We’ve really enjoyed wandering through the historical part of town. I really like the traditional Andalusian architecture, with narrow cobbled streets and whitewashed buildings, winding their way through the old city before spilling into the busier main thoroughfares. About a ten-minute walk from us is the rather excellent “Virgen” coffee shop, which has become our first stop on morning walks around the city. After that, we head off exploring, always discovering something new that piques our interest.

Apparently, Spain doesn’t really celebrate Christmas the way much of Europe does. The main celebration falls on January 6th, “Three Kings Day,” when children receive their presents. But Seville feels different from the Balearics and Canaries, where we’ve spent other Christmases. The lights here are fantastic, and the streets are teeming with people who, like us, seem happy to simply be out, soaking up the atmosphere. The cathedral at night is particularly impressive, glowing golden against the dark sky and blending with the amber of the streetlights strung across the main avenues. It really is quite something and marked a perfect beginning to our final weekend in Spain.

I’d booked the fast train to Córdoba, which is about forty minutes from Seville, specifically to see the Mezquita. After a fifteen-minute walk to the station and a quick pass through security, we boarded and were soon on our way. Like many older cities, Córdoba greets you first with its commercial district, modern buildings, and infrastructure, before you make your way through to the historical centre. After a thirty-minute walk, we found ourselves winding through the old Jewish quarter until we reached the imposing outer walls of the Mezquita. It is, as its name suggests, a mosque-cathedral. Originally built in 786 AD as a mosque, it was later reclaimed by the Christians in the early 13th century, who then built additions around it.

Stepping inside feels like entering a forest of columns. Double arches stretch high above, letting in light and supporting the vaulted roof. There are said to be 850 of these columns. Thankfully, when the Christians took it over, they built around the existing structure rather than on top of it. The ornate Christian additions only seem to enhance its beauty, turning the space into something quite unique and, I think, more powerful as a place of worship. It really is extraordinary.

Afterwards, we crossed the Roman bridge over the Guadalquivir River to take in views back across the old town before settling into a long, leisurely lunch.

Back in Seville, we had one final surprise. As part of the Constitution Day celebrations, there was a performance of “The Barber of Seville” at the long sold-out theatre. Ever the optimist, I’d convinced Rachel and Mum that sometimes people don’t turn up, so we went anyway. As luck would have it, three seats became available when a few local dignitaries failed to appear. It wasn’t a full version of Rossini’s opera, but it didn’t matter. Even performed in Spanish, the comedy wasn’t lost on us. Although Figaro’s aria was missing, the singers and the energetic cast were all fantastic. The 20-piece orchestra was brilliant too.

It was a wonderful way to end what has been a thoroughly enjoyable Spanish adventure.

After three hours on the train and a short walk from the station, we arrived at our final resting place for this leg of the trip. It’s in a great location, right on the edge of the historical quarter and surprisingly quiet. We had arrived a day early to get the lay of the land and pick up supplies, as we were expecting guests for the weekend and my mother was coming to stay with us for a couple of weeks.

Rachel’s sister Ruth and her husband Terry had very kindly flown with my mother for a long weekend, making sure she got here safely. They dropped her off on the way to their hotel on Friday evening. We had agreed to all meet up the following morning, as they were understandably jaded. So after a few quick hugs with Ruth and Terry and a warm welcome for mum, we all called it a night.

After a light breakfast the next day, we set off to meet Ruth and Terry at their hotel across town. They had both slept well and were excited to explore the city. The weather was beautiful, so we decided to walk along the river towards the Plaza de España. It was really nice to catch up with everyone as we walked, enjoying the energy and sounds of the city.

The Plaza de España, finished in 1929 to reaffirm Spanish unity with its former colonies, is laid out in a vast, perfectly symmetrical semicircle. It’s surrounded by a moat, which was empty this time of year, and combines a mix of romantic architectural styles that is truly mesmerising.

