Vetara

The Island of Vetara from the cliffs below Torca, Sorrentine Peninsula

Cath fancied a day by the pool. I went along with her for the morning, but by afternoon my feet were itching. The day before I had bought myself a local, 1:50,000 map for a tenner, only to be given that evening, a free 1:20,000 map of the Sant'Agata region, complete with mule tracks and so on.

Having seen nothing of the local side of the Gulf of Solerno, I trecked over that way, descending past the last remnant of Sant'Agata proper and into a land of olive and lemon trees. Soon after entering a copse or wood screeching with the call of cicadas, I crossed a narrow stone bridge, never wide enough for a car, spanning a rocky, dry river bed, containing a couple of plastic bottles and a chucked in bush. Descending further and emerging from the wood, I saw I was on the right flank of a steep sided ravine I can only conclude was created by the river that in wetter days runs under the bridge I had crossed.

The path descended gently as the ravine widened, but nearer the sea, as the path veered right to cling to the coast's hillside, the vista opened to reveal plunging depths and black crows circling in rising therms. Here, perhaps 50m above sea level was a display of islands. Nearest to my right was the isle of Isca, the property of the heirs of Eduardo de Filippo, which at first sight appeared connected to the mainland. Perpendicular to my position was uninhabited Vetara, say a kilometre out to sea. To the left was a group of islets, the Li Galli islands or Islands of Mermaids, Gallo Lungo, Castelluccio and Rotonda, say three or so kilometres from the shore.

Immediately below the line of sight beckoned by the island group, dug into the hillside near sea level, was a watch tower, something I have since learned is known as a 'Torre antisaracena', an anti-saracen tower, this one built during the years 1567-70 following the Saracen invasion and sacking of Sorrento on June 13, 1558.

Over 600 steps descended to the little beach of Crapolla. I knew that because attached to steps kept 50 apart were tiles announcing the remaining number to go. I never completed the full series. Curiosity kept me descending, suppressing that inner voice which reasoned that each step down was a step to climb later. Around the 300 mark I overlooked what seemed to me a tiny shrine, unfortunately placed out of bounds by means of staked red and white tape. It was here that good sense took over, so I turned and began an ascent, counting up to 50 and then giving myself a breather.

Aside the stairway grew a multitude of tall, straw coloured plants and grasses. I pulled those one or two aside which invaded my viewfinder, other times they were included.