The first thing that strikes visitors to the Neapolitan Riviera is not the beautiful scenery, the rich history, or the laid back Italian lifestyle, but, on seeking essential post-aviation relief, one is met by cold, hard, naked porcelain. This is the first hint of the fact that toilet seats seem to be an anathema to most Italian establishments.
The coach journey along the Sorrento peninsula gives the first glimpse of the breathtaking views that will become the backdrop for the next fortnight. Vesuvius looms, deceptively benign in the background, and the clear blue sea laps the the cliffs invitingly. Arrival at Hotel Delfino elicits an involuntary 'wow', as one takes in the sheltered private cove and stunning views of Capri across the bay. The hotel bathroom is probably the second experience of the hygiene facilities after the airport, so, on finding a seat one is not yet aware that going cold is the norm. Presence of a seat does not, however, equate to full functionality, and, by the end of the two weeks, the sideways slide on settling in order to effect correct alignment of aperture and bowl has been perfected.
Sorrento itself is lacking in public facilities, and one is obliged to visit one of the many bars or restaurants to answer nature's call. This leads to a somewhat perpetual of cycle of buying a drink to have a pee, leading to further requirement to pee and therefore another drink. The cleanliness of the facilities varies enormously, but the trendy Fauno bar in the main square has clean and spacious cubicles with a well stocked hand washing area. Being clean, one dares risk actually perching oneself on the gleaming rim exposed by the missing seat - useful if one wishes to spend more than a quick penny. The Lanterna pizzeria is also worth a visit - the high-tech no-hands WC boasts a self raising horse-shoe shaped seat reminiscent of primary school toilets. On completion of ones business, one stands up whilst the seat slowly self raises, triggering the automatic flush. An investigation then inevitably follows as the causative mechanism linking seat and flush is identified, thereby resulting in a second flush ensuring complete removal of any residual waste. Beware - it doesn't always follow that the nicest restaurants have the best facilities - the vast 'O Parrucchiano - famed for the invention of cannelloni and divided into beautiful garden terrace rooms sheltered by lemon trees and grape vines - have but one tiny, seatless lavatory for their entire clientele.
Out and about, you'll inevitably end up following the 'toilette' sign at the foot of Vesuvius. If you visit it before your climb, you will need to be desperate to repeat the experience afterwards. Unfortunately, the 20 minute walk up (and back down) a steep path to the summit of the crater in 39 degree heat necessitates the glugging of large quantities of rehydrating fluids, so the return visit is almost inevitable. Follow your nose through the shop to find the unisex facility. As one approaches the front of the queue, a grim lady appears and demands your 50c (apparently the 'going' rate in Italy) before issuing you with a single sheet of paper. Using the toilet requires the hover technique combined with breath-holding, before emerging, gasping, in search of a sink. On discovering it round the corner, there is no indication of how to make the tap work until eventually you spot a floor pump, but any amount of desperate pumping refuses to produce even a trickle of water to rinse the experience away. Squeezing back past the rest of the queue, you feel compelled to offer the advice "I wouldn't bother, if I were you", but they inevitably do bother, and wish they hadn't.
Pompeii is better equipped. Roman Pompeians introduced stepping stones across the road to keep their feet out of the effluent when crossing the street and recycled their urine to use as bleach in the laundry, but fortunately 21st century Pompeii has more conventional waste disposal systems in place (although the stepping stones might have been a good idea at Vesuvius).
Capri is best known as a playground for the rich and famous. Arriving by boat at the Marina Grande, one has to descend steps to find the underground toilet facilities. The standard rate of 50c applies, which, compared to the 8 euros required for a coca-cola at one of the harbourside bars, starts to seem cheap. Presumably the rich and famous don't have such dilemmas. Mercifully a funicular is provided in order to ascend to Capri centre, where one can find arguably the smartest facilities in the area, fully equipped with seats, locks, paper and large wash basins, in the pizzeria.
Continuing round the coast, one gets to the pretty town of Amalfi. A narrow street lined with purveyors of designer chic, tourist tat and ice-cream parlours leads to a square featuring a fountain dispensing drinkable water through the breasts of a statue, flanked by the cathedral on the left and cafes and bars on the right. The public lavatories are found by the harbour, and seem to think their choice coastal location demands premium rates, as spending a penny here will cost you an extortionate 1 euro. A sullen attendant takes your money, and points to the list of 'extras' which you can, if you choose, purchase. For an extra euro, once can purchase an item described as 'seat'. I couldn't imagine that this seat would be firmly and securely attached, so passed and did the now well practiced two inch hover.
After that, it's onto Ravello which is a beautiful little town, hanging on the face of the cliff between sky and sea, looking down on its busier cousin of Amalfi. The 50c charge (and lack of toilet seat) is now expected, but you won't find a disinterested, bored attendant here. A wizened elderly gentlemen greets you with "Good afternoon" in impeccable English, and shows you to your cubicle chivalrously holding the door open for you whilst you enter. On exiting, he is ready and waiting with J-cloth and squirty spray to ensure that his facilities are fresh and clean for the next lucky customer.
A nice way to conclude a visit to the area is with an evening at the 'Sorrento musical', 75 minutes of song and dance, telling a story of love and romance, and featuring 'O sole mio', more commonly known as the cornetto song. The free pre-show terrace bar ensures that by the finale one is ready to use the facilities. Somewhat bizarrely, the toilets here are housed in spacious cubicles featuring not just the (seatless) pan, but a bidet too. Should you feel the urge for a post-performance squirt up the jacksy, the Teatro Tasso is the place to go.