After an enjoyable lunch at an excellent Arabic restaurant overlooking the cathedral, we all went back to change before meeting up again that evening at the renowned flamenco theatre. The performance was highly charged, incredibly passionate, and absolutely jaw-dropping. Brilliant.

The following day we had booked an 11am slot to visit the Royal Alcázar. It’s a fascinating blend of Mudéjar, Renaissance, Gothic and Baroque influences, and I can see why it is still in use as a royal residence. For me, it was the interiors I found most compelling, especially the intricate Islamic geometric designs that covered many of the walls and ceilings. The gardens, too, offered a peaceful, thought-provoking glimpse into the past, with their careful layout and abundant water features.

Later, we made our way to the world’s largest Gothic cathedral, which is understandably a popular attraction. We had booked ahead to make sure we could get inside. The Giralda, originally a twelfth-century minaret, was built with thirty-five ramped sections so the Arabic ruler of the time could ride his horse to the top. It was later converted into a bell tower by the Christians. There is no denying the beauty of the Gothic architecture, but I found the opulent use of precious metals inside a little excessive. What was particularly interesting to see, though, was the tomb of Christopher Columbus, held aloft by four intricately carved figures representing the ancient kingdoms of Spain.

Where we’re staying:-

https://www.booking.com/Share-37SyUc

We’ve moved apartments, which has probably been one of our easiest moves since we started travelling. Our small place is just a stone’s throw from our last, along the promenade, which means we’ve also managed to hold onto our little daily routine for a bit longer. We’re now on the eleventh (and top) floor, with a great little sun terrace that works just as well for bracing early morning exercise as it does for hiding away from the strong onshore winds that have arrived. The views across the bay and along the coastline in both directions are really quite something.

We had planned to move from Almería to Granada to spend a week there, but that was before I saw the forecast. The binary weather report didn’t look promising, and neither of us has the wardrobe for it, nor are we quite ready for the cold. So, we’re staying put for a while longer.

Since we had another weekend here, we decided to look in on Mark, a friend from the Bahamas who also helped me out with a car when he left. I haven’t seen him since I left the islands nearly thirty years ago. He’s been in Spain for many years now and is living with his partner Pablo just outside Málaga. We arranged to meet for lunch in Nerja, which is just over an hour and a half from Almería.

It’s funny how, when you haven’t seen someone for a long time, you wonder how you’ll find them again. But more often than not, it’s how you left them that determines where you pick things up. That seemed to be the case for both of us. The meal was okay, as was Nerja, but it was really good to see Mark again and to meet Pablo. Rachel and I both enjoyed a moment of quiet nostalgia as we made our way back along the coast.

The weather has now shifted. Gone are the calm seas and still air, replaced with strong winds and rough water. Our final swim of the year came on November 23rd, and since then we’ve made way for the kite surfers and surfers who’ve taken over the bay. It’s hard to believe after six weeks of near-perfect conditions. A couple of nights of heavy rain have swept away the last of the warmth, leaving us with cool evenings and crisp mornings. I’m still in shorts, though, as we continue our walks along the promenade.

I’d already bought our bus tickets to Granada, followed by the high-speed train to Seville, which ruled out a direct flight. With move day upon us, we headed to the bus station with our luggage safely stowed and boarded the bus to Granada. It was a painless two-hour journey.

Granada was cold, and we could already see the snow dusted across the Sierra Nevada mountains. We had an hour to get to the train station. The ride only took about ten minutes by taxi, but the challenge was actually finding one. After cancelling my Uber, we eventually flagged one down and made it to the busy station, where a long queue of passengers was waiting. What we didn’t realise was that all passengers had to pass through full security checks and luggage screening. With just a few minutes to spare, we made it through, found our carriage, and slumped into our seats.

https://www.airbnb.com/l/CUEApMO0

We set off in the direction of Granada at about 8.30 a.m., as we had an 11 a.m. slot to view the palace. Visitor numbers are strictly controlled, and if you are even a minute late, you are turned away. We had booked the slot a couple of weeks earlier, and even then there were only a few places left. It is incredibly popular all year round, but this time of year the light is much better in the morning.

