Waking every morning to the insistent crowings of a raucous rooster, followed by vibrations from the clanging bells of various churches, I would stagger to my cliffside balcony and throw open the shutters to the sparkling surface of the azure Tyrrhenian Sea, already busy with fishing boats, yachts and other craft serenely passing each other. The rising sun outlined the silhouette of silvered mountain peaks to my left tumbling precipitously into the water in a broad swath of lush green. I would have been content just to stay on my balcony in Ravello, watching the passing scene of nature and humanity on the Amalfi Coast, but the archeological tour I had signed up with, would force me to leave my cocoon every day, where I would have been content just to watch the changing colors and play of light on land and water.

The tour was well planned, lasting eight days, traveling to a different site each day, including Pompeii, Herculaneum, Capri and Paestum. The last day left us free to explore Ravello, perched on its mountain top. Although I marveled at the sights of each day’s excursion and soaked in the beauty of the rich treasures of the museums, I always felt rather smug returning to our lodging in Ravello. For me, the icing on the cake was staying in the medieval town, clearly built to be a fortress on a mountain top. The villas and even the old cathedral were built as solid fortresses, with large rough stone blocks, for protection from the Saracen pirates and even from fellow Christians of the maritime republics of Venice and Genoa. Amalfi became a maritime power in its own right and one of the first centers of paper production in Europe. Even the beginning of large scale habitation in the Amalfi started as a place of refuge during the collapse of the old Roman Empire. Patrician families fled the barbarians to build impregnable strongholds on the jutting rocks and steep cliffs over the water, sealed off from the back by a chain of rugged mountains.

Yet now the town evokes a different sense of refuge in a combination of beauty and serenity, which has long made it an artist’s, writer’s and musician’s getaway. There are plaques on buildings commemorating visits by E.M. Forster and Andre Gide. Gore Vidal had a villa in Ravello until just recently. Wagner composed an act of Parsifal at the Villa Rufolo, built in the 13th Century, and Boccaccio himself was a guest there. Down the hill in Amalfi, Ibsen wrote A Doll’s House. To the congnoscenti of English literature, the name Amalfi may sound familiar as the title of Webster’s play, The Duchess of Malfi.

In daytime, one can walk about and get a feel of the medieval architecture, the 11th century cathedral on the Piazza Vescovado with its bronze doors with plaques cast in Constantinople, the gardens at Cimbrone and Rufolo, the shops with colorful faiance ware of local production and the cafes on the plaza. By night music is everywhere as well. In less than a week, I heard three chamber music recitals at the Villa Rufolo, where Wagner wrote the third act of Parsifal. The conductor Leopold Stokowski came to the Villa Cimbone, and a plaque on the wall commemorates a liason there with Greta Garbo.

The notorious Amalfi Drive, with its heartstopping curves only a plunge away from the water below seemed light years away in my quiet perch in the Hotel Graal. My room had a floor to ceiling sliding glass door, with shutters outside opening to a balcony. The hotel was terraced on the slope, with the dining room at the lowest level with an entire wall of floor to ceiling windows overlooking the bay. Going from my room down a long marble corridor, the light from the swimming pool at its end played on the ceiling and walls. Continuing down a spiral staircase I would feel like I was in a cheerful castle with all the modern conveniences.

Dinners were my favorite time of day, with everyone sharing the same table and describing their adventures to each other. As we ate and talked, we could watch the colors outdoors change from twilight to dark and see the reflection of the moon and starlight on the water. Breakfast offered the same view with a visible landscape where only twinkling lights had been the night before. We ate from a set menu of five courses. It may sound like a lot, but the food was served in portions just large enough, so that the meal ended with a feeling of satisfaction and not bloating. Fish from the Mediterranean, fresh local produce and pasta were always featured. Lemons, particularly, could be tasted in many courses, including the pasta and the local gelato. They are the pride and joy of the Amalfi, and are even featured in local colognes such as Acqua di Ravello and liqueurs such as limoncello. We had the same waiter everyday and I tried out my beginner’s Italian on him, encouraged by a dictionary and a Berlitz book I studied before I came over.

Our last free day embodied the spirit of ‘dolce far niente’, the town of Ravello encapsulating all the delights of the trip, visual, auditory, and gustatory. Italy has much natural and man-made beauty, but to go in May when all the colors of the ‘fiori dei campi’ are blooming is a breath taking experience. The weather had been perfect, with crisp sunny days and cool nights for sleeping under blankets with the balcony door wide open. Weeks later I am still savoring the memories of the sights, sounds and tastes of my vacation in Paradise.