Sorrento is a beautiful place. A toilet seat import business would make a great Plan B.
The coach journey along the Sorrento peninsula gives the first glimpse of the breathtaking views that will become the backdrop for the next fortnight. Vesuvius looms, deceptively benign in the background, and the clear blue sea laps the the cliffs invitingly. Arrival at Hotel Delfino elicits an involuntary 'wow', as one takes in the sheltered private cove and stunning views of Capri across the bay. The hotel bathroom is probably the second experience of the hygiene facilities after the airport, so, on finding a seat one is not yet aware that going cold is the norm. Presence of a seat does not, however, equate to full functionality, and, by the end of the two weeks, the sideways slide on settling in order to effect correct alignment of aperture and bowl has been perfected.
Sorrento itself is lacking in public facilities, and one is obliged to visit one of the many bars or restaurants to answer nature's call. This leads to a somewhat perpetual of cycle of buying a drink to have a pee, leading to further requirement to pee and therefore another drink. The cleanliness of the facilities varies enormously, but the trendy Fauno bar in the main square has clean and spacious cubicles with a well stocked hand washing area. Being clean, one dares risk actually perching oneself on the gleaming rim exposed by the missing seat - useful if one wishes to spend more than a quick penny. The Lanterna pizzeria is also worth a visit - the high-tech no-hands WC boasts a self raising horse-shoe shaped seat reminiscent of primary school toilets. On completion of ones business, one stands up whilst the seat slowly self raises, triggering the automatic flush. An investigation then inevitably follows as the causative mechanism linking seat and flush is identified, thereby resulting in a second flush ensuring complete removal of any residual waste. Beware - it doesn't always follow that the nicest restaurants have the best facilities - the vast 'O Parrucchiano - famed for the invention of cannelloni and divided into beautiful garden terrace rooms sheltered by lemon trees and grape vines - have but one tiny, seatless lavatory for their entire clientele.
Out and about, you'll inevitably end up following the 'toilette' sign at the foot of Vesuvius. If you visit it before your climb, you will need to be desperate to repeat the experience afterwards. Unfortunately, the 20 minute walk up (and back down) a steep path to the summit of the crater in 39 degree heat necessitates the glugging of large quantities of rehydrating fluids, so the return visit is almost inevitable. Follow your nose through the shop to find the unisex facility. As one approaches the front of the queue, a grim lady appears and demands your 50c (apparently the 'going' rate in Italy) before issuing you with a single sheet of paper. Using the toilet requires the hover technique combined with breath-holding, before emerging, gasping, in search of a sink. On discovering it round the corner, there is no indication of how to make the tap work until eventually you spot a floor pump, but any amount of desperate pumping refuses to produce even a trickle of water to rinse the experience away. Squeezing back past the rest of the queue, you feel compelled to offer the advice "I wouldn't bother, if I were you", but they inevitably do bother, and wish they hadn't.
Pompeii is better equipped. Roman Pompeians introduced stepping stones across the road to keep their feet out of the effluent when crossing the street and recycled their urine to use as bleach in the laundry, but fortunately 21st century Pompeii has more conventional waste disposal systems in place (although the stepping stones might have been a good idea at Vesuvius).
Capri is best known as a playground for the rich and famous. Arriving by boat at the Marina Grande, one has to descend steps to find the underground toilet facilities. The standard rate of 50c applies, which, compared to the 8 euros required for a coca-cola at one of the harbourside bars, starts to seem cheap. Presumably the rich and famous don't have such dilemmas. Mercifully a funicular is provided in order to ascend to Capri centre, where one can find arguably the smartest facilities in the area, fully equipped with seats, locks, paper and large wash basins, in the pizzeria.
Continuing round the coast, one gets to the pretty town of Amalfi. A narrow street lined with purveyors of designer chic, tourist tat and ice-cream parlours leads to a square featuring a fountain dispensing drinkable water through the breasts of a statue, flanked by the cathedral on the left and cafes and bars on the right. The public lavatories are found by the harbour, and seem to think their choice coastal location demands premium rates, as spending a penny here will cost you an extortionate 1 euro. A sullen attendant takes your money, and points to the list of 'extras' which you can, if you choose, purchase. For an extra euro, once can purchase an item described as 'seat'. I couldn't imagine that this seat would be firmly and securely attached, so passed and did the now well practiced two inch hover.
After that, it's onto Ravello which is a beautiful little town, hanging on the face of the cliff between sky and sea, looking down on its busier cousin of Amalfi. The 50c charge (and lack of toilet seat) is now expected, but you won't find a disinterested, bored attendant here. A wizened elderly gentlemen greets you with "Good afternoon" in impeccable English, and shows you to your cubicle chivalrously holding the door open for you whilst you enter. On exiting, he is ready and waiting with J-cloth and squirty spray to ensure that his facilities are fresh and clean for the next lucky customer.
A nice way to conclude a visit to the area is with an evening at the 'Sorrento musical', 75 minutes of song and dance, telling a story of love and romance, and featuring 'O sole mio', more commonly known as the cornetto song. The free pre-show terrace bar ensures that by the finale one is ready to use the facilities. Somewhat bizarrely, the toilets here are housed in spacious cubicles featuring not just the (seatless) pan, but a bidet too. Should you feel the urge for a post-performance squirt up the jacksy, the Teatro Tasso is the place to go.
Sorrento is a beautiful place. A toilet seat import business would make a great Plan B.
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