Hiking the Path of the Gods
The Slow Way from Praiano to Positano
The trail sidled the cliff edge—looking down, cerulean blue swirled. Far below, catamarans carrying a dozen passengers crept along the sea like ants. A brisk wind whipped the ragged grasses as pebbles skittered into the ravine. At one point, I had to shield my vision from the vertigo-inducing drop.
After hundreds of steps and a few surprises, our expedition along the Path of the Gods successfully concluded with a panino and a celebratory limonata at a crowded bus stop in Positano.
But let me take you back to how it started…
Every morning in Praiano began with a caffè on the veranda of the Hotel Margherita’s expansive Villa del Presidente. For our month-long stay, the birds living in the gardened, cliff-bound terrace offered endless entertainment for my family. Doves and wrens frequented the enormous stone pine tree, which grew in twisted defiance from the center of the multi-tiered patio. Over the escarpment, three peregrine falcons vied for control of the rocky outcroppings. That morning was no different.
I sat and watched the horizon blush and the birds in flight.
Praiano is split in two—one side catches the sunrise, and the other catches the sunset. From our vantage point at the hotel’s villa, we had both. To the east, the misty silhouettes of Minori and Maiori. To the west, colorful, glowing Positano with its harbor teeming with yachts and cruise ships.
Positano is easy enough to visit by local bus or boat. We (my husband and I) decided on the hard way: on foot.
The reticent villages of the mountains and seaside towns of the Amalfi Coast are connected by rambling trails. With thighs of steel, the locals run these for fun, bounding up and down breathtaking staircases like it’s nothing. Hundreds of miles of footpaths lace the mountains that separate Amalfi from the sprawl of Naples and Pompeii. Some trails are guidebook-famous like the Path of the Gods. Others you only learn about from a cousin’s neighbor’s uncle. Or your boat guide (see my last post!)
Despite it’s fame, we only encountered a handful of other footsloggers on this famous trail.
By 6:30 AM, we were out the door with a backpack full of snacks and water. From our villa, we scurried to a hand-painted sign pointing upward: Sentiero degli Dei—the Path of the Gods. We began the first chapter of our climb—the stone steps of Praiano.
As we climbed, the town's architecture vanished around us, and we disappeared into a stubborn forest clinging to the rocky slopes. The woods felt alive, dense, even watchful... Or maybe it was a local farmer’s wayfaring goat. Perched on a knoll, it stared us down from a distance.
No wonder there are strong mythos of mermaids and nymphs here. There’s a fabled quality—enchanted, bewitching, and ancient. A spirited nature lingers on the surface as if you could slip into the past and never find your way back. Ruins cling to cliffs, half-swallowed by time. Stone paths disappear into groves that hum with unseen life.
As the stone steps faded into rutted dirt, we had our first glimpses of the coast. Mint and other fragrant herbs and flowers grew in clumps along the steps—perfuming our hike.
With our thighs burning and breathless, we paused at our first plateau; several miles stretched ahead, and we could see them. Hints of the trail whispered through the terrain above and beyond.
The views kept us going, but nothing felt more blissful than the fountain at the junction between the Praiano spur and the main trail from Bomerano to Nocelle. Well, except maybe Ulisse’s House. Part farm, part café, this charmingly ramshackle oasis offered ice-cold granita, beer, fresh juice, and the company of Ulisse’s rotund, weatherworn sheep, dogs, and goats. We reached the checkpoint about an hour after setting off. We paused on a boulder, ate some snacks, and congratulated ourselves for a job well done.
Little did we know what lurked around the bend.
After poking around a toppled stone farmhouse centuries past its prime, we continued on—only to be met with a sudden, daunting drop. The trail wrapped tightly along cliffs and boulders. On one side, I was pressed against the rocky ledge. On the other, nothing but air and the glittering sea far below.
It’s often joked that a stiff wind can take me for a ride, and I’m prone to dizzy spells, so I clutched that stonewall like it was a parachute rip chord.
At one point, we paused to take stock of our wherewithal.
We’re not timid people—or at least, my husband isn’t. I’ll admit… I’m generally terrified as a baseline—but even he was starting to imagine how he’d explain it to my parents or authorities if I disappeared down a chasm—(okay, so we obviously just watched the second season of White Lotus!)
We pushed onward, and the trail opened up. Instead of hugging the open free fall, there was some space between us and certain death. After a while, I forgot to care, and I had to check myself when trying to get the perfect photo. I nearly stepped one too many paces toward the void.
Along the way: periods of stunning views, dense forests, impressive alpine arches, and rolling hills of serene grass. We saw homes and farms up and down of our position, and we pondered (enviously) about their lives.
As we reached Nocelle, the trail became more polished—railings, smoother grading, and signage. After exploring another ancient farmhouse—this one in better shape—we stumbled on a natural spring.
Like a Roman fable, a watery gurgle beckoned us into the lush green depths. There, we found a drowsy waterfall surrounded by hundreds of cairns. We sat in the vernal sanctuary for several cool, refreshing moments, enjoying the shade and mist.
I thought about the millennia of walkers who had paused at this same wellspring and imagined myself among them, sharing a moment untethered from clocks and calendars.
Three hours into our trip, we saw a sign for Grotta degli dei da Gino. Following a short detour, we entered a treehouse-like café with similar fare to Ulisse’s house—but a bit more sophisticated. I had a slice of cake.
From there, it feels like a blur of stairs, twisting turns, and narrow roadways through Nocelle—a cute, charming town cut into the cliffs—and down further to Monteperso. Along the walk, there were several opportunities to hop on a bus, but it was always one step ahead of us or an hour behind. I don’t think we would have jumped on it, I preferred the slow-paced saunter through lesser known places.
It’s tough to get lost along the coast if the ocean is on your left; you’re walking toward Positano. If it’s on your right, you’re going toward Amalfi. But the swirly roads and cliff-riding byways frequented by cars (but not overwhelmingly so) made for a confusing, sometimes nerve-wracking (but no less fun) walk.
Along the way, we made some dog friends who hopped their gates to trot alongside us. I saw an old man peeing between the cars parked along a stretch of residential streets—Ciao, buddy! And we saw several inviting places to stop in for a spritz or espresso.
The thoroughfares looked acrobatic—the way they defied gravity along the gorges.
Finally, we saw a sign for Positano with a little crooked arrow pointed downward—and you know what that means! Stairs, stairs, and more stairs. Hundreds of stone steps wiggled down in maddening switchbacks toward Positano. Round and round we went. I had flashbacks to the dizzying descent from the bell tower at the Vatican.
By noon, we were in the elbow-to-elbow crowds of the iconic city. It was a six-ish hour affair, and I’m still unsure of the exact distance—between 5 and 7 miles—not factoring in the stairs.
Famished (naturally, despite two sandwiches, chips, cookies, and the cake we bought at the treehouse café), we ordered panini from a local shop that didn’t seem too busy. They treated us like royalty as they pulled together fresh bread, cured meats, juicy tomatoes, and a good glug of olive oil. We drank beers and limonata, and ate our panini on a bench near the bus stop. The swarmed stop was clotted with crowds, but only a few of us hopped on the local bus to Praiano; after a breakneck ride, we dismounted out at the stop near our villa.
Back at the villa, we settled in a shaded spot on the veranda for the free evening show—sunset with falcons and sporadic fireworks in the dusky distance. With whatever was cold in the fridge, we toasted to the Path of the Gods and our sore calves!
