大概没有太大的区别。公共汽车在城里一个路口停下,让我下车。这里很热闹,有等车的人,有上下车的人,有接送人的人,有杂货店,有小吃店,都挤在这大约边长四、五米的一块三角地。这已经是难得的一块宽畅平地。要知道,这里的公路都跟栈道一样,一半挖进岩石里,一半悬在空中用石柱支撑。要在路边镶出这么一片人货集散地,真是为难了道路工程师了。
整理一下背包,朝山下走去。当然你用不着跟随着汽车走盘山公路。这些紧贴在山崖上的房屋之间有一条条小巷,九曲十八弯,一步步台阶,带你下到深蓝色的地中海。巷子的每一转弯处的墙上或者会出现一个门洞,其上嵌有一块小小的瓷砖,刻了主人家的姓氏。有的还附带了图案,或美人香草,或花鸟虫鱼,或头盔剑戟。台阶或为石砌,或为水泥浇铸。若为水泥,也常常会每几步出现一小方瓷砖,上面的图案多跟渔业有关。
我走的这条巷子最终会领我到水边的一个堡垒。那是古时候监视海面的地方。如果有阿拉伯海盗前来袭击,堡垒上的枪声便会惊醒居民。镇上的人会逃离岸边,来到山崖上躲避。不难想像,海盗们下得船来,爬到山上,在这些狭隘、陡峭的巷子等待他们的是什么样的命运。当地人把海盗称为“荞麦花”,不知何故,或许是因为阿拉伯人的头巾样式跟荞麦花的花瓣有些类似?
山脚靠海边稍微平坦的地方最为显著的建筑自然是教堂。阿玛非海岸的教堂里供奉的最高神位往往不是耶稣基督,而是圣母玛利亚。圣殿上的玛利亚或是怀抱婴儿基督,或是膝上横躺着刚从十字架上放下来的蒙难后的基督,或是完成在尘世的使命后正在升往天国的途中。波西塔诺的圣母是升天圣母。传说,当年有海盗窃了圣母像正要逃离,港湾里突然掀起了滔天巨浪,挣扎中的海盗们听到画像说“Posi Posa(就是这里了)”,赶快把画像放回岸边。画像刚放下,立刻风平浪静,让海盗们得以逃走,并从此不大敢到这一带来骚扰。据说这也是地名 Positano的来历。这一带类似的传说很多。每个渔村都有自己的显过灵的圣母,有的给过地震预告,有的给过海啸警报。跟中国福建沿海渔民供奉妈祖娘娘一样,在海浪里讨生活的人们企盼的都是危难时得到法力无边的女神像母亲保护襁褓里的婴儿一样的护佑。
教堂门前是一片沙滩。沙滩上躺满了晒太阳的人。这一带的海岸线上实际上很少有沙滩。即便有,沙子呈灰黑色,不像很多其它地方的金色银色那样引人注目。这里的海岸往往都是千尺绝壁,归功于当年火山爆发后直扑海底的熔浆。绝壁的底部若有几块稍微平坦的大石头,那就是很好的日光浴场。本地的青年人,老年人,妇女孩童,在这里晒太阳,戏水。沙滩多是给欧美游客用的,石头浴场才是本地人的所爱。石头上躺着的男男女女,除了孩子们,个个都是古铜色,煞是好看。那底色之深厚,不是曝晒三日做得到的。跃入水中,离开海岸十来米,海水立刻深不可测。见过这一带的海水的人,大概都会感觉到海水如此地蓝,蓝得无以复加,蓝得让人无语。能说什么呢?“海水居然可以这样蓝”?
海岸的山坡上一层层的都是果园,多是葡萄园,也栽有橄榄,柠檬,无花果。渔村和山村之间有许多小径。中国人好说蜀道难,其实,剑门道上好歹还可以骑驴,还可以推推独轮车,在阿玛非海岸的小径上大概只能依赖两条腿。这些在峭壁上挖出来的小径被称为“神仙道”(path of gods)。我想,这个名称大约有两层意思。一层意思是说,在这些小径上行走,身边鸟语花香,一眼望去是无边的地中海,海中一处处过去的或现在的火山冒出水面,无疑是仙境一般。另一层意思是说,在这些小径上行走无比艰难,非神仙莫为。依我看,常在这些山坡上行走,要想不成仙大概都难。失足羽化的不算。
在小路上走着,来到一个岔路口,往左像是要去到山顶的样子,往右看着比较平,但路旁插了一块牌子说是“私人领地”。已经走了大半天了,再往山上去,心里生出些畏惧。看看右边的土路,心想这荒山野岭的,总不至于踏入什么藏宝之地罢,于是抬腿往右走。走着走着,土路变做石路。再走一阵,路边有了精致的路灯,感觉有些不妙。再走,路又分岔了。左边还是往上,右边斜着往下,一律青色石阶,贴地照明。得了,往下走看来是上策。一步步下得山来,终于来到一道铁栅栏,一把大锁守住。铁栅栏有三米高,一边是绝壁,一边是悬崖。不记得上一次是什么时候从一道道长矛排起来似的铁栅栏顶上攀越过。先把背包扔过去,再把照相机轻轻放在栅栏外头。从矛头般尖尖的栏杆顶上攀越时倒是没有功夫想别的事情,过去之后很庆幸自己为了这次远足减去了十来磅体重,要不然,多半还挂在那栅栏上晾着。
Steinbeck 说“Positano bites deep”,我想也是两层意思。一层意思是说,波西塔诺的房屋在悬崖上建成,房屋的基础就像牙齿一样深深咬住岩石。另一层意思是像我翻译的那样,过客的心被波西塔诺咬住了,留下了深深的齿痕。
- Re: Positano bites deepposted on 09/23/2008
Bravo!
I can't fix my program now and I want to be in Italy :-) - Re: Positano bites deepposted on 09/23/2008
Drop everything and go! :-)
July wrote:
Bravo!
