At La Calla Events, when things calm down, we gals dive into juicy books (especially Mrs. Palladino, our resident bookworm). But it’s also the perfect moment to soak in the sweet words from our couples. Picture this: when literature meets love stories, and we receive a soulful journal piece from one of our brides! So sit back, relax, and savor some romantic vibes from the Amalfi Coast.
You first notice the colors. Popping from every corner of the Amalfi Coast, vibrant riggiole let you in on the secrets of each street, the hidden gems eloquently narrated by ornate numbers and ascending vines, ocean waves, terrace domes, and popping flora, never seen with the naked eye but certainly through the fantastical oculus of the artist. Soon, you will be nonchalantly lost in the serpentine labyrinths of giardini, swathed in ascending ivy and geraniums. Just past an age-old paper museum tucked around the bend behind a placid Madoninna figurine, you will get a whiff of the scents.
The higher you venture, the stronger the sillage, part salty, zesty, balmy and seductive like a siren in a fluttering dress, leading you on. Mandarino orchards, watery greens, and large and sweet limones weave their achimia into your intoxicated soul. Then comes the touch, the luster of Moorish terracotta tinging seemingly fatal skies, iron and wood, clay, sand particles, and moss over the marbled doorways.
Here, flavors have a taste of longevity: the glowing tomato, the crisp peperone, the citrusy squash, deep into glistening urchin flesh, Fiano di Avelino eager to unveil fresh dug-out vongole and dance them around strands. Glasses clinking, diners chatting, ah, and that occasional siz… what is that? An old song… Parla Mi D’ Amore, Mariu… Maria, speak to me of Love—two bodies drawing closer on a checkered balcony.
We’ll take to the streets, ascend the Path of Gods, and heights to Sant Eustachio, and be wanderers for days. The soothing light has me lost. I don’t see anything, but I see everything. And I know, I always know, the sea is there. We’re stealing moonglow, but it’s our very own personal larceny. Look at Atrani lulled to sleep. Look at the ring of the moon above the bay. The frescoes in this room seem to dance. Oh, you’ll soon know… that where Love is the word, Love on the Amalfi Coast is its literature.