I’m riding out the end of summer in DC, at work turning the journal I kept during last year — the most transformational year of my life — into a memoir and one comment some early readers gave is “This is a story as much about your support network as it is anything else.” My friends are the best and this time of my life has just proved it. One of my besties, Brandi, invited me to join her and her college-aged nieces on a trip to southern Italy. While other trips from last year, like to Denver in July and to west Texas in September — we’re probably too soon after my separating from my husband and my former life of living abroad and frequent travel, come late May 2024, I felt fully ready and open for a tour of the Amalfi coast and to tour such a glamorous place with such a glamorous friend as Brandi.
I’ve visited Italy a number of times, Lake Como and Milan, Florence and Tuscany, and Rome, but I’d never been so far south to the rocky cliffs and Mediterranean waters of the Amalfi Coast. Small hiccup though: At the Newark airport, as we were about to board our flight to Naples, I swallowed and my throat was suddenly sore. Oh no. Swallowed again and confirmed.
I developed a fever on the flight over and by the time we landed in Naples, piled into a car, and drove the tiny winding cliffside roads to the stunning town of Positano, I was in bad shape. Luckily I had my own cozy room in Casa Carmelo and while I rallied briefly for an Aperol Spritz and seaside dinner, I pretty much slept for the first day of our trip and much of the second, missing a cooking class and forgoing the hike I’d wanted to do. I emerged for a resplendent private sunset boat cruise of a part of Italy our captain called “The Rocks.” I ate some clams pasta after (one of my favorite things to eat in my still somewhat new state of pescatarianism) and then Brandi and I watched the Talented Mr. Ripley, which put us in just the right late 1950s Italy mindset. There are parts of the Amalfi Coast where you catch glimpses of that chic retro style, like at Franco’s Bar and La Siernuse Hotel, which was featured in one of my favorite romcoms, Only You (which we also watched on the trip!) That film which captures how steep Positano is; getting around requires walking up and down and up and down many stone stairs.
We did a lovely day trip on a (very rough) ferry to Capri, an island that is pronounced, contrary to what capri pants and Capri Sun would have you believe – CA-pree. Capri is a fancy island bountiful in lemons and designer stores, but still oozes with Old World (and old money) charm. Brandi wanted to dine at a seaside restaurant called La Fontelina, which is next to a rocky little beach dotted with cabana striped umbrellas that is so iconic, she has had an old photo of this same beach hanging in her house for many years. The food was very good. But I wasn’t tip-top so couldn’t indulge as much I might have liked.
We joined a day tour to Pompeii, the ancient city buried in ash following a 79AD eruption of Mount Vesuvius. I have seen a lot of Roman ruins in my day (Return to Petra and Roman Ruins in Jerash; Roman Ruins, Italian Food, and a Museum with a Sad History in Tunis; Weekend Trip to Tipaza; Archeology and Fried Cheese in Athens; A Bucket and a French Fry Omelette). The ones I enjoy the most are the ones where I can picture what life was like there 2000 years ago, which I could do in Pompeii. Perhaps especially via the well-protected pornographic frescos that indicated the room was once a private “brothel”. Apparently views on sex during this time (before the spread of Christianity in the Roman empire) were pretty lax.
Back in Positano, it was time for me to buy a souvenir from my trip and I knew just want I wanted to bring home from this town of fabulous ceramics: A beautiful painted vase that looks like a head. I went into a shop I’d walked by a few times, Ceramica Assunta, and told the shopkeeper I couldn’t decide if I wanted a man’s head or a woman’s head. He told me the legend of the Moor’s Head which is that back when the Moors ruled the area, there was a beautiful woman who spent her days tending to her garden. A Moorish man saw her, wooed her, she fell for it, and invited him in. She learned he had a wife and kids back home so she cut off his head in anger and found that his dumb cheating head was the perfect vessel in which to grow basil. So, obviously I got a man’s head.
I packed up my decapitated man’s head in my backpack and we departed Positano for our next stop: An island called Ischia. If you’re an Elena Ferrante fan like me, you might recognize this as the island where all the characters from her Neapolitan quartet went to vacation (where the girls sunned themselves and had early sexual experiences and the mom stayed in the kitchen of their rental cooking heavy meals day and night). We stayed at an the elegant Regina Isabella and partook in the island’s healing thermal waters at a nearby pool/spa park that seemed to be entirely Italians. We also toured a castle on the island around sunset and the vibe and views were dramatic and peaceful. Capped that off with a luscious pasta dinner at a charming little restaurant close to the castle called Aglio Olio & Pomodoro that was one of the most delicious of the trip. This portion of the trip was quite chill. I wrote, I read, I drank many an Aperol Spritz, I sat by the pool. I was even feeling pretty okay until a facial that was really more of a massage of my swollen lymph nodes unleashed well I guess lymphatic fluid and then from that point on, I was extremely congested. But alas, I’ve been sick on vacations before (Escaping Lockdown in Crete and Tanzanian Safari, Part I) and always still manage to enjoy myself.
After three nights in Ischia, we moved on to our final stop: Naples. Now Naples gets a bad rap but I really don’t know what for because I was charmed by the sea breeze, winding cobblestone streets and bustling squares, and epic rooftoop views. Yes, maybe it’s a little gritty but but also so pretty and vibrant and it reminded me of another Mediterranean city I love: Algiers. (Where I lived for three years!). We stayed at the ornately decorated (and inexpensive) La Casa Sul Nilo, shopped, did a walking tour, went to the archeology museum, took and took a cable car up to an old fort. And of course, ate! Naples is supposedly home to the “best pizza in the world” and it sure was good, but I think at this point, America (and many other countries) have also mastered what, come on, is a pretty simple dish. Did I have the best pizza of my life? No. (That distinction might go to Nice, France, actually, or else Lucali in Brooklyn).
It was a trip that managed to be both energizing and relaxing. I’d go to Italy once a year if I could. There was a time of my life that I was doing that!
To traveling with good friends. And to Italy.
Emily
thenextdinnerparty.com 