I can't fix my program now and I want to be in Italy :-) - posted on 09/23/2008
"有个叫做 John Steinbeck 的人" ……99兄把我们镇上唯一的名人说得这么轻巧!他这些句子不愧是诺贝尔奖得主的文笔吧?
八十一子 wrote:
波西塔诺是意大利著名风景区阿玛非海岸上的一个小镇。最近曾到那里的 Path of Gods 远足。可是,有个叫做 John Steinbeck 的人在五十多年前写下以下这些句子之后,你让我还写什么呢?
Positano bites deep. It is a dream place that isn’t quite real when you are there and becomes beckoningly real after you have gone. John Steinbeck
波西塔诺在我心上留下了一个深深的齿痕。那是一个梦乡。你在时,它不很真切。你离开后,它变得栩栩如生。
Nothing in the little town is designed to disturb your thoughts provided you have a thought. John Steinbeck
那个小镇丝毫不会扰乱你的思绪,假若你有思绪。
Its houses climb a hill so steep it would be a cliff except that stairs are cut in it. John Steinbeck
那些房屋攀在如此陡峭的山崖上,它们本身便是山崖,只是其间刻有台阶。 - posted on 09/23/2008
公共汽车在城里一个路口停下,让我下车。这里很热闹,有等车的人,有上下车的人,有接送人的人,有杂货店,有小吃店,都挤在这大约边长四、五米的一块三角地。这已经是难得的一块宽畅平地。要知道,这里的公路都跟栈道一样,一半搭在岩石缝里,一半用石柱支撑。要在路边镶出这么一片人货集散地,真是为难了道路工程师了。
整理一下背包,朝山下走去。当然你用不着跟随着汽车走盘山公路。这些紧贴在山崖上的房屋之间有一条条小巷,九曲十八弯,一步步台阶,带你下到深蓝色的地中海。巷子的每一转弯处的墙上或者会出现一个门洞,其上嵌有一块小小的瓷砖,刻了主人家的姓氏。有的还附带了图案,或美人香草,或花鸟虫鱼,或头盔剑戟。台阶或为石砌,或为水泥浇铸。若为水泥,也常常会每几步出现一小方瓷砖,上面的图案多跟渔业有关。
我走的这条巷子最终会领我到水边的一个堡垒。那是古时候监视海面的地方。如果有阿拉伯海盗前来袭击,堡垒上的枪声便会惊醒居民。镇上的人会逃离岸边,来到山崖上躲避。不难想像,海盗们下得船来,爬到山上,在这些狭隘、陡峭的巷子等待他们的是什么样的命运。当地人把海盗称为“荞麦花”,不知何故,或许是因为阿拉伯人的头巾样式跟荞麦花的花瓣有些类似? - posted on 09/23/2008
Who wrote this? 8 ye or...?
八十一子 wrote:
公共汽车在城里一个路口停下,让我下车。这里很热闹,有等车的人,有上下车的人,有接送人的人,有杂货店,有小吃店,都挤在这大约边长四、五米的一块三角地。这已经是难得的一块宽畅平地。要知道,这里的公路都跟栈道一样,一半搭在岩石缝里,一半用石柱支撑。要在路边镶出这么一片人货集散地,真是为难了道路工程师了。
整理一下背包,朝山下走去。当然你用不着跟随着汽车走盘山公路。这些紧贴在山崖上的房屋之间有一条条小巷,九曲十八弯,一步步台阶,带你下到深蓝色的地中海。巷子的每一转弯处的墙上或者会出现一个门洞,其上嵌有一块小小的瓷砖,刻了主人家的姓氏。有的还附带了图案,或美人香草,或花鸟虫鱼,或头盔剑戟。台阶或为石砌,或为水泥浇铸。若为水泥,也常常会每几步出现一小方瓷砖,上面的图案多跟渔业有关。
我走的这条巷子最终会领我到水边的一个堡垒。那是古时候监视海面的地方。如果有阿拉伯海盗前来袭击,堡垒上的枪声便会惊醒居民。镇上的人会逃离岸边,来到山崖上躲避。不难想像,海盗们下得船来,爬到山上,在这些狭隘、陡峭的巷子等待他们的是什么样的命运。当地人把海盗称为“荞麦花”,不知何故,或许是因为阿拉伯人的头巾样式跟荞麦花的花瓣有些类似? - posted on 09/23/2008
这些当然是8ye写的啦。:)
待续
July wrote:
Who wrote this? 8 ye or...?
八十一子 wrote:
公共汽车在城里一个路口停下,让我下车。这里很热闹,有等车的人,有上下车的人,有接送人的人,有杂货店,有小吃店,都挤在这大约边长四、五米的一块三角地。这已经是难得的一块宽畅平地。要知道,这里的公路都跟栈道一样,一半搭在岩石缝里,一半用石柱支撑。要在路边镶出这么一片人货集散地,真是为难了道路工程师了。
整理一下背包,朝山下走去。当然你用不着跟随着汽车走盘山公路。这些紧贴在山崖上的房屋之间有一条条小巷,九曲十八弯,一步步台阶,带你下到深蓝色的地中海。巷子的每一转弯处的墙上或者会出现一个门洞,其上嵌有一块小小的瓷砖,刻了主人家的姓氏。有的还附带了图案,或美人香草,或花鸟虫鱼,或头盔剑戟。台阶或为石砌,或为水泥浇铸。若为水泥,也常常会每几步出现一小方瓷砖,上面的图案多跟渔业有关。
我走的这条巷子最终会领我到水边的一个堡垒。那是古时候监视海面的地方。如果有阿拉伯海盗前来袭击,堡垒上的枪声便会惊醒居民。镇上的人会逃离岸边,来到山崖上躲避。不难想像,海盗们下得船来,爬到山上,在这些狭隘、陡峭的巷子等待他们的是什么样的命运。当地人把海盗称为“荞麦花”,不知何故,或许是因为阿拉伯人的头巾样式跟荞麦花的花瓣有些类似? - Re: Positano bites deepposted on 09/24/2008
几段合起来放到楼顶。 - Re: Positano bites deepposted on 09/24/2008
我现在在想办法赚钱,然后,就去意大利南方的海边买个小房子, 退休后,夏天和冬天在意大利,秋天在北京和苏州,春天在美国住住。。。这是我目前的理想人生。 - Re: Positano bites deepposted on 09/24/2008
哈哈,July,你计划的可真长远,我连明年住哪儿都不知道呢。你理想人生实现的时候要不要人给你看房子呀,我可以给你春天看北京的房子,夏天看美国的房子,秋天看意大利的房子,冬天看苏州的房子 :) - Re: Positano bites deepposted on 09/24/2008
浮生,我昨天梦到你了。要不,来芝加哥玩几天?