Waze told me it would take around two hours. After negotiating the morning traffic leaving Almería, the final ninety minutes were not too challenging, although the car repeatedly told me I needed to take a nap. With road improvements underway, both directions of traffic were pushed onto the same side of the motorway with temporary lanes, which clearly confused the car.

We parked in the designated area and walked to the nearest entrance to the palace, which turned out to be the furthest point from the car park. We had been told that the queues at the main entrance could be long, so using the “backdoor” was the better option. After showing our tickets and passports, which although a nuisance to carry I think is a sensible requirement, we made it through with only minutes to spare. After another passport check, we entered the Nasrid Palace.

We have seen many Arabic palaces, all impressive in their own way, and this one was no exception. The Nasrid dynasty was the last Muslim dynasty to rule the Iberian Peninsula, governing the Emirate of Granada for more than 250 years. During that time, they created this remarkable palace complex. There is none of the superficial finery you see in more modern palaces. Here, the beauty lies in the structures themselves: the honeycomb ceilings, the intricate plasterwork, and the geometric mosaics. What I always find intriguing about Islamic architecture is how the detail, although elaborate, remains grounded in simplicity. The walls speak through poems and verses from the Koran, as a guide once told me.

I also love the central courtyards, where water is used everywhere to create a sense of calm. Several smaller palaces surround the main one, accommodating courtiers and the everyday workings of the kingdom. Together, they make up the palatial section of the Moorish complex. The less ornate Renaissance palace of Charles V sits outside this area, but its circular courtyard is very impressive.

No palace complex of this scale would be complete without a fortress. The Alcazaba is the oldest part of the site, dating back to the 9th century, and its ramparts provide commanding views across Granada.

Alongside all these structures is the equally beautiful Generalife, a series of tiered gardens created for the Nasrid rulers as a place for reflection and contemplation. You feel completely at peace wandering through a mixture of manicured and wilder gardens, where the ever-present sound of water feeds the atmosphere of calm. The views back across to the main complex are perfect.

If I had to choose between the buildings and the gardens, I think I would choose the gardens.

We’ve slipped effortlessly into a routine that suits us just fine. It starts with some exercise while surveying the horizon and watching the boats drift across it. Then it’s a short walk about twenty metres across the promenade and the beach and into the sea for a good swim. So far, the sea has been pretty flat, which helps. What’s also interesting is that it feels like swimming through an aquarium. From one end of the bay to the other, it’s teeming with small fish, which only adds to the enjoyment.

There are plenty of coffee shops along the promenade, and we’re lucky that the one we like best is directly beneath our apartment. Perfect, really. We’re staying in the more established part of town, which some might say is a little less polished, but it’s full of character. It’s also a great spot for people-watching. Early in the day, you see people out running or walking. There’s a cycle lane that runs the length of the promenade, and as with most of Spain, cycling is very much part of the culture. In the evenings, the area becomes more family-oriented, with children playing and groups strolling along the front.

It’s about a twenty five minute walk into the town centre. We haven’t spent much time there yet, but we did get a chance to explore the Alcazaba, a large Moorish fortress built in the mid-10th century. It’s the largest Arab-style citadel in Spain and offers incredible views across Almería and out to the coast.

Keen to go off exploring, we picked up a rental car and headed out of Almería. Our first stop was San José, a place Rachel wanted to check out as a possible next stop. From there, we continued along the eastern coastline and into the Cabo de Gata national park, a striking and somewhat strange landscape shaped by ancient volcanic activity. Our destination was La Isleta del Moro, a quiet coastal village with a small beach, a few fishing boats, and a very good restaurant. We waited a good few hours to get in, but it was worth it. There’s not much else there, but that was part of the charm.

