Amalfi Coast: Private Day Trip from Sorrento with Stops

4.96

(126 reviews)

What’s the experience like?

The van pulled up right outside our place in Sorrento—no hunting for taxis or dragging bags down the street, which I appreciated more than I’d expected. Our driver, Antonio, greeted us like we were old friends (he even remembered my name by the second stop). The road started winding almost immediately, and I kept catching whiffs of lemon groves through the open window. Antonio pointed out a little fishing village clinging to the cliffs—I can’t remember the name now, but he said his uncle used to row out at dawn for anchovies there. The drive itself was half the fun, honestly.

First stop: Positano. We actually drove right into town—Antonio joked that most tours drop you off “where your calves become steel,” but not today. The streets were narrow and busy with locals carrying crates of tomatoes and linen shops opening up for the morning. I wandered down past a church where someone was singing inside (couldn’t see them, just heard it echoing). By the time I reached the beach, my shirt stuck to my back and all I wanted was a cold espresso. Sat by the sea watching people take selfies with those magenta flowers everywhere—felt like everyone was moving slow on purpose.

After Positano, we wound along cliff roads to Amalfi. It’s busier there—kids chasing pigeons in the piazza and tourists lining up for gelato under striped umbrellas. The cathedral steps looked steeper than they are (I counted 62), and inside it smelled faintly of incense and stone dust. There’s this cloister next door where you can hear your own footsteps echo; kind of peaceful after all the bustle outside.

Ravello came last. It’s quieter—almost sleepy compared to Amalfi—and cooler too, maybe because it sits higher up. We wandered through Villa Rufolo’s gardens; you get these views over terraced hills that don’t really fit into a photo no matter how hard you try. I sat on a low wall sipping lemon soda while our group tried (and failed) to pronounce “sfusato amalfitano”—Li laughed when I tried to say it in Italian, probably butchered it. On the way back to Sorrento, Antonio played old Neapolitan songs and told us about his grandmother’s wedding in Ravello ages ago. I still think about that view from up there sometimes—you know how some places just stick with you?