等我理想实现后,当然要有人看房,你来不?
:-) - Re: Positano bites deepposted on 09/24/2008
July wrote:
浮生,我昨天梦到你了。要不,来芝加哥玩几天?
梦里我在干啥呀?多谢多谢,明年?:)
等我理想实现后,当然要有人看房,你来不?
那咱们现在就得签合同,这样我就不用再想办法赚钱了:) - Re: Positano bites deepposted on 09/24/2008
我昨天在wholefood 买了许多无花果和passion fruit,大概读过你的山羊奶酪和果酱无花果的帖子,就梦到你烤无花果 :-)
明年就明年,反正快了,来了签合同吧 :-)
浮生 wrote:
July wrote:梦里我在干啥呀?多谢多谢,明年?:)
浮生,我昨天梦到你了。要不,来芝加哥玩几天?
等我理想实现后,当然要有人看房,你来不?那咱们现在就得签合同,这样我就不用再想办法赚钱了:) - posted on 09/24/2008
在我看来,廖兄镇上,加上斯坦伯,至少有两个名人。
liaokang wrote:
"有个叫做 John Steinbeck 的人" ……99兄把我们镇上唯一的名人说得这么轻巧!他这些句子不愧是诺贝尔奖得主的文笔吧?
八十一子 wrote:
波西塔诺是意大利著名风景区阿玛非海岸上的一个小镇。最近曾到那里的 Path of Gods 远足。可是,有个叫做 John Steinbeck 的人在五十多年前写下以下这些句子之后,你让我还写什么呢?
Positano bites deep. It is a dream place that isn’t quite real when you are there and becomes beckoningly real after you have gone. John Steinbeck
波西塔诺在我心上留下了一个深深的齿痕。那是一个梦乡。你在时,它不很真切。你离开后,它变得栩栩如生。
Nothing in the little town is designed to disturb your thoughts provided you have a thought. John Steinbeck
那个小镇丝毫不会扰乱你的思绪,假若你有思绪。
Its houses climb a hill so steep it would be a cliff except that stairs are cut in it. John Steinbeck
那些房屋攀在如此陡峭的山崖上,它们本身便是山崖,只是其间刻有台阶。 - posted on 09/24/2008
听来像个好去处,谢谢介绍。
Today, Positano is considered one of the most chic destinations in Europe. Two of its hotels, Il San Pietro and Le Sirenuse, are frequently cited as among the best in the world.
The ancient village of Positano is famous for its stunning cliff-side location.
Positano is one of the most fascinating places in the world, where both during the day and at night-time you can go through wonderful experiences that you are unlikely to find elsewhere.
Positano is a small town on the Amalfi Coast (Costiera Amalfitana), in Campania, Italy. The main part of the city sits in an enclave in the hills leading down to the coast.
Positano was a prosperous port of the Amalfi Republic in the 16th and 17th centuries. But by the mid-19th century, the town had fallen on hard times. More than half the population emigrated, mostly to the United States of America.
Positano was a relatively poor fishing village during the first half of the 20th century. It began to attract large numbers of tourists in the 1950s, especially after John Steinbeck published his essay about Positano in Harper's Bazaar in May, 1953: "Positano bites deep", Steinbeck wrote. "It is a dream place that isn't quite real when you are there and becomes beckoningly real after you have gone."
Today tourism is the major industry in Positano.
Positano has been featured in several films, including Only You (1994), and Under the Tuscan Sun (2003). It also hosts the annual Cartoons on the Bay Festival, at which Pulcinella awards for excellence in animation are presented. From July of 1967 and through most of the 1970s, Positano was home of singer-songwriter Shawn Phillips and was where most of his best known work was composed. Also, Mick Jagger and Keith Richards from The Rolling Stones wrote the song "Midnight Rambler" in the cafes of Positano while on vacation.
The Amalfi Coast (la Costiera Amalfitana) is a 50 km stretch of mountainous coastline situated on the Sorrento peninsula between Sorrento and Salerno. It lies just south of Naples in the region of Campania. This coastline is dotted with small picturesque villages built into the rocky cliffs plunging into the Mediterranean. The Amalfi Coast is considered one of the most beautiful regions in Italy and enjoys a "traditional yet exclusive" feel. The best places to start your real estate search are Positano, Sorrento and Salerno plus the beautiful Islands of Capri and Ischia.
CLIMATE (Average Temperature)
SPRING 10-18 °C (51-64 °F )
SUMMER 21-24 °C (71-75 °F )
AUTUMN 11-21 °C (52-69 °F )
WINTER 7-9 °C (44-48 °F )
- Re: Positano bites deepposted on 09/24/2008
July wrote:
我现在在想办法赚钱,然后,就去意大利南方的海边买个小房子, 退休后,夏天和冬天在意大利,秋天在北京和苏州,春天在美国住住。。。这是我目前的理想人生。
嘿嘿,难怪觉得是知音呢,连理想差点一样,除了想不出北京苏州有什么特别吸引我的外。我最喜欢的地方就是意大利啦,你准备在意大利哪扎下?通知一声,保证来报到。
我原暗自得意,以为考察遍了意大利,结果还是漏掉了这方宝地,谢八十一子同学真诚奉献游后感。七月为什么管人家叫八爷?苏州式礼貌? - Re: Positano bites deepposted on 09/24/2008
谢谢rzp介绍。照片不错,很典型。
rzp wrote:
听来像个好去处,谢谢介绍。
Today, Positano is considered one of the most chic destinations in Europe. Two of its hotels, Il San Pietro and Le Sirenuse, are frequently cited as among the best in the world.
