Welcome to Italia, where la dolce vita is unavoidable and synonymous with food, family, sex and wine. You can adjust the hierarchy of your sweet life to suit your daily preference, but I’ve found it to be somewhat gender-dependent…
I want to tell you all the best bits right away, like an Italian would. Because to get la dolce vita you only need a few simple ingredients- the best ones…but I will restrain myself because I know how good a supreme pizza tastes when you’re not in Italy. Even in Italy I’m missing the Friday night ritual of Dad and me being pizzaiolo with every type of vegetable and meat imaginable…
Venice was my first taste of Italy and it provided just the right dosage of stereotype and surprise. The maze of canals, throngs of people, heat waves, gondola extraordinaires, monaro glass and chaotic buses were fused with risotto (uhhh, where was the pasta and pizza?), ponging waterways and deserted piazzas…leaving me wandering the streets dazed and confused with the thousands of other tourists who flood the island each year.
We arrived at night and immediately made our way from the camping grounds to a local pizzeria where copious amounts of food and wine were consumed and we practiced our very bad Italian with the wait staff, giving our compliments to the chef (at least we think we did). In the morning went across to Venice and got lost for hours in the winding streets and over the canals which all looked identical. I’m sure the Labyrinth was based on this city. Carrying a map was the most unhelpful exercise one could undertake and usually resulted in our group ending up more flustered, sweaty and hangry than the times we allowed ourselves to get lost in the moment. Following our full day of exploring, I spent an entire day on the banana lounges by the pool- soaking up as much vitamin D as I could before we embarked for Rome early the next morning.
Rome the first time around was just a pit stop for me. For one night only I enjoyed the luxury of a dorm tent all to myself and shared dinner at the campsite with the other Busaboutians. The next morning it was off on the Italian Adventure, a small tour run by Busabout, which would take us through the South. We ventured through Napoli, the home of pizza and the Mafia (who still control everything in the region, right down to rubbish collection). From there it was on to Pompeii where we walked the ruins for hours in disbelief that even the red paint on the pillars had managed to survive 2000 years and a volcanic eruption. It was a surreal place and quite eerie to see the remains of bodies frozen in time by ash and dust. Pompeii felt almost spiritual, the way it has been enshrined and remembered in the wake of Mt Vesuvius’ shadow. It’s not certain how much longer the site will be open to the public as there are signs of degradation and loss around the city and through the walkways.
We spent our afternoon on the short drive to Sorrento, where we would camp for the next two nights. We checked in and then ventured into the sun-dappled streets of Sorrento town. Italy was playing in the world cup and the community was buzzing as we browsed the market places and the main shopping street. We stopped into a limoncello store, owned and managed by a huge Italian papa called (Fat) Tony. He was fat, he was happy- and we soon discovered why. Tony pumped the Dean Martin and jiggled his jolly belly as he explained the delights of producing and appreciating limoncello. In between bursts of ‘that’s amore’ and ‘memories are made of this’, Tony plied us with liquored chocolates, dessert limoncello (used as a topping for gelato of course) and the real limoncello, which was so smooth and zesty, it was like Tony had embodied the very drink he cooked so lovingly. Saying ciao to Tony and merrily wandering back towards the centre of Sorrento, we followed our noses to a traditional four course Italian meal. To do it right it has to be pizza appetizer, pasta entrée, meat and salad main, and something exquisite for dessert. Followed by coffee or a second dessert in the form of affogato. Unsurprisingly, there was still room for cocktails. Cheap and dirty at a local bar where we danced the night away to a cover band…continuing on to the English Pub which was a nightclub. There, we were exposed to the true nature of Italian men, as our circle of girls was infiltrated by blatant Italian boners which were not shy about getting close…we didn’t know whether to laugh or defend ourselves, and instead boogied our way downstairs and into the balmy night- ready to return to the campsite sans Italian penis.
Day two of our adventure was a cruise to the Isle of Capri- a glamorous and gorgeous playground for the rich and famous- the home of Sofia Loren. We swam and lounged on the rock beaches, took a chairlift to Anacapri and admired the views, ate Marinara pizza, scoped out the grotto caves and jealously window-shopped the hilltop streets. We got our celeb on and rode in an open top taxi back down to meet our boat. Sigh. Our final day on tour wound its way through the Amalfi coast and the stunning towns of Positano, Amalfi and Ravello. We stopped to savor some pastries and cruise around the deep blue Mediterranean for a swim in the clearest water I have ever seen. We returned to the camping village in Rome in the evening where we proceeded to have a huge night in the bar…I found my way back to my tent at 5am.
So the next morning- my ONLY full day in Rome started at 9am. Functioning on 4 hours of sleep and a horrific hangover I managed to walk for 12 hours and see (note: not appreciate) EVERYTHING. Safe to say, due to my excellent time management skillz, Rome does not go down as my favorite city. But it was wonderful to see everything I had imagined; the Pantheon, Trevi fountain (under construction), Colloseum, the forums, the monastery of Capushkin bones (so creepy-an entire church made of human bones)…unfortunately I didn’t get time to see the Vatican and Sistine Chapel but my little legs just couldn’t carry on one step longer and I collapsed in a heap in my tent, not stirring until the 7am bus to Florence.
