Live

The thing we must remember as we live, is that we have life.
The thing we must remember in another’s death is that they too had life.
The worst death that could ever exist, is when we let those who have left us die in our minds,
And the biggest mistake we can make in this life, is to let those who are still living die in our hearts.
Magic happens every day if we allow our eyes to see it.
Love appears in every moment, if we allow our hearts to feel it.
It is so easy to allow the dark moments to fill both our hearts and our minds
That we so often become blind to the light that exists between the darkness,
And we forget that the darkness only exists between the light.
Seek out the light, and when you find it, hold it.
Embrace it and love it.
Dream as if every day were your first
And live as though every moment were your last.

Marseille

We both slept most of the train ride to Marseille, but were awake long enough for Sara to ask the sweet French lady that was sitting across from us if she knew where the hotel was. Oh yeah, Sara is from French Canada which turned out to be very handy for me as I have some mental block on the French language. So Sara chatted up this lady and before we knew it she was taking the metro with us, transferring to the bus with us, and practically walking us to the door of our hotel. And people say the French suck?! After check-in we took showers, put on some clean clothes and headed out to see what Marseille was all about. Neither one of us had plans on being in Marseille and really didn’t know what to do, so we just headed down to the port to have a walk and find something to eat. We had a great meal down by the waterfront before heading out on a walk around the port. About five minutes into the walk I started having these really sharp pains in my chest and convinced myself I was having a heart attack and dying. I decided to sit for a bit to see if they would go away, but they didn’t and we decided to head back to the hotel. Sara was extremely worried and wanted me to go the hospital, but I, having not learned from my freak out in Florence still did not have travel insurance and decided to just stick it out and head back to the hotel and to sleep. Still alive in the morning, we headed to a bakery near the hotel for coffee and a pastry before heading to the Notre Dame Cathedral that sits high above the city and offers fantastic panoramic views of the sea, nearby islands, and the city itself.




After spending about an hour and a half on the cathedral grounds we made our way back down to the port and found a restaurant by the water to have a bottle of wine and relax a bit. After the wine we wandered further down the port to find that there was a free concert hat day that had a lineup of world class DJ’s, including Bob Sinclair. Already having a nice bottle of Rose at the restaurant, we decided to keep the party going and grab another bottle of wine, watch the sun go down, and enjoy the music.



As it came close to midnight and Bob Sinclair had not yet come on, both of us had to use the toilet and decided we should grab one last bottle of wine as well. I found a nice dark corner to pee in and Sara talked a restaurant owner into letting her use the toilet there. We then quickly grabbed a bottle of wine and made our way back to the square where the concert was. Unfortunately, Bob Sinclair had played while we were gone and some no-name DJ was wrapping up the show. We finished up our bottle of wine as the show closed out, before going back to the hotel to get our things ready to leave in the morning for Cannes.

Nice is Nice

The train ride from The Cinque Terre was stunning. The train hugs the coast as it passes through the Italian Riviera and into the French Riviera, passing Monte Carlo and all the mega yachts, before actually arriving in Nice. The hostel could not have been easier to get to as they had a transfer from the train station that ran every 15 minutes, instantly making me like this city. Once at the hostel I could tell why it had been rated “top ten hostels in Europe” for six years in a row. The hostel is in what was once a monastery. The chapel has been transformed into a giant bar, there was a huge garden area to relax and meet people, as well as over twenty computers, and a large and comfortable lounge/common area. I showered and got some laundry done before making my way to the bar for a mellow night and to meet people. As I was ordering a beer a noticed an Aussie guy that I had seen in Riomaggiore and again on the beach in Monterossa, but had not met and decided to strike up a conversation with him, as he was travelling on his own as well. Luke was an extremely outgoing person who literally would talk to anyone, and about anything, so to say we had an interesting night would be an understatement. Also, being Aussie he had quite the relationship with alcohol which added to the fun of the night as well. After a pizza in the Chapel we took advantage of the dollar beers and took turns buying rounds. At one point I was what they call in Australia, tripled parked. Meaning I was drinking a beer, Luke showed up with another, then another guy had bought us a round as well. So there I was with my three beers and already having a buzz, knew that I didn’t need them, but also knew this Aussie wasn’t going to let me not drink them. So somehow my mellow night turned into quite the big night which in turn became quite the hangover. That wasn’t too bad of a thing though as I had nothing planned for the next day but to hang on the beach anyway, now it just meant that I was going to be “hung” on the beach as well. After a full day down at the beach I headed to the store to get some lunch meats and bread and made my way back to the hostel. That night I truly did have a mellow night, just a couple recovery beers with Luke, some awesome conversations with some others and in bed before midnight. Up early in the morning I took advantage of the included breakfast, the same breakfast I missed the day before due to the amount of dollar beers I consumed and the aforementioned hangover. I again made my way to the beach and as I was setting up my towel noticed that the group of people next to me were also staying at the hostel. Before I knew it we were deep in conversation and they invited me to pull up closer to them and spend the day together. Sam, Leah, and Sara were fantastic. So that was my day on the beach with Sara, a super down to earth and awesome Canadian girl, Leah, the crazy and aloof English girl, and Sam, the classic funny and crazy Aussie guy. We sat for hours trading travel stories and laughing a lot which was simply awesome. Heading back to the hostel we decided to stop and get some wine to bring back with us. After showers and some food we sat in the garden, had a few drinks and continued to get to know each other. As the garden area closes at ten we were forced to move inside which put us at a table near the bar, which obviously means we needed to play drinking games.