- Re: Positano bites deepposted on 09/24/2008
在江湖上辈分太高? :-)
鹿希 wrote:
- posted on 09/24/2008
严重羡慕!!!几年前我在法国尼斯,经常去一间意大利餐馆吃饭。小小的餐馆,挤满了人,墙上挂着一副大照片,正是 Positano。那是法国人都向往的地方啊!当时我就神往了。
July wrote:
我现在在想办法赚钱,然后,就去意大利南方的海边买个小房子, 退休后,夏天和冬天在意大利,秋天在北京和苏州,春天在美国住住。。。这是我目前的理想人生。
浮生 wrote:
哈哈,July,你计划的可真长远,我连明年住哪儿都不知道呢。你理想人生实现的时候要不要人给你看房子呀,我可以给你春天看北京的房子,夏天看美国的房子,秋天看意大利的房子,冬天看苏州的房子 :)
好季节都给人选了,那我挑剩的。我春天看意大利,夏天去苏州,秋天到美国,冬天回北京。
- posted on 09/24/2008
timeshare模式可能就是这么来的,只是显然不适合咖啡豆。timeshare要提早计划,拜托你们有没有更适合ADD的理想啊。
阿姗 wrote:
July wrote:好季节都给人选了,那我挑剩的。我春天看意大利,夏天去苏州,秋天到美国,冬天回北京。
我现在在想办法赚钱,然后,就去意大利南方的海边买个小房子, 退休后,夏天和冬天在意大利,秋天在北京和苏州,春天在美国住住。。。这是我目前的理想人生。
浮生 wrote:
哈哈,July,你计划的可真长远,我连明年住哪儿都不知道呢。你理想人生实现的时候要不要人给你看房子呀,我可以给你春天看北京的房子,夏天看美国的房子,秋天看意大利的房子,冬天看苏州的房子 :)
- posted on 09/24/2008
- Re: Positano bites deepposted on 09/24/2008
8 ye's pictures, please... - posted on 09/24/2008
八十一子 wrote:
教堂门前是一片沙滩。沙滩上躺满了晒太阳的人,个个都是古铜色,煞是好看。那底色之深厚,“非三日之曝”能做得到。这一带的海岸线上很少有沙滩。海岸往往都是千尺绝壁,归功于当年火山爆发后直扑海底的熔浆。离开海岸几尺,海水立刻深不可测。见过这一带的海水的人,大概都会感觉到海水如此地蓝,蓝得无以复加,蓝得让人无语。能说什么呢?“海水居然可以这样蓝”?
听人描述海明威的蓝色,就够遐想半天了,现在这个波西塔诺的蓝,想想要让人晕死。
另外,隆重提议99教授开设课外活动意大利语102,鹿西同学客串103。
- Re: 波西塔诺咬得很深 Positano bites deepposted on 09/25/2008
Positano
- Re: 波西塔诺咬得很深 Positano bites deepposted on 09/25/2008
Positano
- Re: 波西塔诺咬得很深 Positano bites deepposted on 09/25/2008
Positano
- Re: 波西塔诺咬得很深 Positano bites deepposted on 09/25/2008
老瓦 wrote:
另外,隆重提议99教授开设课外活动意大利语102,鹿西同学客串103。
抱歉,不会听意大利语。只是听说往法语后头加"O"就行。例如见面不要说“笨猪”,说“笨猪罗”就行。 - Re: 波西塔诺咬得很深 Positano bites deepposted on 09/25/2008
想起一句,好象是this little mother has claws...
八十一子 wrote:
Positano bites deep. It is a dream place that isn’t quite real when you are there and becomes beckoningly real after you have gone. John Steinbeck
(波西塔诺咬得很深。那是一个梦乡。你在时,它不很真切。你离开后,它变得栩栩如生。) - Re: 波西塔诺咬得很深 Positano bites deepposted on 09/25/2008
moab wrote:
想起一句,好象是this little mother has claws...
那是 Kafka 说布拉格的话。我开始看 Steinbeck 的话,也立刻想到那句。
八十一子 wrote:
Positano bites deep. It is a dream place that isn’t quite real when you are there and becomes beckoningly real after you have gone. John Steinbeck
(波西塔诺咬得很深。那是一个梦乡。你在时,它不很真切。你离开后,它变得栩栩如生。) - Re: 波西塔诺咬得很深 Positano bites deepposted on 09/25/2008
Positano 不过是Amalfi coast上的一个小镇,不要把那里通称为Positano为好。——照片真的全是Positano?嘿嘿,最好不要糊弄我们尚没有去过那边的同胞。
如同不能武断地说“意大利餐不过是Pizza加上Pasta”
同理用于对“意大利语”的诠释
做学问也是,写游记也是。对吗?当然知道是谁在这里“鸡蛋里挑骨头”。:)
- posted on 09/25/2008
A&O wrote:
Positano 不过是Amalfi coast上的一个小镇,不要把那里通称为Positano为好。——照片真的全是Positano?嘿嘿,最好不要糊弄我们尚没有去过那边的同胞。
嘿嘿。。。当然三张都是Positano. 第一张无疑义吧?第二张在教堂正门前往山上拍的。第三张往东出城两三公里回望。看到海边两个堡垒了吗?
如同不能武断地说“意大利餐不过是Pizza加上Pasta”
同理用于对“意大利语”的诠释
同意、同意。
做学问也是,写游记也是。对吗?当然知道是谁在这里“鸡蛋里挑骨头”。:)
这是哪位在骨头里找鸡蛋啊? :-) - posted on 09/25/2008
Here is the complete essay by Steinbeck:
Positano
by John Steinbeck
( from Harper's Bazaar, May 1953)
I first heard of Positano from Alberto Moravia. It was very hot in Rome. He said, "Why don’t you go down to Positano on the Amalfi coast? It is one of the fine places of Italy." Later John McKnight of the United States Information Service told me the same thing. He had spent a year there working on a book. Half a dozen people echoed this. Positano kind of moved in on us and we found ourselves driving down to Naples on our way.