We had both wanted to visit the Alhambra, but didn’t realise that it requires booking around two weeks in advance to get full access. A bit of a disappointment, but Rachel, always keen to salvage a situation, had been really taken with the Cabo de Gata and had found something else. Not far from where we were staying is Europe’s only true desert, the Tabernas. It’s not a huge area, but if, like me, you grew up watching Spaghetti Westerns like The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, A Fistful of Dollars, and the rest, then it holds a certain pull. All those films were shot in the Tabernas, at a location that today has been turned into a kind of theme park called “Mini Hollywood.”

As the story goes, when the film companies pulled out, a couple of security guards were hired to watch over the sets. They soon realised the site’s appeal, and eventually managed to get the investment to turn it into the attraction it is today. Now, I’m not a fan of theme parks at all, but the connection to those films, and Rachel’s promise that I’d be able to see the cemetery used in that final scene from The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, was enough to get me there. That scene gave my brother nightmares for years.

The park includes other attractions, but we were only really interested in the film sets and memorabilia. To be fair, it’s been well looked after. There’s definitely still a presence there, a kind of lingering energy from all those stories played out in front of the cameras. I wasn’t sure about the live reenactment, but the Can-can show in “The Yellow Rose” saloon was entertaining we both left feeling nostalgic and glad we’d gone.

As for the cemetery, Rachel had that part wrong. The actual set is up in the north of the country, but it didn’t matter. Not really.

As it was getting to San Sebastián, so it was leaving. I explored many options, none of which were particularly straightforward. So rather than drop the car off at a neighbouring airport, we had decided on a road trip. That way, we didn’t have to carefully pack everything, go through the usual airport rigmarole, or stress about timings. Instead, we could throw everything into the car and take in the country as we drove north to south through the middle of Spain.

We decided to have breakfast in the city, which involved removing a couple of layers of paint from the car door to squeeze into a parking space that clearly wasn’t quite wide enough, hey ho. It was Spain’s National Day and the city was buzzing with people, all milling around in good spirits. Sitting outside and people-watching is always interesting. We were both a little reflective as we left San Sebastián. It had been great seeing friends, but this was also right up there as some of the best food we’ve had on our travels. We later found out that San Sebastián has the most Michelin star restaurants per square metre in Europe, which makes perfect sense.

Because the trip would take about eleven hours in total, we broke it up. The first leg took us through the beautiful, leafy, mountainous Basque region. With the leaves already beginning to show their autumn colours and the roads relatively empty, the drive was a real pleasure. Around three hours in, we pulled into a service station to refuel and change drivers. Rachel, who doesn’t drive often but enjoys it when she does, took over for the section through Madrid and on to our halfway stop in Aranjuez. We figured it would be better to stay on the other side of the capital, just in case the traffic was heavy the next day.

Over breakfast, I had booked a hotel that was once a residential palace. It looks out over the fabulous Royal Palace of Aranjuez. After parking and checking in, we walked across the road and into the palace grounds. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect from this stop, but I certainly wasn’t prepared for the scale or beauty of what we found. It turns out the site began as a royal hunting lodge, but over the centuries it was developed into a springtime retreat. The Bourbons later expanded it to accommodate courtiers and guests, aiming to rival Versailles. The result is an interesting blend of architectural styles, both inside and out, with a mix of formal gardens, tree-lined walkways and mazes. We really loved it.

After a full day of driving, we found a local restaurant for dinner, then crashed out. The following morning, after a short walk into town for coffee, we started the second leg of the trip down to Almería. As we left Aranjuez, the landscape began to shift. We drove through the central plains, not as green or lush as the north, perhaps not helped by the rain we hit along the way. Eventually we made it through the weather and into the south of the country, where the scenery changed again. Row after row of olive trees appeared, and then we entered Andalucía. The land became much drier and dustier, framed by the jagged peaks of the Sierra Nevada mountains.

