🍋 Episode 3: Sorrento Alleyways, Gelato Crossroads & Jorit’s Human Tribe

🍋 Episode 3: Sorrento Alleyways, Gelato Crossroads & Jorit’s Human Tribe

The short Circumvesuviana train ride from Vico Equense into Sorrento is the ultimate local commuter portal… well, I think it is, although I’m sure there are people the world over who would strongly disagree with me… especially Neapolitans. 

It is sweaty, metallic, and rattles along tracks that cut straight through lemon groves, tunnels, and cliffside rock faces. The long, winding tunnels literally feel like some sort of rudimentary teleportation device. You enter in one town and pop out in another, that is right up until the carriage leaves the shade and starts baking in the sun for the rest of the journey.

I genuinely love the Circumvesuviana. It is very… quirky, I guess you’d say, but it really is an absolute world unto itself.

For all its reputation for having no air conditioning, graffiti covering every available surface, unpredictable delays, and buskers hopping on to play accordion in the hope of some spare change, it is the arterial pulse of the Bay of Naples… Too cheesy? Well… it’s no worse than the trains back at home really.

One minute you can be underground in a dark tunnel and the next minute, you emerge into the blinding Mediterranean sun, rattling along the base of Vesuvius, passing ancient Roman ruins at Herculaneum and Pompeii. Yes, you can actually see some of the ruins as you approach, cutting through lemon groves and hugging cliff edges over the sea. It is where tourists with suitcases, local commuters, nonnas carrying shopping bags, and street musicians all get crammed into one retro 1970s carriage.

Despite everything, for a few euros, it connects Naples all the way down to Sorrento faster and cheaper than any coastal road traffic ever could… One pound and fifty seven pence is what it cost me for a return journey yesterday… you’ve not read that wrong. Of course, using the Circumvesuviana also saves the miles on my Ferrari.

When you step off the train at Sorrento station, most of the crowd instinctively heads down the steps in front of the station itself, onto the main road leading towards the centre or the main square.

But if you come out and turn left from the station instead, stepping away from everyone else, you walk straight into something that I think is rather special… and, it is still going in the same direction as everyone else, it’s no longer or shorter.

Jorit Agoch’s monumental mural of the legendary Italian singer songwriter Lucio Dalla is there, heck, he’s staring at you, right in the eyes.

I have been a fan of Jorit’s work for a few years now, since seeing one of his works in Napoli, so when I realised that this was here, it immediately went onto the Sorrento bucket list… I visited it not long afterwards. I love the way his work sits somewhere between classical portraiture and graffiti… Yes, I can appreciate some graffiti. They are enormous, with stupidly detailed faces, but they’re still just painted onto buildings, amongst the scooters, shops and general chaos of the Neapolitan streets they watch over.

It was right here in Sorrento that Dalla sat in a hotel room overlooking the bay and wrote “Caruso”, one of the most emotional and world famous Italian songs ever written, honouring the legendary opera singer who spent his final days in town.

If you follow me on Instagram, you might have heard it playing over a short timelapse I did of the sun setting over Vesuvius recently.

Caruso, the song, not the man, is one of those songs that sounds beautiful even if you don’t understand a word of Italian. After I first heard it, I got a bit obsessed with it and listened to it on repeat for some time to try and learn it a bit. Once you know what the song is actually about though, it sort of gets you a little bit differently. Dalla wrote Caruso, the song, not… ahhh… I didn’t need to say that there… as an imagined final chapter in the life of Enrico Caruso, who was seriously ill and staying in Sorrento near the end of his life, somewhere around 1921. It isn’t really a factual retelling of what happened, but a romanticised story of a man looking back over love, regret, and the life that he has lived, knowing that his time is running out.

There is something quite poignant about that whole story, Jorit, Dalla, Caruso, when you are standing here, looking at the painting, with the song in your head.

A few minutes later, you’re looking out over the same bay, surrounded by the same cliffs and the same ridiculous Mediterranean sunshine, whilst listening to a song about someone nearing the end of his life. And I suppose that fits quite ‘nicely’ with the last couple of episodes of this… whatever it is..

I know I’ve said it before, and, I think I’ll probably say it again if I’m honest, but there is something about travelling that makes you think about time, it puts things into little pockets, that’s how I like to describe it… to myself… I wouldn’t really have this sort of conversation with anyone, but I’m sure you get what I mean.