Feeling much more lively, Florence stole my heart. It was a quieter, more artistic, slower paced Rome and a much more enjoyable city to explore on foot. My first afternoon involved a walking tour of the city and a leather making demonstration, which sought to prevent us fro being scammed in the street markets with fake leather goods. We also devoured another traditional four course meal before hitting a local ‘karaoke’ bar where the dj played guitar and got everyone up on stage to sing along. Everyone had donned Santa hats too, for some reason it was Christmas in summer. Italy.
My second day in Florence was spent walking the streets shopping with friends. We visited the Central Markets to splurge on some local foods for a picnic later that evening. The Piazzale Michelangelo was our venue of choice and as we muched on olives, sun dried tomatoes and buffalo mozarella I watched the most beautiful sunset of my life. On the stairs, an Italian acoustic guitarist played covers of mostly western music as well as gypsy kings and Dean Martin’s Volare (a sure crowd pleaser). We wandered back down the hill after dark with the city lights beneath us reflecting across the water. The street vendors packed away their tents for the day and we were able to walk down the streets without the cries of ‘ciao bella’ and ‘you want to buy’, ‘I give you good price’, ‘cheap cheap’…I no longer felt like I was in Asia.
I wasted away my third day, feeling quite unwell and unable to breathe out either nostril. I lounged by the pool and in bed and by the pool, and then happened across a bunch of Americans who were going to watch ‘the game’ in a bar down the road. I joined them for a couple beers and burgers and fell into bed with my squeaky nose by 10pm.
The next day I was seriously ill. Like, it was possible I was dying. All my Busabout buddies had left so I sunned myself and tried to sleep and hydrate to get over whatever sort of TB/bronchitis/black lung I had contracted. Whilst being the most congested lady of leisure on my balcony, my Canadian neighbors came to visit. We decided the best plan of action for our afternoon was to seek out food and wine (oh God, no) and let another sunset on Piazzale Michelangelo heal me. I bumped into 2 Australian girls in the hallway and invited them on our adventure, and so we were 5. We never quite made it up the hill after a huge feed of pizza and mozzarella balls (my mouth has just filled with saliva at the thought of these little round nuggets of joy). Instead, we all purchased a bottle of wine (whyyyyy) and joined the locals on the Ponte Vecchio, Florence’s famous bridge. By the time the sun had set and Firenze was once again ablaze with twinkling lights our bottles were empty and our mouths were stained pink. The five of us stumbled back to the hostel bar and joined a huge group there, deciding to check out the nightlife at about 1am (stahp!). Luckily I made it back to my dorm not long after, only to discover that I now had new roommates in the form of 7 huge Norwegian lumberjack-resembling men. The next day we were all incredibly hung-over, my roommates could at least see the humor in it while I tried to sink into my bed and feel partially human.
But the Cinque Terre has magical healing properties! Just four days in the sleepy little village of Manarola and I have full use of both nostrils AND functioning lungs. IM ALIVE AGAIN and it feels so good. Cinque Terre means Five Lands in Italian and the region is comprised of 5 sweet and unique little towns; Riogiammore, Manarola, Corniglia, Vernazza and Monterosso. I’ll let the photos speak for themselves but I really could not capture the sheer goodness of this place. There is nothing to do but sun yourself, work up a sweat in the terraced hill walks from town to town, eat, sleep and swim. Really, that’s it. The most stressful thing about the Cinque Terre is the train system, which is never on time, always overcrowded and usually stinky. On the way into Manarola on my first day we boarded a train that was 30 minutes late, sat on the train for another 30 minutes as more and more heat-crazed Italians packed into the carriage- so many people no one could move. A girl started crying, a fight broke out on the platform, 3 women dramatically jumped off the train and then everyone left in a huge swarm of sweat and swearing. I was the last one off the train, trying to avoid too much chaos with my big pack. The same train was apparently now going to Pisa, without any announcement whatsoever. The next train that would apparently take me to Manarola wasn’t due for an hour. Seriously Italy, what game are you playing!?
Once you arrive in the town, all of that is instantly forgotten, it just washes off you and out to sea. The locals call out to you to try their restaurant or stay in their BnB, but I strained my calf muscles to the top of the church hill in search of my hostel. It was neatly nestled behind the square in the terraced hills…it was peace. I checked in but couldn’t wait to walk back through the town to the water’s edge, where locals launched themselves off the highest rocks and into the turbulence below. I let my feet cool in the waves and grabbed a gelato to eat on my balcony as the rest of me cooled down. My days here were a haze of relaxation, not stirring until 9 (apart from when the church bells woke me on the first morning), wandering slowly down the hill and taking in the view, eavesdropping on the locals (and thinking if I just listened long enough I would start to understand), taking the train through all the villages and comparing their walks and gelaterias. Monterosso’s waters begged to be swum in and so I did for hours one afternoon- catching one of the last trains back to Manarola. I also napped a lot- on the beach, on the balcony, in bed. You could spend a week in each of the villages and still want to stay longer…I don’t know why I left!
And that is the tale of my la dolce vita thus far. I feel as though Florence’s focus was a little too heavy on the wine, but I remedied this while in the Cinque Terre. I wrote most of this post listening to the organ from the church (in Manarola) fill up the small square beneath my hostel. Ciao bellas and bellos, you will hear from me soon! X
