Amalfi Coast Summer
Mosque & L’Estate
The heat is coming. The humidity brings the Mosqui, little tiny flies that magnet towards the illuminated lamps of Positano. Restaurants dim their lights, travellers complain about not being able to see their dinner but the waiters respond with the simple word “Mosqui”. You have a choice: you can trust the Chef’s recommendations or turn on your lamp, only to be swarmed in seconds.
I still feel myself itching and finding remains of Mosqui carcasses in my hair. YUCK!
One can say that with the peak of Summer, the heat brings the Mosqui and with them it’s people.
Dozens of people from around the world come on buses, boats and land in Positano. Back packs full to the brim, iPhones tacked on the end of selfie sticks. They come, they see and they conquer until another batch come and do exactly the same. Like a playlist on repeat. I truly wonder what they think of here? Do they come here just to take a photo as evidence of being to Positano?
SNAP! Instagram status lemon emojji, is that it? What they don't receive is an essence of the place. Zooming past everything, missing everything is not embracing La dolce vita, is simply a glaze. They glaze over the town pazza woman who strolls up the Via Mullini mumbling incomprehensible jitter (probably in dialect).
The Nonnas arm in arm led by their faithful furry friend who's tail was cut off in an accident. The latest news news of Positani is shared across the street by two conmesse opposite each other, like a tennis match, they throw their voices across the street when the ball is in their court.
One of the shop keepers always has her Ginseng and Occho di Bue at 7:30 pm, unusual to all the other Positani, but that is because she is not a local, that girl is me.
I could say that I feel like the only Australian here but there are so many of us here who have flocked to the shores of Positano. Some of them wanderers, others oblivious to their surroundings and others who are obnoxious to accept a culture that is different to their own. Sadly sometimes I am embarrassed to be from my motherland after hearing the absurd comments made about a place I now call home.
I wish they could see what I see, but if I was to tell them would they believe me? If I was to tell them would they listen to me? Then sometimes I just sit back, I hold my tongue and say nothing.