Ischia

Last weekend I took a delightful trip with four friends to the island of Ischia, just off the coast of Naples. This involved taking a two hour train to Naples, and then a hydrofoil boat from there to Ischia itself. It was a beautiful and relaxing weekend, and I couldn’t have had better traveling companions.

The train ride to Naples was uneventful, and we had quite a lovely view. On the train each way we experienced the chivalric spirit of the aisle vendors, quite an experience. Cass had one open the W.C. door for her with a bow and a flourish. On the return trip, one of them was wheeling his cart when I was walking down the aisle; so, to clear my path he swerved into a side compartment and greeted my passing, “You are so beautiful!!!” Crazy Italians.

Naples was an experience I’d prefer not to repeat. There I believe my cell phone was stolen, but I didn’t realize this until I got all the way back to Rome. They are good at what they do, that’s for sure. It was disconcerting to see piles of obviously stolen goods for sale at the bus stops, and to have all the decent people constantly warning you to watch your bags. Guards were even posted at the self-service ticket machines. When we arrived a crazy rally was going on, and the city appeared to be pretty much the ugliest and dirtiest city I’ve ever been to. The only redemptive moment was when a very young Italian guy offered me his seat on the bus. Basta Napoli!

After arriving in the small town of Forio on Ischia island, we had to find our hostel. Unforunatly, practically the entire town was closed for pranzo, so we ended up eating at the only open restaurant around, down by the water. We all had pizza and wine. Since it was Friday, we were all trying to figure out which pizzas had meat on them so we could avoid them, but we guessed wrong about the word “cotto,” and Cass’s pizza ended up having meat on it, which she promptly removed. The young waiter was practicing his English on us, and we ended up nicknaming him “cotto” among ourselves because we had had so much trouble with that word there. Cotto told us that Ischia is know for it’s sun, which didn’t end up being out experience.

We were finally able to check into our hostel, but they failed to provide any towels or toilet paper until we asked about them the next morning when we could finally find someone to ask. I still don’t know if they were technically open. After a trip to Di per Di’s, we all gathered on a quilt on the floor and had a grand feast of bread, cheese, pesto, nutella, cookies, tea, and what not. Friends and fellowship, you know. Saturday morning we hit the coast, walking along the shore and let the sea spray sprinkle us with a delightful salty rain. High on the sea battered rocks stood a small white church, and as we approached, a wedding party was arriving. After peaking inside and seeing the statue of Mary crushing the serpent with her heel, holding the child Jesus on one arm, and grasping a club poised to strike the serpent, we saw the bride arrive and process in with her father. Two mongrel dogs who had been our constant companions throughout our wanderings left us here and trotted up to the church to join the wedding.

The refreshing thing about the Ischian people was their delight at seeing American tourists, hardly something one encounters here in Rome. Saturday afternoon we had taken a bus most of the way up the mountain, but since it was pouring like there was no tomorrow, we decided not to get out and hike the rest of the way up, but to catch the next bus going down. At our stop was a small church of San Antonio, where we stopped to make a visit. When Cass and Meghan and I came out, there was a wizened old man with no teeth and knitted cap hanging out of his caffe door, begging us to come in. He asked where we were from, and breathed, “Ohhhh, Americane!” and smiled as if that were something very special. “Cappucino?” “We already had one,” we answered. “Specializze cappuccino!!” he pleaded, “Pannino? Pizza? Ciocolatta?” “Non ho fame…non ho fame.” After asking all our names, he told us that he was “Silvio,” and gave us all candies from his pockets and begged us to stay some more. Finally we told him that we had to go find our friends and escaped across the street. Unfortunately, the only restaurant open for dinner was “cotto’s,” so we went there a second time, and I had some wonderful lasagna.

An interesting thing about Ischia is the German influence. I’m not sure why, but the second language seems to be German instead of English there, and there are many German restaurants and German speaking people all over the place. I’d really like to know how this happened, since it seemed like a random place for Germans to be. I must go to Germany and am trying to make plans for it.

I think that my overall impression of Ischia is that it was…real. I know that sounds obvious, but many famous Italian towns are so touristy that you wonder if anyone actually does any living there anymore. Ischia was beautiful and small like Assisi and Sienna, but very lived in and natural feeling, even though most things were closed for the season. Assisi was so beautiful and idyllic that it was almost fantastic, but Ischia seemed like the real Italian small town. Of course, just being able to walk along the coast and hear the waves crashing on the rocks, to look out and see nothing but deep blue depths made the whole trip worth it. I want to thank the previous CC Rome students who recommended it to us; it certainly was a weekend well spent.

Church of the wedding and "Our Lady of the Club"

Cass and our shaggy friend and tagalong.

Amy and the the "deep sea swell."

Coastline.

City by the waves.

Me and saltwater. :)