We were very tired, we were very merry, we went to Ischia, Friday on the ferry. Not quite as poetic as Millay put it, but lovely all the same.
After dodging the gypsies, trash, and homeless that line the streets of Naples the way dust covers those of Rome, we boarded the boat to Ischia. The sun shone bright, the wind swept our hair, and the rocking of the boat sent me into the fetal position, clutching my bag for dear life, as though a Longchamp tote could be my solid ground. While the porcelain express was not needed, the last leg of the ride seemed endless.
That is, until we were met with the simplicity of colorful houses on the water and shops with hand painted signs; a world that moves to the gentle, metronomic swaying of the masts of the boats that line its docks.
Ring Hostel was not on the water, but rather up and around several winding streets that we would later zoom through in a packed sedan-sized mini van packed with 16 hungry travelers.
The writings on the wall immediately told us we were not at any ordinary hostel. This was a home-away-from-home, complete with free sheets, internet, breakfast in the morning, kitchen, a communal living room and rooftop, and an outstanding family-owned restaurant. The walls were painted with words of thanks and praise from former guests and each person we met, guests and staff alike, spoke to us as though they had known us for years.
The beach around the corner was equally as welcoming as we rode its crashing waves and scampered around its sand as the sun set over the breakwater. After a long day of travel and sun, we were in need of a delectable carb-filled dinner, and boy, did we get it.
Mama and Papa's restaurant is just a short ride from the hostel, but I wondered if I would get there alive. As I mentioned before, 16 of us squeezed into a small van that almost didn't start. Lorenzo (hotel owners' son) sang "Tuo far'Americano" as he swirved, sped, and stalled all the way to the restaurant, occasionally swearing and telling us to duck when he saw the Polizia.
Home-made wine, calamari fritti, and hand-made spinach raviolini al ragu quickly calmed my nerves. We dined at a family-style table, taking up half of the main dining room. This was just the beginning of what would become the best night we have had abroad.
In Italian 2 we learned about Italian discotecas. I knew nothing until Friday night. We walked into a bar with a dance floor that featured a grand piano, an old man, and a synthesizer in the corner. We danced to everything from Italian jams to Italian-style Frank Sinatra to a rough-cut "All Night Long" complete with grumbled lyrics and a belted chorus. We were just about the only people in the place, but we kept it open until they scrubbed the floors at 3. When we finally made our way up the hill to the hostel, we were happy, tired, and ready to crash before a Saturday of thermal therapy.
Negombo was our destination the next day. We spent hours dipping in and out of the 27 + pools, saunas, and fountains, all of which were heated by the volcanism of the island. Some were in caves, others constructed above ground in the form of fountains and waterfalls, and still others sculpted into the landscape. The heat of the pools more than made up for the slight lack of heat in the air (naturally, it was the one cloudy day.) I am sad to admit that I could guess the temperature of each pool within two degrees of their actual temperatures. Here's to the life skills one can acquire as pool director.
Soaked and exhausted we headed for another round of bat-out-of-hell driving and homemade goodness. We ended up turning in after dinner to recharge before another short day of exploring Forio (the area in which we stayed) and the trip home, which now seemed to be a world away.
We opted for the hydrofoil for round two, a much wiser (but slightly more expensive) decision for those prone to sea sickness. We made it to Naples in almost half the time and were whisked to Naples Centrali by a rude and angry cab driver who had no problem dodging tour buses, driving on the tram tracks, and almost taking out a small child in a stroller. We held on for dear life screaming all the way. I wanted to continue my screaming (and add a few kicks for good measure) as the train carried us back to Rome and all of the reading and writing that the AUR has graced me with.
Check out my pictures to see more. Tips to follow.
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