To an American, Italian traffic is at first just down-right nonsense. It seems hysterical, it follows no rule. You cannot figure what the driver ahead or behind or beside you is going to do next and he usually does it. But there are other hazards besides the driving technique. There are the motor scooters, thousands of them, which buzz at you like mosquitoes. There is a tiny little automobile called "topolino" or "mouse" which hides in front of larger cars; there are gigantic trucks and tanks in which most of Italy's goods are moved; and finally there are assorted livestock, hay wagons, bicycles, lone horses and mules out for a stroll, and to top it all there are the pedestrians who walk blissfully on the highways never looking about. To give this madness more color, everyone blows the horn all the time. This deafening, screaming, milling, tire-screeching mess is ordinary Italian highway traffic. My drive from Venice to Rome had given me a horror of it amounting to cowardice.
I hired a driver to take me to Positano. He was a registered driver in good standing. His card reads: Signor Bassani Bassano, Experienced Guide-all Italy-and Throt Europe." It was the "Throt Europe" that won me.
Well, we had accomplished one thing. We had imported a little piece of Italian traffic right into our own front seat. Signor Bassano was a remarkable man. he was capable of driving at a hundred kilometers an hour, blowing the horn, screeching the brakes, driving mules up trees, and at the same time turning around in the seat and using both hands to gesture, describing in loud tones the beauties and antiquities of Italy and Trhrot Europe. It was amazing. It damn near killed us. And in spite of that he never hit anybody or anything. The only casualties were our quivering, bleeding nerves. I want to recommend Signor Bassano to travelers. You may not hear much of what he tells you but you will not be bored.
We squirmed and twisted through Naples, past Pompeii, whirled and flashed into the mountains behind Sorrento. We hummed "Come back to Sorrento" dismally. We did not believe we could get back to Sorrento. Flaming like a meteor we hit the coast, a road, high, high above the blue sea, that hooked and corkscrewed on the edge of nothing, a road carefully designed to be a little narrower than two cars side by side. And on this road, the buses, the trucks, the motor scooters and the assorted livestock. We didn’t see much of the road. In the back seat my wife and I lay clutched in each other’s arms, weeping hysterically, while in the front seat Signor Bassano gestured with both hands and happilly instructed us: " Ina da terd sieglo da Hamperor Hamgousternos coming tru wit Leeegeceons." (Our car hit and killed a chicken.) " Izz molto lot old heestory here. I know. I tall." Thus he whirled us " Throt Italy. " And below us, and it seemed sometimes under us, a thousand feet below lay the blue Tyrrhenian licking its lips for us.
Once during the war I came up this same lovely coast in the American destroyer Knight. We came fast. Germans threw shells at us from the hills and aircraft splashed bombs at us and submarines unknown tried to lay torpedoes on us. I swear I think it was much safer than that drive with Signor Bassano. And yet he brought us at last, safe but limp, to Positano.
Positano bites deep. It is a dream place that isn’t quite real when you are there and becomes beckoningly real after you have gone. Its houses climb a hill so steep it would be a cliff except that stairs are cut in it. I believe that whereas most house foundations are vertical, in Positano they are horizontal. The small curving bay of unbelievably blue and green water lips gently on a beach of small pebbles. There is only one narrow street and it does not come down to the water. Everything else is stairs, some of them as steep as ladders. You do not walk to visit a friend, you either climb or slide.
Nearly always when you find a place as beautiful as Positano, your impulse is to conceal it. You think, " If I tell, it will be crowded with tourists and they will ruin it, turn it into a honky-tonk and then the local people will get touristy and there’s your lovely place gone to hell. " There isn’t the slightest chance of this in Positano. In the first place there is no room. There are about two thousand inhabitants in Positano and there is room for about five hundred visitors, no more. The cliffs are all taken. Except for the half ruinous houses very high up, all space is utilized. And the Positanese invariably refuse to sell. They are curious people. I will go into that later.
Again, Positano is never likely to attract the organdie-and-white linen tourist. It would be impossible to dress as a languid tourist-lady-crisp, cool white dress, sandals as white and light as little clouds, picture hat of arrogant nonsense, and one red rose held in a listless whitegloved pinky. I dare any dame to dress like this and climb the Positano stairs for a cocktail. She will arrive looking like a washcloth at a boys’ camp. There no way for her to get anywhere except by climbing. This alone eliminates one kind of tourist, the show tourist. The third deterrent to a great influx of tourists lies in the nature of the Posianese themselves. They just don’t give a damn. They have been living here since before recorded history and they don’t intend to change now. They don’t have much but they like what they have and will not move over for a buck.
We went to the Sirenuse, an old family house converted into a first class hotel, spotless and cool, with grape arbors over its outside dining rooms. Every room has its little balcony and looks t over the blue sea to the islands of the sirens from which those ladies sang so sweetly. The owner of the Hotel Sirenuse is an Italian nobleman, Marquis Paolo Sersale. He is also the mayor of Positano, a strong handsome man of about fifty who dresses mostly like beachcomber and works very hard at his job as mayor. How he got the job is an amusing story.
Positano elects a town council of fifteen members. The council then elects one of its members mayor. The people of Positano are almost to a man royalist in their politics. This is largely true of much of the south of Italy but it is vastly true of Positano. The fishermen and shoemakers, the carpenters and truck drivers favor a king and particularly a king from the House of Savoy. This was true when the present mayor was elected. The Marquis Paolo Sersale was elected because he was a Communist, the only one in town. It was his distinction in a whole electorate of royalists. One of Sersale’s ancestors commanded a galley of war at the Battle of Lepanto in 1571 when the power of the Moslem was finally broken and Christian control of Europe assured. He does not say why became a Communist. But he does say that he left the party in 1947 not in anger but in a kind of disgust. The township was a little sad about his losing his distinction, but they have elected him ever since, in spite of that.