After a drive of around 1000 kilometres in total, we finally arrived in Almería and found our somewhat quirky apartment. It’s comfortable and sits right on the beach, with a perfect swim spot just outside the door.

https://www.airbnb.com/l/zt6pilPx

After a string of terrible sleep scores, which are par for the course. When we’re on the move, I’m still undecided about whether these Oura rings are a good thing or not. We left our hotel, which sits just above the main city, and made our way down into the heart of San Sebastián. We were both excited, not just to explore a new part of Spain, but to reunite with friends who once felt more like surrogate parents to us.

Dake and Yvonne were a steady presence during our early years in the Bahamas, offering their wisdom and calm as Rachel and I found our footing and started a family. Dake’s kids, Dake Jr. and Laura were away studying in the U.S, as were Yvonne’s. back then, while we navigated the often choppy waters of young adulthood. Dake even gave Rachel away at our impromptu wedding, and both he and Yvonne are godparents to Seb, roles they have always taken seriously. Yvonne’s pancakes were legendary, and Seb quickly learned he could trade morning cuddles for treats.

The contrast between the evening before and the following morning was remarkable. We had arrived under the cover of darkness, but in the daylight we were greeted by a breathtaking side of Spain we hadn’t seen before. San Sebastián is surrounded by forested mountains and sits gracefully along the dramatic Bay of Biscay. And what a bay it is, but more on that later.

Parking in the city is limited, and what little there is tends to be reserved for residents, which is fair enough. So we found a car park, left the car, and made our way through the charming city to locate the family’s hotel. The whole crew was there: Dake, Yvonne, Dake Jr., Laura, and their partners, Jimmy and Ben. Dake Jr. and Laura had organised the trip as a surprise for their dad’s birthday. It was a return to his father’s roots, a journey back to the town he had once left behind to begin a new life in the Caribbean. They had even managed to track down relatives, with a reunion planned for later in the trip. It was, without question, a meaningful and emotional occasion.

Seeing everyone again felt surreal at first, but within minutes it was as if no time had passed. In truth, it had been about seventeen years since we were last together. Laura’s partner, Ben, a self-proclaimed foodie, had done his homework and booked us a table at Bodegón Alejandro. It was their second visit, so we already had high expectations, and even after just the appetisers we knew we were in for something special. The food was exceptional, but it was the company and conversation that made the meal truly memorable.

After lunch, we spent a few hours wandering the city. This was our first time in northern Spain, and we were struck by its atmosphere. San Sebastián is only thirty minutes from Biarritz and sits close to the French border, which gives the city a distinct multicultural flavour. There’s a strong Parisian influence, with touches of Gothic architecture scattered throughout. We really liked it.

Later that evening, after a quick change at our hotel, we picked up Dake and Yvonne and drove about twenty-five minutes to the picturesque town of Getaria for dinner at Kaia Kaipe, a well-regarded seafood restaurant perched above the small port. The views were stunning, and the food was another highlight of the trip. After dropping them back at their hotel, we said our goodbyes. The next part of their journey would take them to Ampuero, where they planned to meet long-lost family members for the first time and we didn’t want to intrude. We all promised not to let so much time pass before the next reunion.

Not wanting our reflective mood to linger too long, we set off the next morning for another day of exploring. The sun was shining, and after breakfast in the city, we walked along the famous La Concha Beach, considered one of the most beautiful in Europe. Its reputation is well-earned, thanks to its setting and history. The beach runs about a mile from end to end.

We took the funicular up Monte Igueldo for panoramic views over the city and spent a couple of hours exploring both sides of the mountain. On our way back down, we walked once more along the beach, and this time we were treated to a surprise dolphin show, as a few playful pods had made their way into the bay.

As fate would have it, the weather took a turn. Daytime temperatures dropped from the mid-twenties to the high teens, and with the cooler air came adverse conditions. We had torrential rain, and in a town built on an incline, that quickly became a problem. The roads turned into fast-flowing streams, and I now understand why the curbs are so unusually high.

