South of the Amalfi Coast is a rugged wonderland of quiet paths through chestnut woods and vineyards. It’s all perfect for contemplating ancient yarns, spotting wildlife and enjoying local fare

In the silence of the chestnut woods, rays of sunlight ignite the patches of pink cyclamen and crocus. There are fungi of various kinds dotted around, including one that is a perfect sphere of bright orange pushing its way up out of earth. I sit on a rock and after a while I hear a gentle grunting noise, the sort of contented chunter made by a snorer having a light snooze. It’s not me. A pair of wild boar are approaching, moving through the shadows, noses down, short tails flicking continuously. It’s a mother and baby, so close I can see the dust on their backs. I move my hand towards the camera, but wily Old Ma spots the movement and they take off at a blistering pace, charging downhill, bristling with indignation.

I continue walking uphill, and after a mile or so stop at a paw print in a patch of mud. Large dog or wolf? There are no human boot marks that might accompany a canine. Nor is there anyone around to ask. Eventually, I reach a viewpoint on top of Monte Stella, the highest summit for many miles at 1,131 metres. Out west is the dark surface of the Tyrrhenian Sea where Odysseus reputedly battled his way home from Troy, narrowly surviving temptation by the dreaded Sirens at an island, Isola Licosa, just hidden from my view by the curve of the coastline. I can see as far as the distant ragged peninsula of Amalfi on the northern horizon but there are no ships in sight. I am alone.