Feeling At Home In Italy
I was hung-over when we left for Sorrento, and tired. Too much beer then vino, then sangria and for some godforsaken reason we finished our meal with Limoncello. It complimented our fresh chicken and potatoes. I was excited. It was my first night out and I was meeting Casey, who I was planning on staying with before my friends Melanie and Bri got their own place.
Only a week in, and I already missed home. I guess that’s the thing about living with your mommy for months just before you go abroad for an undetermined about of time!
We woke up and were ready to leave for Sorrento by 10 AM, but someone dropped out of the trip last minute, pushing our plans back to noon, high traffic time. I boarded tortugas (a dingy mini van… but, like, really mini) with four companions and we headed out.
Instantly the heat was killing me, but the intensity tripled when we headed into the long tunnels that run under the mountains and traffic was completely stopped. The windows in the back seat didn’t open, and me, Melanie and Bri had their adorable dog Pepper sitting across our laps. I was fading in and out, luckily against the window. Finally we smartened up and decided to embrace the lawlessness of Italy and we threw open the doors in the van and let the wind come in. It was bliss.
We arrived in Sorrento and decided on a snack. We stumbled upon a piazza with a church that had beautiful floral arrangements in preparation for a wedding. One of my companions approached an empty restaurant and though I was skeptical, my determination to be easy going in this strange world meeting all new people made me keep my mouth shut. (Yes, this is where I unknowingly ordered the 7EU beer that sent me into panic mode. Hair of the dog.) It was one of those moments when everyone is determined to love the meal they have even when they don’t. Of course, it wasn’t that bad, we were in Italy. It was only when the bill came that we recognized our blunder.
Sitting in the restaurant we noticed the guests arriving to the wedding. I could tell instantly that this wedding was comprised of high society Italians. Gold sparkling dresses with puffy long sleeves, bright florals with intricate lace, red gowns with low cut v-necks. The fashion was about as mouthwatering as the food. When the bride arrived in the car with her parents, it was quite an exciting moment. The woman in the sunglasses and tie was the driver. Please note her shoes.
After that we climbed down hundreds of stars to the bottom of the cliff so we could access the turquoise waters. Despite leaving our towels in the car, we got in the briskly cold water, washing away the hot car ride and heavy lunch. I felt reinvigorated.
After the late afternoon sun dried us off, we made our way back to the car so we could get to our Airbnb in Amalfi before the sunset. An hour of winding roads later, we arrived. Getting to the Airbnb was… interesting. We climbed up long narrow stairs (if you could call them that) that hung off the edge of the cliff. When we finally made it up, we took in the stunning scenery as we let ourselves in. I was quite surprised when I realized that the two couples I was with and myself were all sharing one small bedroom. Airbnb’s… ammmiright???
That moment of panic overtook me, since I was the one to book the place and felt responsible if the group was unhappy with the accommodations.
We heard live music coming from somewhere below on the mountain. I messaged our Airbnb host (to ask about the 2nd bedroom that was “promised” in the ad as well as the ask her where to music was coming from.) She informed us that there was a fig and prickly pair festival in the town of Furore.
It seemed like the crew mostly wanted to go there, except for Melanie and I who were excited about the restaurant our host initially recommended.
Suddenly everything was forgotten as we were called out to the deck to watch the deep orange full moonrise from behind a mountain.
Stunning. Perfect.
We headed back down the sketch staircase and down the mountain and arrived at the festival. To make up for the financial waste of the afternoon, we ordered from a food stand sausage and broccoli rabe sandwiches. They had free wine, prickly pair liquor and fig desserts.
I drank my way through my tiredness and listened happily to the orchestra of students being lead through traditional Italian melodies, the crowd chanting along.
After the show was over, we thought the night would be too, but a DJ came up on stage and they cleared the chairs to make room for a dance floor. The conductor of the orchestra grabbed me to dance and swept me around. After that, the staff working the booths came and danced with us all night.
There, dancing my little butt off, it was the first time on my trip I felt like I could let myself. I loved the way the men moved to the rhythm, uninhibited and friendly, expressing sexuality without needing it to be sex. I always feel home when I dance, and that night, I was home.
