A Watch, a Whisper of Volcanoes, and the Amalfi Coast Magic 

I’m Eve - and as the PR and Partnerships Manager at Macs Adventure, I spend a lot of my time talking about beautiful places, unforgettable experiences, and the kind of trips that stay with you long after you’ve unpacked your suitcase. 

But every so often, I get to stop talking about them… and actually go and live them. 

And honestly? The Amalfi Coast is one of those places I’ll never stop thinking about. 

Some destinations don’t just stay in your memory - they settle into you. Like they’ve left a little imprint behind. Even now, I can still picture the pastel villages clinging to cliffs, smell lemon blossoms drifting on the breeze, and hear the soft hum of life coming from cafés tucked into sunlit squares. 

And while the Amalfi Coast is full of postcard-perfect moments, there’s one day in particular that stands out to me - not just because of the views (although they were unreal), but because of a quiet, emotional encounter that reminded me how travel has this strange way of putting you exactly where you need to be. 

It happened on the Path of the Gods (ironic, I know!). 

The Path of the Gods and the Man Named Pascal 

It was day four of our trip - you know when you’ve settled into the rhythm of walking, eating, admiring the view, and repeating the phrase “this can’t possibly get any prettier” about ten times a day. 

Joana and I set off early that morning. We were doing the Path of the Gods - Il Sentiero degli Dei - one of the most well-known hiking trails on the Amalfi Coast. And it earns its reputation. It really does. 

The trail clings to the mountainside like it was carved there by some ancient hand, and the views stretch out forever - cliffs, sea, little villages clinging to the slopes like they’re holding on for dear life. 

And then we met him. An older man, hiking alone. He was retired, Italian, and clearly the type who stayed active because he genuinely loved it. Not for fitness trends or step counters - just for the joy of walking through the world. 

We started chatting in that awkward-but-lovely way you do when you don’t share a fluent language, but you’re both determined to make it work. 

His name was Pascal. He didn’t speak great English, and my Italian was basically limited to ciao, grazie, and the names of pasta shapes. But somehow, we managed. Between smiles, hand gestures, the odd word we understood, and the occasional rescue mission from Google Translate, we actually got on really well. Joana, being Portuguese, helped too, as some words overlapped. It felt natural walking with him. Like we’d all agreed, silently, that this trail was better shared. 

A Trail Full of Wild Herbs, Rock Roses, and Lemon-Scented Air 

As we walked, Pascal pointed out things along the way, like a walking Amalfi Coast guidebook. 

The Path of the Gods isn’t just rock and views - it’s alive with plants. 

Wild rosemary grows along the edges, and when your boots brush past it, it releases this sharp, clean scent into the air. There’s thyme too, and sage, and these little tough shrubs that somehow survive on cliff edges like they’re defying the laws of nature. 

Every now and then, we passed bursts of colour - pink rock roses, yellow broom flowers, and prickly pear cactus standing proudly as if they belonged in a Western movie instead of Italy. 

And then of course… the lemon trees lower down in the terraces, because Amalfi lemons are basically their own celebrity. 

The whole trail smelled like warm stone, sun, and herbs. 

It was one of those walks where you feel like you’re not just seeing the landscape - you’re inside it. 

The Rocks of Vesuvius: A Volcano’s Long Shadow 

At one point, Pascal crouched down and picked up a rock - pale and rough, almost like hardened foam. A rock I might have kicked nonchalantly as I ambled by.  

But these weren’t normal stones at all. Pascal told us that it’s said they came from Mount Vesuvius, carried across the region after its most famous eruption in 79 AD - the one that buried Pompeii and Herculaneum under ash and pumice. They were surprisingly light, almost like they wanted to float away. 

We left the volcanic stones where they belonged, but the thought stayed with me. That we were walking on a trail shaped not just by time, but potentially by catastrophe and survival. It made everything feel deeper somehow. 

