Off the Couch and On the Road

I never did end up venturing past the confines of my own paradise. There were churches to see and grottos to explore, different towns with different shops and different beaches.

But having been on the go since early March, I decided I didn’t care to see any of it. A holiday from a holiday, I supposed. And besides, the deck chair man was giving me disoucnts with a wink, the gelato man was helping me try all 24 flavours in the best possible combinations, and afternoons chatting to the hostel owner and plaing with her puppy left me no time to do anything else anyway.

I would see the sights of Croatia instead, I thought. In the afternoons. After going to the beaches, which are very famous, and could be considered sightseeing. Do you think?

-Sarah

After not doing very much at all, least of all sightseeing, I realised somewhere between a cappuccino and a margherita pizza that my accomodation was only booked for another 3 nights, and from there I didn’t quite know where I was headed. I couldn’t seem to figure out how to get to Croatia from this side of Italy, could not find any accomodation and could not for the life of me find a flight to link me from Croatia to Greece.

I was all ready to give up and move away from the beaches to the big cities of France, when I ran out of suncream. I searched for what seemed like hours for a bottle with an SPF higher than 2, the only one of which was 15 euros. Fifteen euros. That’s a night accomodation, a train trip halfway across the country, almost a day of food. That’s a lot, man.

I wasn’t sure whether it was a joke, a ‘let’s laugh at the Aussies who will spend a fortune to prevent skin cancer, haha’ but I looked around and the only one loking at me was a little old Italian woman behind the counter, probably wondering what was so amazing about this suncream that I would stand there agape for ten minutes.

After my purse was a little lighter and my budget a little tighter, I marched straight to the internet cafe and, most likely through sheer willpower, managed to book a bus to Sorrento, train to Naples, train to Bari, ferry to Croatia, and accomodation in Dubrovnik. Oh, and an entire Greek island hopper tour.

That suncream was going to be used and enjoyed dammit, and if that meant I had to lay on a beach for the next two months straight, then that’s what I had to do (it’s hard, it really is).

-Sarah

Just as eating pizza and watching the world stroll by in Rome was exactly as I’d imagined, Positano was the Amalfi Coast in my mind I’d saved to daydream about when I was stuck in traffic, or listening to a customer whinge about the mundane dramas of working in Toys’R’Us. It was perfect, brought to life by the constant hum of ferries and chatter of families by the beach.

The guidebooks however, failed to mention the scenic Amalfi Coast drive would feel more like a rollercoaster driven by a mad Italian, and that I would spend more time staring straight ahead trying not to throw up, with someone else’s baby on my lap who was throwing up, than admiring the view. But I do have friends who would kill to be careening around those narrow coastal curves at the speed of locals in Italian sportcars, so I tried to appreciate the ride, if only for their sakes. And despite not seeing any Italian sportscars (sorry boys).

Positano is the town sitting between it’s older sibling (older as in busloads of post-menopausal women) Sorrento, and its more exotic-sounding rival, Amalfi. And once I had dumped by bags at my beautifully quaint terraced hostel overlooking the ocean, and wandered the narrow alleys of clothes shops, cafes, art galleries and gelaterias, I never wanted to leave.

The one road, which wound down the side of the mountain, was connected at various points by seemingly endless flights of stone steps – a snakes and ladders game that was easier to glide down than climb up, and the beach, once I’d found it (having walked into a few open front doors inadvertantly on the way) was pebbly with black sand which dissappeared into clear, turquoise water.

I had every intention of spending only a day exploring Positano, with day trips to Amalfi, Sorrento and the island of Capri, I really did. But it was sunny and hot, and there was a beach with deck chairs waiting. So I spent three days laying on a beach, drinking cappuccinos and wandering through insanely expensive boutiques I could never afford to shop in. In a word, bliss. In a few more words, bliss with slight sunburn and sore calves from walking up all those goddamn steps.

-Sarah

‘Oh, so you’ve heard about Naples, then?’ the British backpacker asked.

Yes, I had. Don’t go there, look both ways and watch your back, hang onto your bag, hang onto yourself. But when you’re planning your European sojourn a week in advance, the criteria of a destination narrows itself to ‘rooms available’. And they were, so I went. The perpetual struggle of a planner trying not to plan.

Like the favourite child that gets all the attention, Rome is undeniably the Circular Quay of Italy, whilst Naples ‘business as usual’ is well, more like home.

I filled my obligatory quota of history with a day trip to the nearby towns of Pompeii and Herculaneum, made all the more enjoyable by the perfect summer weather, and spent my second day skipping the recommended museums and churches (except the archeological museum, where most of the remnants of Pompeii and Herculaneum now lie) to wander the more modern streets of Naples.

Following the afternoon gelato (chocolate and coconut, the best combination), I walked back along the coastline to the hostel, with stunning views of the Bay of Naples to my left, and sunlit terraces with window boxes of poppies to my right.

For the underdog, Naples certainly put up a good fight.

-Sarah

On my fourth day in Rome there was only one thing left to see – the Colosseum. I confidently caught the bus and metro to the site and spent longer than expected within it’s ancient walls, imagining exactly where Russell Crowe ran up the strairs into the arena, and Joaquin Phoenix sat cheering the beasts in ‘Gladiator’.

The weather had decided it was almost summer after all, and following the Colosseum I wandered through the ruins of the Roman Forum and Palatine Hill – originally the hub for ancient Roman political, commercial and religious meetings – and sat in the gardens overlooking the city as a break from the tourist crush.

I exited the site via Piazza del Campidoglio, designed by Michelangelo in 1538, saw a queue for the museum and decided to find lunch instead, spending the afternoon wandering back through my favourite Piazzas, Cafes and Gelaterias, even managing to visit a few churches on the way without relying to heavily on a map.

I must have looked like I knew where I was going, with tourists asking me every 10mins where something was. Most were European so I couldn’t understand them anyway, although I accidentally once replied ‘no, por favor ingles’ which (I think) is ‘no, please english’ in spanish.

I don’t know where I got that from, maybe an episode of CSI:Miami. But it kind of said what I needed to say, si?

-Sarah