Standing at the station exit, looking up at Dalla’s weathered face, framed by those signature red stripes, is the ultimate alternative welcome to Sorrento.Places stay where they are, people move on, memories get attached to them and, eventually, you’re looking back at somewhere you once stood rather than actually standing there.

Maybe that’s why certain places keep pulling us back. You don’t just remember the view, you remember the little things that no one else saw or felt. You remember who you were with, what was happening at the time and how it felt to be there. And before you know it, we’re too old and frail, all we have is the memory, the chances of getting back there are diminished… sometimes… we may not be lucky enough to even have the memory… but… those memories that were shared will be with someone else and I’m sure that those memories will be treasured even more… wow… that took a turn didn’t it…

Anyway… I have got a gelato to find.

But before that, because I have now spent far too long staring at this mural and rambling on to you about it, I should probably explain a little more about Jorit.

There is something about Jorit’s work that stops you in your tracks, or at least I think there is.

Jorit was born in Naples, his dad was Neapolitan and his mum was Dutch. He trained at the Naples Academy of Fine Arts and somehow manages to merge classical Italian technique with raw street graffiti. He operates like a modern day Caravaggio, but instead of painting idealised faces, he uses real people.

When he painted a massive fifteen metre mural of San Gennaro, the patron saint of Naples, in the historic centre, he didn’t invent some divine face. He painted a real local bloke, a mate of his, a 35 year old factory worker. Then there are the two red stripes across the cheeks, this is his signature mark and is inspired by ancient initiation rituals, Jorit calls it the “Human Tribe”. I guess that it is his way of saying that no matter who you are, where you’re from, or what you do, we are all part of the same human family.

If you get up close with a long camera lens before the final layers go down, you will even catch hidden text, lyrics, and quotes painted into the base layer… which is something else entirely, the dedication, the meaning, the heart and soul going into it. Hidden underneath the shading on Dalla’s face in Sorrento are the lines to his 1986 anti war song “Se io fossi un angelo”, or “If I Were an Angel”.

Standing there looking up at those piercing eyes and red tribal marks, you realise that it’s not just street art, it’s an an open air gallery for everyone, right where it belongs on the street, for everyone to see.

From the Dalla painting, navigating to Sorrento’s historic core means ducking into a maze of narrow vicoli, or alleyways, that follow the ancient Roman grid system… they lived round here too you know.

Perched on sheer tuff stone cliffs rising straight out of the sea, these shadowy lanes offer some sweet relief from the Mediterranean sun. They are filled with the aroma of wood fired ovens, leather craft, and fresh lemon peel and the occasional toot from the horn of a scooter. Eventually, though, every walk through town requires a gelato pitstop…Obviously!

I have two go to spots depending on the route I have taken. Whilst I’m staying here, I will probably visit both anyway.

The first is I Giardini di Cataldo. It is tucked away just two minutes off the main strip, away from the immediate tourist hustle and bustle. If I’m walking into the main area from the outer edge of town, I’ll pass right by it.

It is a serene little haven set right against an active lemon grove, and it somehow manages to feel removed from the chaos despite being so close to the main part of Sorrento.

It’s one of those places where you can sit down with a gelato and suddenly realise you’ve been there far longer than you intended. Not that I’m complaining; it’s usually really cool in there.

The second place is Gelateria Zini II Gelato Artigianale. It is deep in the narrow alleyways and holds a bit more of a memory for me. A couple of years ago, during a quiet out of season visit, we stood inside chatting with the woman behind the counter whilst watching the master gelataio craft fresh batches through the small glass viewing windows in the back room. In more recent visits, the ritual has evolved slightly.

Now, we take a minute and sit on their slightly elevated chairs just across the narrow alley, enjoying a cup of gelato in the cool shade while watching the world drift past down the cobblestone street.

It’s funny what you remember from travelling. Sometimes it’s the big stuff, the famous views, the landmarks, the things you have travelled halfway across Europe to see. And sometimes it’s sitting on a little chair in a narrow alley, eating gelato and watching people walk past. Those are probably the memories that stick around the longest.

A bit of art, a walk through history, a song about love and mortality, and two exceptional gelato stops….

Today’s spot  was the second choice… complete with our own gelato spoons again. It was so good.

Sorrento never misses.