After the rain came strong winds, along with the occasional sharp shower. Unfortunately, it also meant we had to give up our daily swims. Still, we can’t really complain. We haven’t been grounded too often on this trip.

We had planned a weekend visit to Matera, followed by a bike ride inland the next day. We took the train to Bari, but discovered that our connecting bus to Matera wasn’t at the location we had been given. As we made our way to where it should have been, we spotted the bus passing us in the opposite direction. It was another case of poor directions, and we missed it.

So we found ourselves with an unexpected day in Bari, which turned out to be surprisingly rewarding. At first glance, it looks like a fairly standard urban centre. In fact, it is the largest city and metropolitan area on the Adriatic. But if you scratch the surface, there’s a lot more to it. The city was once a prosperous trading port, and signs of that history are easy to spot.

There’s a castle near the entrance to the old town, which itself feels more like a maze than a city centre. Towering above the sunken streets are tall Venetian buildings that add real character. And as with much of this Italian trip, there was a fair amount of walking involved. We don’t mind that. We enjoy wandering and watching the world go by. To add to the pleasure, the sun reappeared, even if the air remained cold.

We found a good spot for lunch before returning to Monopoli. We weren’t too disappointed. Puglia will still be here next time.

The following day was meant to be for cycling, but the wind and rain had other ideas. That pattern continued through the rest of our stay. Then, on the day we were due to fly out, the weather cleared completely. The sky was blue, the sea was calm, and the temperature climbed again. Typical. Still, it gave us a few more reasons to return.

We made it to the airport in Bari with time to spare, and after an hour’s delay, we were finally on our way to Barcelona. The flight took just over two hours, and we landed about 7:30pm.

There were no direct flights to San Sebastián, so Barcelona was the best option for getting into Spain on the 9th October. After collecting our luggage, we picked up the hire car and began our journey north. It would be around 560 kilometres to our destination.

Rain was falling heavily as we left Barcelona, but after an hour or so into our journey, it began to ease. Since we were driving at night, there wasn’t much to see, apart from the long line of lorries. They came in all shapes and sizes but were, to their credit, very respectful of other drivers.

Just under five hours later, and shortly after half past one in the morning, we finally arrived at our hotel, checked in and promptly collapsed into bed.

After saying our goodbyes to Jon and Jo the night before, we left the apartment just before 7 a.m. the following morning and wheeled our one heavy case the one kilometre through the thankfully empty streets. The day before had been a public holiday, with many of the roads closed to traffic.

We arrived at the bus station 15 minutes early, which turned out to be a stroke of luck, as our bus to Napoli was preparing to leave. We were already feeling a bit nervous, as our travel agent had been somewhat blasé with her instructions. Unfortunately, our fears were confirmed when we arrived in Napoli.

With less than 30 minutes to make our connecting bus, we discovered that the first bus had dropped us off more than 3 km in the wrong direction. Traffic appeared to be completely gridlocked in every direction. (I really should have double-checked the drop-off point beforehand.)

As the realisation began to set in that we had likely missed our bus for the day, and with only about 15 minutes left to get across the city, our unlikely saviour appeared. At first glance, he looked like a taxi driver, but after we jumped into his heavily bruised cab, it quickly became clear he was more of an aspiring rally driver. He drove the chaotic streets with reckless abandon, surfed along tram tracks, and somehow managed to get us to the entrance of the bus station with just a couple of minutes to spare.

Rachel tore off to hold the bus while I paid our driver and wrestled the bags across the street. Phew.

The bus itself was relatively comfortable, with reclining seats, and after four and a half hours of crossing the country from west to east, we were dropped off at a bus stop just outside the main town of Monopoli.

Monopoli is laid out like a giant chessboard, just in front of a charming old town that dates back some 2,500 years, when it was a fortified outpost for the Messapians. That said, it’s fair to say the beautiful architecture you see today is largely the work of the Venetians in the 1500s. The town sits within the historic Puglia region.