The mayor of Positano is an archaeologist, a philosopher and an administrator. He has one policeman to keep order and there isn’t much for his force to do. He says, " Nearly all Positanese are related. If there is any trouble it is like a family fight and I never knew any good to come of interfering in a family quarrel. " The mayor wanders about e town upstair and downstairs. He dresses in tired slacks, a sweat shirt and sandals. He holds court anywhere he is, sitting on a stonewall overlooking the sea, leaning against the edge of a bar, swimming in the sea or curled up on the beach. Very little business gets done in the City Hall. The police force has so much time free that he takes odd jobs to make a little extra money.
The history of Positano is rich, long and a little crazy. But one thing is certain: It has been around a long time. When the Emperor Tiberius moved to Capri because he was detested in Rome, he didn’t trust anyone. He thought people were trying to poison him, and he was probably right. He would not eat bread made with the flour of his part of the country. His galley instead crept down the coast to Positano and got the flour from a mill which still stands against the mountain side. This mill has been improved and kept up, of course, but it still grinds flour for the Positanese.
This little town of Positano has had a remarkable past. As part of the Republic of Amalfi in the ninth, tenth and eleventh centuries, it helped to write the first maritime laws we know in which the rights of sailors were set down. In the tenth century it was one of the most important mercantile cities of the world, rivaling Venice. Having no harbor, its great galleys were pulled bodily up on the beach by the townspeople. There a story that on one Holy Saturday when no church bell was allowed to ring in all Christendom, a Positano ship was trouble from a great storm. The bishop who was officiating at the altar declared the rule off, rang the bell himself and then joined the population on the beach and in his vestments helped to pull the crippled ship ashore.
Like most Italian towns Positano has its miraculous picture. It is a Byzantine representation of the Virgin Mary. Once long ago, the story goes, the Saracenic pirates raided the town and among other things carried away this picture. But thhey had no sooner put to sea when a vision came to them which so stunned them that they returned the picture. Every year on August 15, this incident is reenacted with great fury and some bloodshed. In the night the half-naked pirates attack the town which is defended by Positanese men-at-arms dresseed in armor. Some of this fighting gets pretty serious. The pirates then go to the church and carry the holy picture off into the night. Now comes the big moment. As soon as they have disappeared into the darkness, a bright and flaming image of an angel appears in the sky. At present General Mark Clark is the sponsor of this miracle. He gave the town a surplus Air Force barrage balloon. Then very soon the pirates return their boats and restore the picture to the church and everybody marches and sings and has a good time.
In the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries Positano became very rich. Its ships went everywhere, trading in the Near and Middle East, carrying the spices and silks and precious woods the Western world craved. Then the large and beautiful baroque houses that stand against the mountain were built and decorated with the loot of the world.
About a hundred years ago a tragedy came to the town. Steamships began to ply the ocean. Positano could not compete; year by year it grew poorer and more desperate. At that time there were about eight thousand citizens. Between 1860 and 1870 about six thousand of the townsmen emigrated to America and the great houses stood vacant and their walls crumbled and the painted designs paled out and the roofs fell in. The population has never got much above two thousand since.
If Positano bites deeply into a stranger, it is branded on the Positanese. The bulk of the émigrés went to New York and most of them settled on Columbus Avenue. They made a little Positano of it, they celebrate the same festivals as the mother town, they talk Positano and live Positano. In New York there are over five thousand people who where born in Positano - twice as many as live in the mother city. Besides these there are many thousands of descendants and all of them are tied very closely to the Italian city.
One of the hardest duties of the mayor is trying to find graveyard space for the New York Positanese who want their bodies returned to their native town. The graveyard is as big as it can be. There is no room to extend it without blasting away the mountain. Just about every available inch is taken, but the mayor must edge the old-timers in some way.
About ten years ago a Moslem came to Positano, liked it and settled. For a time he was self-supporting but gradually he ran out of assets and still he stayed. The town supported him and took care of him. Just as the mayor was their only Communist, this was their only Moslem. They felt that he belonged to them. Finally he died and his only request was that he might be buried with his feet toward Mecca. And this, so Positano thought, was done. Four years later some curious meddler made a discovery. The Moslem had been buried by dead reckoning and either the compass was off or the map was faulty. He had been buried 28 degrees off course. This was outrageous to a seafaring town. The whole population gathered, dug the Moslem up, put him on course and covered him up again.
Positano does not have much of any industry. At night the fishing boats put out with powerful lights on their bows. They fish all night for anchovies and squids, and the bow lights of the boats litter the sea to sight's edge. But in fishing, Positano has a rival - the little town of Praiano, a few miles down the coast. The rivalry has been so great that a fishing code has been long established. When a school of fish is sighted the lampara boats run for it. The first boat to reach it puts out its net and makes its circling run. Meanwhile other boats from the other town have raced for the school. If the first boat completes its circle before the others arrive, the school belongs to it. If not, both the towns share in the catch. This is important in light of a story that comes later.
On shore there is a little shoemaking, some carpentry and a few arts and crafts. It would be difficult to consider tourists an industry because there are not enough of them. They do, however, provide a bit of luxury for the villagers.
Far up the mountain a convent looks down on the sea and here little girls are taught the delicate and dying art of lacemaking by the sisters. The girls are paid and the lace sold to support the school and incidentally the children. The flying fingers of the little girls working with the hundreds of bobbins make the eye dizzy, and the children look up and laugh and talk as though they were not even aware of the magic of their flashing fingers. Some of the work is unbelievable. We saw a great tablecloth, a spider web intricate as a thought. It was the work of fifty for one year.
In a few days we became aware of Positano's greatest commodity - characters. Maybe they aren't marketable, but Positano has them above every community I have ever seen. There are the men who have lived in America and have come home again to bask in the moral, physical, political and sartorial freedoms which flourish in their birth town. Clothing is as harum-scarum as a man's mind can wish, but it must be comfortable. The postman who climbs all stairs every day wears his official postman's cap, and corduroy trousers with braces but has left off a shirt if the day is warm. Another man finds pajama pants, a loose vest and a flat straw hat the perfect costume. He carries sandals but in the same way a well - dressed man who hates gloves carries gloves. Even the lightest open sandal is a stricture on his happy feet.
