New approach to Capri and the Amalfi Coast

During a dozen visits to the isle of Capri and the Amalfi Coast in the late 1970s, one thought kept coming back to me: "I cannot wait to share this place with my soulmate-to-be."

By the time I got back — with my wife of many years — my favorite $11-a-night pension was a Prada store. My charming trattoria had devolved into a tourist trap. The once-quaint piazzas and cobblestoned byways of Capri, Amalfi and Ravello were swamped with sightseers, even in mid-October.

Still, we had the trip of a lifetime. All it took was legwork, figuratively in planning and literally in practice. A lot of research and a bit of hoofing went a long way — all the way, as it turned out, to Paradise.

"This is soooo beautiful," said my wife, Sandy, more than once on the island and the mainland, "and yet so quaint."

It helped that we were able to get far from the crowds in front of Amalfi's striking Duomo and along Rodeo Drive-like pockets of Capri. It helped that we skipped the chichi shops that distract so many in the place that Russian writer Ivan Turgenev called "a virtual temple to the goddess of Nature, wthe incarnation of beauty." Mostly, it helped that we sussed out lodging, restaurants and sights in which we could immerse ourselves in la dolce vita at reasonable prices.

Blessedly, many of the best things in Mediterranean life are free: the long walks, those forever views, that ramshackle roving band on the streets of Amalfi playing the theme from "The Godfather."

One midday, we headed out from Anacapri, the island's upper town, on a paved path called Via Miglieri. Over the next 40 minutes, as we ambled along the slopes of Monte Solaro, Capri's highest point, we were alone, save for a persistent and friendly spaniel. We stopped to glimpse a crumbling cemetery and to gape at steps framed by tropical fauna leading to a fog-shrouded villa. We soaked in the spots where azure skies tumbled into a cerulean sea 1,500 feet below.

Tiny gardens, orchards and vineyards were everywhere; just as ubiquitous were images of the Virgin Mary in ceramic, stone, fresco, majolica, you name it. One house's flat roof provided a platform for a distinctly different theme: porcelain likenesses of Snow White and six of her seven dwarves.

Eventually we reached our destination, the restaurant Da Gelsomina, at 1 p.m. This being Capri, we were the first lunch customers, and grabbed a table with an endless view, starting with the vines that produce the crisp, fruity falanghina that would launch our meal. The white wine provided the perfect accompaniment for my surf-and-turf meal: octopus tenderized by a zesty vinaigrette and fresh pasta with a hearty wild-rabbit sauce.

We walked off our leisurely repast in even more languid fashion, at the nearby Philosophical Park, dotted with majolica tiles bearing often-pithy quotes ("Give us chastity and continence, but not just now," St. Augustine) in three languages.

A few feet away, at the tip of the island, a cliff perched above the sea called the Belvedere Miglieri proffered stunning vistas of the south side of the island. Abrupt limestone cliffs in the foreground framed a distant view of the island's signature rock formations, Il Fariglioni, that jutted from the sea.

This is where Homer's seductive sirens sang to Odysseus and his men. It's easy to see why.

We didn't just happen upon the belvedere or Da Gelsomina. In the months leading up to the trip, we had dug deeply into the Web, exploring digital versions of '70s favorites Fodor's and Frommer's and looking into au courant Trip Advisor and Lonely Planet. Usual favorite Rick Steves, alas, fairly dismissed Capri but proved helpful on the Amalfi Coast. We also consulted friends who had visited in recent years (in our view, the best possible source).

There's a lot to suss out, even on a 5.5-square-mile island and the tiny town of Ravello, our mainland base for the second half of a weeklong trip. Quickly eschewing 1-percenter destinations such as Capri's Hotel Quisisana and Ravello's Belmond Hotel Caruso, we looked for lodging and restaurants that seemed to provide great value.

That's how we found Da Gelsomina as well as the Pulalli Wine Bar, hiding in plain sight two stories above the swank, packed piazza at the heart of Capri town. There we spent two early evenings noshing on scrumptious lemon risotto and sipping refreshing fiano di Avellino, occasionally peeking down at awnings that probably weren't made of spun gold, but looked like they cost as much.

Our pre-trip research also led us to Tosca, a graceful hotel with a gracious host, Ettore Castelli. Our room was comfy-cozy, and Ettore not only served a swell continental breakfast on a panoramic patio but also helped out with all manner of logistics and even exchanged our dollars for euros at the actual rate.

It was how we found the B & B Punta Civita, a slice of Shangri-La halfway up the hill from Amalfi to Ravello. Our pristine room included a large patio that was, for lack of a better word, phantasmagorical. We seemed to be hovering over the Mediterranean 500 feet below, our view framed by blooming bougainvillea, so resplendent that it would have seemed artificial if not for the hummingbird-like moths that fed on the flowers.

During breakfast on the hotel's patio, we noticed the adjacent gardens and groves, where 30 fruits and vegetables grow. Evenings were all about the ocean, glimmering with moonlight and so calm that we could hear the putter-patter of tiny fishing boats 500 feet below.

Also on the advice of friends, we headed to Cumpa Cosimo and its matriarch Netta Buttone, an Italian nonna straight out of Central Casting. She knows a portly pasta lover when she sees one, as she kept bringing dollops of wondrous noodles to our table, gratis.

But it was down in the town of Amalfi that we found the wood-fired pizza and homemade pasta of my 1970s memories at a tiny trattoria recommended by a friend. Getting to Il Teatro through a maze of Moorish alleys and steps was a bit arduous (that literal legwork!) but worth it: incredible homemade bread; cannelloni just like I remembered it, a simple amalgam of pasta, ground meat and light touches of tomato and cheese, every bite a sensuous delight; and pizza with artichokes, mushrooms and some amazing cured-pork morsels. Perfection.

For our homing in on hidden havens, we did not ignore the more renowned destinations.

Capri's Blue Grotto is indeed stunning, if a bit hard to get to; see it as part of a boat ride that circumnavigates the island and provides countless eye-dropping vistas, and bring some Dramamine.

The hike up to Villa Jovis, where Tiberius performed all manner of horrific acts, is well rewarded, although I prefer the chairlift to Monte Solaro at the other end of the island.

Amalfi's Duomo, a mishmash of architectural styles reflecting the area's many conquerors, is packed with incredible artifacts (papal miters, wood carvings of Jesus' last day) and also houses cloisters and the tomb of St. Andrew.

Ravello, every inch of which feels timeless, is bookended by a pair of treasure-laden estates. Villa Rufolo is filled with cloisters, terraces and statuary, ostensibly is home to Richard Wagner's ghost (he set part of "Parsifal" here) and offers a nonpareil ocean view. Villa Cimbrone is even more Old World (although both are well-suited for an era with digital cameras) and meant for strolling and soaking in eye-popping landscapes and edifices.

On our way to Cimbrone one sun-kissed day, we stopped for lunch at Villa Maria, where perfect weather met a perfect setting. It felt like we were in a movie as we traversed the patio to a table overlooking Burrone del Drago (Dragon's Gulch) and the by-now inevitable Mediterranean.

Soon after we had settled into our chairs, I knew from the look in her eyes that Sandy appreciated this piece of Italy as much as I did. The moment I had pined for more than three decades earlier had arrived.

It was worth the wait.

Bill Ward writes about wine for the Star Tribune's Taste section. Follow him on Twitter: @billward4