Pt2 - 16: SORRENTO, POMPEII, AMALFI I like riding trains. They’re the only form of public transport which takes you behind the film set fa รง ades and right into people’s backyards, a voyeur’s view of local life. As the 9:20 for Naples trundled out of Roma Termini, past the apartment blocks and on through the suburbs, a glimpse into the tiny yards told you who lived where; from the disorder of young families strewn with swings and scooters and bicycles to the manicured plots of more organised residents to the productive patches of urban market gardeners, some with modest outdoor settings where there was just enough space; clotheslines hung with overalls, sheets, shirts, skirts and knickers. Were it not for the pocket-sized blocks and the signs in Italian we could’ve been in suburban Melbourne. Once beyond the urban sprawl the train gathered speed and raced through rolling green farmlands dotted with large hay rolls and flocks of sheep and embroidered with red tissue-pa...
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