In a bar or on the beach you may see an incredibly old man with the bright eyes of a wise bird or an innocent snake. He is a witch. He learned his craft from a witch. He treats the ills of the whole town. His method lies in his hands, small, white, weak-looking hands. When a patient has pain, these hands slowly creep over the area while the eyes of the wizard look off into space and he seems to be listening. The hands seem to be separate from him. The fingers find the area of pain and then gently walk about it, feeling and listening and soothing and massaging but very gently. And his patients say that the pains go away. I don't know. I didn't have any pain.
Yes, Positano flourishes with characters. On the beach there is a famous shoemaker. He builds sandals and shoes for the whole town, but this is only his part-time job. He believes that Ferragamo, the great Italian shoe designer, steals his ideas and he is a little angry about it, but then he realizes his true role. He is the friend and confidant of great men. Once a number of years ago, he was the eyes and ears and, some say, the conscience of Dino Grandi, the Italian general. When Grandi came to Positano to rest he sometimes sat and talked with the shoemaker. And after the general had left, the shoemaker would not talk to common mortals for several days. He tapped and thought and sewed and thought and he remarked once: " I do not feel it fitting that I should discuss anything with outsiders after I have been admitted to the secrets of government and diplomacy". He got to talking like Grandi and standing with his head back and his chin out the way Grandi did.
After the war, General Mark Clark came to Positano and he too talked with the shoemaker. And again the shoemaker would not speak for several days, but it was noticed that he stood with his shoulders forward and his head bent studying the ground-the normal posture of General Clark. The shoemaker told me in some confidence:
" He put his hand right here, right here, the General did," and he pointed to a place on his shoulder, and his eyes looked off into grandeur.
Mark Clark has left his mark on the town. In an older time he would wear the halo of a saint instead of the stars of a general. He is the town's patron and he rose to this position rather simply. Positano has always had a temperamental and highly undependable water system. There is plenty of water in the mountain but the means to get it to the gardens and the kitchens of the town were primitive or nonexistent. Mark Clark gave the town a few thousand meters of scrap water pipe, left over from the Italian campaign. The townsmen installed it themselves. Now the water goes inevitably to the gardens and the kitchens and the public fountains of Positano, so that many times a day every Positanese thinks of the General Mark Clark, pronounced Clock.
A number of writers have gone to Positano to do their work. Some of these are Americans and some are British. Nothing in the little town is designed to disturb your thoughts provided you have a thought. Such a recluse was John McKnight, now of the United States Foreign Service, but then in process of writing the Papacy, a long and careful study of the history of the Vatican and its position in the present - day world.
He and his wife lived for a year in a little house with a garden right over the water in the southern part of the town.
The McKnights came from North Carolina and they settled into the life of Positano as naturally as they had settled into Chapel Hill. Then the year turned and Thanksgiving began looming.
Now an American living long abroad may become completely expatriate. He may speak foreign, think foreign, eat foreign, but let Christmas or Fourth of July or Thanksgiving come around and something begins to squirm inside him and he finds he has to do something about it.
Johnny and Liz McKnight speak Italian fluently, read, eat and live Italian. But when Thanksgiving came near in Positano, the McKnights found themselves dreaming of roast turkey and dressing of cranberry sauce and plum pudding, of mint juleps. They got to waking up in the night and thinking about it.
The turkey arrived in a crate tied to the top of a bus. It was a fine, vigorous but slightly hysterical bird and for a week it gobbled and strutted in the one bird turkey yard built for it in the garden until gradually its nerves got back to normal. It didn't know that the looks of its new friends were not friendly.
Johnny remembered a bit of wisdom imparted to him by his grand-father, in North Carolina. Violent death, his grandfather said, be it to man or to turkey, is a nervous and discouraging experience. The muscles are likely to go hard and certain unhappy juices are released into the system. His grandfather did not know how that affected the flavor of man but in a turkey it had a tendency to make the meat tough and a little bitter. But there was a way to avoid that. If about two hours before the execution, the turkey is given a couple of slugs of good brandy, the nervous tension relaxes, the turkey's state of mind is clear and healthy and he goes to the block happy and even grateful. Then when he is served, instead of bitter juices of fear and shock, there is likely to be a delicious hint of cognac in the meat, Johnny decided to follow the custom of North Carolina. Then he found that he did not have brandy. The bourbon he had provided for juleps did not seem right and the only other thing he had was a bottle of Grand Marnier. It was better than brandy. It would give not only solace to the turkey but an orangey flavor to the meat.
The turkey fought the idea at first. But finally Johnny got him held firmly under his arm and held the beak open while Liz put four or five eyedroppers of Grand Marnier down the bird's throat. At first the turkey gagged a little but in a moment or two its head dropped, a sweet but wild look came in its eyes and it waved its head in rhythm with some gentle but not quite sober thought that went through its head, Johnny carried it gently to the pen. It wobbled a bit and then settled down comfortably and went to sleep.
"I'll do for it in its sleep", Johnny thought. "That turkey will never know what happened". And he went to the refrigerator to see how the mint juleps were doing.
They were doing fine. He brought two of them back to the garden, and he and Liz sat down to begin the Thanksgiving.
The McKnights do not know what happened. Johnny thinks the turkey may have had a bad dream. They heard a hiccuping gobble. The turkey rose straight up in the air, and screaming triumphantly flew out to sea.
Now we must go back to the sea laws of the Amalfi Coast. In the hills above the towns of Positano and its rival Praiano, watchers are usually posted. They not only keep watch for schools of fish but for anything which may be considered flotsam, jetsam or salvage. These watchers saw the McKnights' seagoing turkey fly to sea and they also saw it crash into the water a couple of miles off shore.
Immediately boats put off from both Positano and Praiano. The race was on and they arrived at about the same time. But the turkey, alas, had drowned. The fishermen brought it tenderly back, arguing softly about whether it was a matter for salvage court. The turkey was obviously out of command. Johnny McKnight easily settled the problem with the rest of the bottle of Grand Marnier.
