The Amalfi Coast, after the daytrippers leave
The Amalfi Coast is vertical. Everything is up a staircase or down one, and the sea is always somewhere below, sometimes invisible in the haze. I walked the Path of the Gods at dawn, alone except for a goat with better balance than mine, and took the morning boat from Positano to Amalfi with my camera wrapped in a sweater against the spray.
Positano at nine is still pastel and polite. By noon it belongs to the tour boats. So I spent the middle of the day in the lemon terraces, and the evenings in Ravello, where the candles take over at a quarter to nine and the red mullet arrives as the sea goes dark. Two fingers of limoncello, a terrace, nobody left but the locals. That is the coast I came for.

№ 127 · 20 July 2026

№ 128 · 20 July 2026

№ 129 · 21 July 2026

№ 130 · 21 July 2026

№ 131 · 22 July 2026

№ 132 · 22 July 2026

№ 133 · 23 July 2026

№ 134 · 23 July 2026

№ 135 · 24 July 2026

№ 136 · 24 July 2026
"One frame a day, from wherever I wake up. The rest of the roll lives on Instagram."
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