Bed & Breakfast Il Nespolo - Furore Costa d'Amalfi -

 

Terra Furoris, meaning land of fury, is the ancient name of the town and originated from the fury of the sea water inside the fjord. Following the winding hilly road that cuts through the green countryside betwen Amalfi and Agerola you reach Furore "the town that doesn't exist". In fact, rather than a town, it is a collection of scattered hamlets, where the houses are not next to each other but sprout from ridges of rock. The hamlet of the fjord, is at the foot of the cliff, on the coast road between Amalfi and Positano. Furore is a wishing well of mythical desires, a breath of a civilization on the edge of a cliff leaning over the sea.

Historic buildings of merit can be visited; there are two mills and two paper factories, interesting examples of industrial archaeology that utilised the driving force of water. Next to this area are the "monazzeni", old fishing gear stores. The beach wedged in the deep inlet of the fjord has been used for centuries as a landing place for boats. The fishermen's village after a long decline is now completely restored. Singular is the open air art gallery which consists of over 100 "muri d'autore' wall murals and sculptures which make Furore the painted town which expresses itself in this way.

The churches are also of architectural interest: the four churches of San Giacomo, S. Elia, S. Michelel and S. Maria, with their majolica cupolas and steeples and frescoes such as the cycle of interesting ones by the school of Giotto, which recently came to light in S. Giacomo.

But the environment is the main attraction of this 'town-not-a-town' framed by magnificent views of olive trees, vineyards terraced on the profile of the mountains, lemon pergolas with nets stretched on stakes, the red roofs and coloured tiles of small belfries, colourful wild flowers of briers, and the ever present blue sea-blue below. The panorama of the place is reassumed in the rough walls burnt by the sun, the tall grasses of wild fields, the beached boats, the hairpin bends of the road: all reference points of a landscape saved from the abandonment and returned to live under his own myth.