As everyone in my family will attest to emphatically (often accompanied by an exasperated sigh), whenever I travel I will find someplace (or something) to climb for my daily exercise. My husband used to resignedly accompany me, dubbing San Miniato, high in the hills in Florence, “the patron saint of heart attacks.” He gave up on me once and for all when I marched him up Montjuic in Barcelona, where we proceeded to get hopelessly lost–and perilously close to dehydration and heat stroke.
So today, alone (!), I set off from Ravello to the small town of Minotti down on the Amalfi Coast, figuring the climb back up would be a great workout, an Italian stairmaster if you will. Was it ever. None of these photos are particularly praiseworthy, but periodically stopping to take them may well have prevented me from suffering heat stroke or a heart attack–or both.