They cooked the turkey that afternoon and sat down to dinner about eight in the evening. And they say that not even an extra dose of sage in the dressing completely removed the taste of sea water from the white meat.
- John Steinbeck, Harper's Bazaar, May 1953 - Re: 波西塔诺咬得很深 Positano bites deepposted on 09/25/2008
81老师,我关心一个问题:这样的小镇,生活污水和厕所排放他们是如何处理的?
不知道有否留意? - Re: 波西塔诺咬得很深 Positano bites deepposted on 09/25/2008
青冈 wrote:
81老师,我关心一个问题:这样的小镇,生活污水和厕所排放他们是如何处理的?
不知道有否留意?
我来冒充专家抢答一次,传统的古迹一般采用Septic Tank,就是一个大容量的过滤池,具有简单的处理功能,比如水分可以渗漏回到土地。半固体的残留物需要定期由专用设备掏理。
- Re: 波西塔诺咬得很深 Positano bites deepposted on 09/25/2008
老瓦 wrote:谢老瓦。你讲的化粪池的这种,丁林在他的书里谈过,美国的那种。但我感觉这种合适平坦的地区。
我来冒充专家抢答一次,传统的古迹一般采用Septic Tank,就是一个大容量的过滤池,具有简单的处理功能,比如水分可以渗漏回到土地。半固体的残留物需要定期由专用设备掏理。
具体到81这种岩石悬崖上的房子和小镇,也同样处理?
xirui要是在的话,或许更了解?
- posted on 09/25/2008
青冈的专业是城市给排水?
To answer QG's question, this is what I googled:
So while all the Beautiful People were sipping their first Camparis of the day, we headed underground to see the sewage treatment plant. Crammed against the mountainside, Positano has few options for disposing of its wastewater. In the past, it was pumped out to sea with minimal impact. But then the village became a summer colony for the well-heeled. In 1994, before Slow Cities even began, it demonstrated forward thinking by installing an eco-friendly sewage system that filters out heavy products (such as cooking oil and the dyes from textile plants) from the water and sends them to Naples for disposal. It then flushes the remaining fluid through a series of tanks populated by chemical-munching microbes, resulting in phosphate-free, fat-free water that can be safely released into the sea. The system is viewed as a model for other Slow Cities to emulate.
青冈 wrote:
老瓦 wrote:谢老瓦。你讲的化粪池的这种,丁林在他的书里谈过,美国的那种。但我感觉这种合适平坦的地区。
我来冒充专家抢答一次,传统的古迹一般采用Septic Tank,就是一个大容量的过滤池,具有简单的处理功能,比如水分可以渗漏回到土地。半固体的残留物需要定期由专用设备掏理。
具体到81这种岩石悬崖上的房子和小镇,也同样处理?
xirui要是在的话,或许更了解?
- Re: 齿痕深深的波西塔诺 Positano bites deepposted on 09/25/2008
老八改标题了?我觉得还是“波西塔诺咬得深”简贴。 - Re: 齿痕深深的波西塔诺 Positano bites deepposted on 09/25/2008
totally agree with uncle touche.
波西塔诺咬得深 is very sexy :-)
touche wrote:
老八改标题了?我觉得还是“波西塔诺咬得深”简贴。 - Re: 波西塔诺咬得很深 Positano bites deepposted on 09/26/2008
谢谢81教授。
敢情还真有人去那里看排水。:)
看来94年以前他们也是直接往海里倾倒的。
波西塔诺咬得很深。开始我没看的时候,还以为波西塔诺是一条什么大狗。
- Re: 波西塔诺咬得深 Positano bites deepposted on 09/26/2008
之前只读过Dave Barry之类的搞笑旅行笔记,今天沾99教授的光,仔细品味了Steinbeck的游记,不愧名家之笔,功力独到。不过话说回来,同等质量的中文游记并不鲜见,咖啡里浮生同学的希腊波兰土耳其游可以一比:) - Re: 波西塔诺咬得深 Positano bites deepposted on 09/27/2008
老瓦 wrote:
之前只读过Dave Barry之类的搞笑旅行笔记,今天沾99教授的光,仔细品味了Steinbeck的游记,不愧名家之笔,功力独到。不过话说回来,同等质量的中文游记并不鲜见,咖啡里浮生同学的希腊波兰土耳其游可以一比:)
说得是。
Steinbeck在这里讲的几个小故事都不错。两个渔村争先恐后救火鸡的故事尤其令人莞尔。
上乘游记还是要写人。曼佗罗能够做到。 - Re: 波西塔诺咬得深 Positano bites deepposted on 09/27/2008
我说老瓦同志是不是最近让房市、股市、救市给弄糊涂了,说出的话竟然和七千亿美元怎么花一般没谱儿,咱咖啡最近上的笑话不算少了呀,怎么还拿我开涮呢,拜托老瓦把最后一句删掉包括八十一子的引用(或者July帮忙也行),你好意思说,我可不好意思看它摆在这里,徒增笑耳 :)
老瓦 wrote:
Please paste HTML code and press Enter.
- 八十一子
- #1 July
- #2 八十一子
- #3 liaokang
- #4 八十一子
- #5 July
- #6 八十一子
- #7 八十一子
- #8 July
- #9 浮生
- #10 July
- #11 浮生
- #12 July
- #13 八十一子
- #14 rzp
- #15 鹿希
- #16 八十一子
- #17 八十一子
- #18 阿姗
- #19 rzp
- #20 July
- #21 July
- #22 老瓦
- #23 八十一子
- #24 八十一子
- #25 八十一子
- #26 八十一子
- #27 moab
- #28 阿姗
- #29 A&O
- #30 八十一子
- #31 八十一子
- #32 青冈
- #33 老瓦
- #34 青冈
- #35 八十一子
- #36 touche
- #37 July
- #38 qinggang
- #39 老瓦
- #40 八十一子
- #41 浮生
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