The Moment the Watch Fell 

We’d been walking behind Pascal for a while, him leading the way like he’d done this hike a hundred times. With him in our company, there was no need to check the Macs app – but I did anyway. The trail was quiet, as if it were the first time it was being discovered. Because we’d started early, there was no crowd. No hikers passing. No chatter. Just footsteps, wind, and the occasional distant bird call. Then I saw it. Something slipped from Pascal’s bag. 

At first, it was just a flash - a glint of metal - and then it dropped, bounced once, and rolled down into a ditch at the side of the path. Straight into the bushes. 

I stopped immediately, then jogged over before it disappeared completely. It had fallen into this mess of scrub and branches, the kind of place where something small could vanish forever. And there it was. A watch. 

I reached down and grabbed it quickly, scratching my arm slightly as I pushed through the bush. Then I shouted to Pascal and hurried to catch up. “You dropped this!” I called out, holding it up. He turned around, and the second he saw it, his entire face changed. He took the watch from my hand and began to cry. 

Joana and I froze. We didn’t know what to do at first, and I felt this rush of panic. But then, through broken English and gestures, Pascal explained. The watch had belonged to his son. His son had passed away a couple of years earlier. And this watch was one of the only things he had left. 

I felt my chest tighten instantly. The kind of feeling you get when someone’s grief suddenly becomes real right in front of you, like you’ve stepped into the middle of a story that didn’t start with you - but now you’re part of it. 

And the strangest thing was… if I hadn’t seen it fall, there is absolutely no way he would have found it again. Talk about right place, right time. A completely serendipitous moment - the kind that feels too perfectly timed to be random. 

Pascal held the watch as if it were fragile glass. Like it was a living thing. And honestly… in a way, it was. 

Walking On, With Capri Fading in and Out of the Mist 

After securing his most treasured possession, we carried on walking together. The mood changed, but not in a bad way. It became quieter. Softer. Like all three of us were suddenly more aware of how precious life was. 

Pascal pointed across the water at one stage, gesturing toward the horizon. Capri. At first, I couldn’t even see it properly. It was faint, misty, almost imaginary - appearing and disappearing through the haze like it was playing hide and seek. But then it came into view again, like a secret being revealed. We explored the idyllic island on the final day of the trip. From the Roman ruins of Villa Jovis, Emperor Tiberius’s villa, to the Convent of San Giacomo, the tiny island has a lot to offer!

The sea below looked endless, glittering in the distance. Boats were tiny specks, and the villages clung to the cliffs so dramatically that it was hard to believe anyone lived there without nerves of steel. And Pascal just kept walking, steady and calm, through his natural habitat. He was our trail companion. A local stranger who turned into a storyteller, and for a short while… a friend. 

This is Where We Say Goodbye 

After about two hours, we reached a fork in the trail. 

Pascal wasn’t following the same route we were. He wasn’t on a Macs Adventure trip, so he had his own plans and his own path. 

We stood there for a moment, saying goodbye. It felt surprisingly emotional for someone we’d only known for a couple of hours. 

But I think that’s the thing about walking with someone - you share silence, effort, views, and moments. It bonds you faster than a normal conversation ever could. 

He thanked us again, patting his pocket as though double-checking it was still there. I whipped out the Macs app to get us on our way again, and then, with a final smile and a nod, he went his way. And we went ours. 

The Amalfi Coast’s Quiet Kindness 

When I think back on the Amalfi Coast, I don’t just remember the cliffs or Capri shimmering in the distance. I remember Pascal. I remember a watch falling into bushes and somehow not being lost. I remember the way his face crumpled when he held that small piece of his son’s memory again. And I remember how travel can feel magical, not because it’s glamorous or perfect, but because it puts you in the path of unexpected human moments. 

The Amalfi Coast is famous for its beauty, yes. But for me, the real magic was something quieter. A peaceful trail. A stranger walking alone. A sentimental watch. And the feeling that sometimes, for reasons we don’t understand, we end up exactly where we’re meant to be.  

And honestly? That’s the kind of souvenir you don’t need to pack in your suitcase.