Our apartment also dates back to Venetian times, with high ceilings and thick stone walls that are perfect for the long, hot summers. Beyond the old-town charm, we also have the Adriatic coastline on our doorstep. After exercising each morning on the rooftop terrace, serenaded by birdsong and the three competing sets of church bells, we’ve swum every day so far.

The Italian mainland coastline here is mostly rocky, dotted with small sandy coves carved into the headlands. There’s a big coffee culture too, with different social groups meeting every morning. Even though we’re tourists, we always try to interact and find out what’s going on, which is always good fun.

Like much of southern Europe, daily life here starts early and winds down around 1:30 p.m. as businesses close and the streets empty for the afternoon rest. Things begin to stir again around 5 p.m., when the town slowly comes back to life.

We’re really enjoying the laid-back feel of the place and have decided to do our exploring of the wider region over the following week.

We’ve established a routine, where we have a light breakfast at the apartment before heading out. This is usually followed by a stop at a coffee bar along the way, where Jon launches into full “Spanglish” (his mix of Spanish and English…I’m still not sure why), made worse by me trying to recover the situation with my very poor Italian. Neither approach seemed to work, but as always, neither of us is willing to concede that our method might be flawed. The girls, however, seem to be enjoying the experience.

As I mentioned in my previous post, I’ve chosen not to hire a car, mainly because it seems far more practical to visit the key coastal areas by sea. The port is about a 20-minute walk from the apartment, and we booked our ferry tickets online to avoid any queues, especially since my timekeeping has never been one of my strong points.

We boarded the passenger ferry at 9:30 am. With a capacity of 120 passengers, it wasn’t particularly busy, and since we were among the first to board, we headed for the top deck and found seats comfortably at the front of the seating area. The sea was calm, and the coastline provided plenty of interest during the hour it took to reach Amalfi, our first stop to drop off and pick up passengers.

Amalfi is spread across opposing mountains and serves as a key hub for tourists looking to explore the region. Soon enough, we were on our way again. It’s always appealing to see these colourful Mediterranean houses with their terracotta roofs huddled together, often with barely visible roads carved into the mountains. What’s especially interesting are the small and large buildings that appear completely marooned, with no obvious access to road or sea.

Another 45 minutes later, we arrived in Positano, a dramatic, pastel-coloured village clinging to a steep cliff face. It’s a busy tourist destination, but as you wind up through the stair-laden streets, the crowds seem to thin out. Eventually, you spill onto narrow lanes filled with charming boutiques and small restaurants.

We spent the day wandering, topped off with a great lunch recommendation. The restaurant, Buca di Bacco, didn’t have the best reviews online, but the locals clearly knew better.

The next morning, after the usual coffee ritual, we returned to the ferry port, once again heading in the same direction. This time we travelled beyond Positano and around the Sorrentine Peninsula to Sorrento, where the larger townhouses appear more evenly laid out along the sheer cliff face. Sorrento sits in the Bay of Naples, with Capri visible in the distance.

The town itself didn’t have quite the same charm as Positano, but we stopped for a long lunch at a restaurant with truly impressive views across the bay. Afterward, as we’ve done throughout this trip, we were content to amble around and take in what the town had to offer before heading back to Salerno.

Feeling the need for a slightly more relaxed day, we once again boarded a ferry, this time to the village of Maiori, 30 minutes away, for a day on the beach. We chose Maiori knowing that after dinner, we had tickets booked for that evening to see a violin virtuoso performing with her ensemble, in the beautiful Chiesa di San Giorgio. We had all been looking forward to it, and it did not disappoint.

On our last day, Jon and Jo took an early ferry to visit Capri. Rachel and I, on the other hand, discovered that a local train strike had been scheduled for the day of our onward travel. This meant we needed to find and book an alternative route. Hey ho.