This is thethird installment of a travelogue by retired English teacher/librarian Marguerite Kirkpatrick of Russellville. She traveled with one of her daughters, Shannon Reade, and Shannon’s family-husband Wes, daughter Maggie, son Will and his girlfriend, Megan Gough. Will is a senior at the University of South Carolina on an ROTC Navy scholarship. Megan is from Stafford, Va. and is a junior at USC, on a Marine ROTC scholarship. Maggie Reade is a senior at Merrol Hyde Magnet School in Hendersonville, Tenn.

Wednesday, June1
We awake to cloudy skies; Wes and Shannon walk to the village for cappuccino; Will, Maggie and Megan sleep; I sit on the terrace and read. Finally the downpour arrives, accompanied by much lightning and thunder. We spend a rainy, lazy morning playing cards, then decide to brave the elements and go to Positano as planned for some shopping.

The day is dark and gloomy; the cobblestones, wet and slick as we don our ponchos and begin our walk down the narrow street of little shops. Wes and Shannon are wearing huge backpacks under their ponchos, huge because we brought extra clothes in case ours get wet. They call each other Mr. and Mrs. Quasimodo, shortened lovingly on occasion to “Quasi.” Shannon buys an Italian leather jacket. Maggie looks for a purse. Will and Megan wander off together. I visit the church of Santa Maria Asunta, a 13^thcentury Romanesque structure with a green and yellow majolica dome. Its quiet, dim interior is a welcome respite from the rain, and I sit in the back and witness a wedding. In the evening we gather at Chez Black on the wharf and enjoy a dinner of spaghetti and clams.

Later we return to Praiano, but the young folks soon take the bus back to Positano to check out the nightlife at Music on the Rocks, a dance club near the harbor. Will has firm instructions not to let the girls out of his sight. I don’t think he needed that warning, for he even goes with them to wait outside the ladies’ room. Maggie has the time of her life dancing with the Yale frat boys, who had asked her to snap their group photo on the way to Capri yesterday. Our three arrive home by taxi at three in the morning full of excitement and stories about the evening’s adventures. Whew! Now we can get some sleep!!!

Thursday, June 2
This day brings a return of the beautiful sun-splashed weather of the Mediterranean with everything washed clean and bright from yesterday’s rain. Our landlord Antonio has told us about a hike over the mountain to Positano-“beautiful, easy, a leisurely stroll.” Right! Leaving the others for a day at the beach, (how smart they are!) Shannon, Wes, and I begin our trek, each carrying one bottle of water, a banana, an orange and a small bag of trail mix. Three hours later we are still climbing, and so is the temperature! We pass little farm houses tucked away in the distance, a farmer tending his terraced hillside, belled goats, old abandoned stone huts and crumbling “fixer-uppers” that are probably centuries old-walking, walking, walking-climbing, climbing, climbing. Five hours later we reach our first destination, the mountainside hamlet of Nocelle.

We search desperately for some cool, wet refreshment. Nothing. Just a scattering of houses tumbling down the hillside and a tiny piazza with a gaggle of lounging hikers, all enjoying food and drink from their well-provisioned backpacks. We hate Nocelle! Now we are on the descent on a series of wide steps winding down, down, down. My leaders forge ahead. I am alone, convinced I have missed a turn. There has been no turn, but where are they? My legs are weak. I am lost. I am almost delirious.

Finally I reach the road, my leaders, and a bus stop. We have been walking for six hours! I learn that we have just traversed 1700 steps from Nocelle! No kidding? I thought it was more. We wait and wait, tired and hungry and thirsty. Shannon has the nerve to say, “I’m really tired!” To ME! No bus. Wes hails a taxi.Best 20 euros we ever spent!

In Praiano we go at once to a cliffside pizzerie and gobble the most delicious pizze with fresh, sweet tomatoes, buffalo mozzarella and a mound of arugula. Our view is the cool blue Mediterranean and just below our table on the patio, the village church, San Gennaro, with its gleaming majolica-tile dome. The tiny piazza in front of the church is paved in an intricate, colorful pattern of majolica. This is bliss!

In the evening, after a rest and a scrub, we walk-can hardly believe I’m walking again-to Bar Mare, our favorite ristaurante at the foot of the chasm at Marina di Praiano. Salvatore is happy to see us, seats us outside for full advantage of the view and immediately brings us a plate of “Mama’s something.” Not sure what it is, but it is delicious. We order pasta and seafood and spend a delightful evening in the cool as memories of the heat of the day and the strenuous climb over the mountain fade. Almost.

Friday, June 3
An early morning bus ride takes us to Meta, where we board a Circumvesuviana train to Pompeii, the town destroyed by an eruption of Mt. Vesuvius in AD 79. We spend the morning visiting the ruins of the homes, shops, taverns, forum, Roman baths and brothels, amphitheater, all miraculously preserved for centuries as the city lay under a mountain of volcanic ash. Maggie is busy snapping pictures of this ghost city as well as the many frescos that survived under the protection of ash. Will pokes a stick in the air pretending to be our tour leader. The day is hot. We walk and walk.

Four hours later, we again board the train. This time to Sorrento. An afternoon of shopping, which includes more than one trip to Davide’s for delicious citrus gelato, leads us finally to Marina Grande and Trattoria da Emilia. In a gazebo near the water at a rickety wooden table covered with a blue checked tablecloth, we enjoy antipasto (anchovies, squid, eggplant, olives, salami, mozerella) and our constant-delicious spaghetti and clams-as we listen to street musicians and watch a beautiful sunset behind bobbing fishing boats.

For the past three evenings, it has rained just as we finished dinner, and so once again we are climbing the hill back to Old Town as we dart from doorway to doorway, seeking shelter from the rain. Oh, joy! Our chariot awaits and there are even empty seats for the two-hour bus ride back to Praiano.

To be continuted…