Shortly after the first round of kings, and not related to the game in any way, Leah out of nowhere suggested that we exchange clothes. Somehow, after a round of kings that sounded like a great idea to me, so we walked back into the bar with me wearing her dress and her with my sweater and shorts on. I quickly realized that she may not have been as aloof as I thought when I realized that she was now warm in my sweater and I was freezing my balls of, literally, in this tiny little dress. Being good sports, after quite the laugh Sam and Sara decided to swap as well.

Some others that were sitting near us asked if they could join in for the second round, and suddenly our group of four had turned into nine as we noisily closed the bar down.


Sara and I had hit it off a bit and she didn’t have plans on where she was going the following day, so I suggested she come with me to Barcelona. After a couple of rounds of kings it sounded like a great idea to her, so she agreed. I had a sneaky feeling she was going to back out in the morning, but to my surprise she was all ready to go. Unfortunately as we made our way to the station we found out that Spain was not ready for us. The Spanish were on strike and we could only go as far as Marseille for now. We said what the hell, booked a hotel, and hopped on the train to Marseille.

Take This Wine and Drink With Me

Thanks Becky for the title on this one! For the last and final day in the Cinque Terre the three of us had the same thing in mind so decided again to spend the day together. Our plan, go back to the best beach we saw on the hike, the beach in last village of Monterossa, and do nothing. A great plan if I might say so myself. So with that decision made we hopped on the train to Monterossa, found a spot on the beach and did nothing for about four hours. After a few naps and a beer we decided to find a restaurant to have a late lunch and reminisce about our time in the Cinque Terre. We decided on a nice spot overlooking the water that had a decent price, but soon discovered that once again the food had been micro waved. Such a bummer that in such a beautiful place, in a country that is known for its food, we were only able to find sub-par meals. To be honest I can find better Italian food in China town, but, as I have said before, the company and the setting made up for it, not that that is an excuse for the people who own and work in these place to serve shit food. Anyway, Becky, Tom, and I were not about to let another flavorless, micro waved meal ruin our vacation as we finished our carafe of wine and hopped back on the train to Riomaggiore. Back at the apartment we showered and headed out with a bottle of wine and made our way down to our secluded beach to drink, talk, and watch the full moon set over the water. We must have sat for about four hours pondering the purpose of life, the joys of traveling, and the beauty of meeting perfect strangers that can instantly become your new best friends. As we sat on the beach, with the full moon making its way to the horizon, Becky made a comment that would change the direction of our conversation completely… “Where else in the world can you experience this?” Her question prompted a response that made everything so clear. “Anywhere, but it is not anywhere that everything in the universe aligns itself so that people like the three of us can be sitting on a beach to experience it and have the connection that we do.” Tom and Becky agreed with me and we continued our conversation about life, where we have been, and where we were going, but not in the normal backpacker set of four questions that I mentioned before. Our conversation was more about the things that we have struggled with in life, the things we continue to struggle with, and the struggle of deciding what to do with our futures. To do this day I must say that that night was and always will be one of the highlights of my trip. To make things even better, shortly after we parted the following day I received a letter from becky stating that I had changed her life and that she was fortunate to have met me and shared that time together. I still have not found the time to give a proper response to that letter (something I am very regretful of) but when I read it a tear came to my eye and a happiness filled my soul to know that I had affected someone’s life in such a way, and even more so because sharing that moment with them had affected my life in exactly the same way. I had been doubting if I wanted to continue my journey and the words that we shared that night reminded me of why I was on this journey in the first place. That is really the story of the Cinque Terre for me. It is not where you are in the world, what you see, or what you do that makes a moment, but rather, it is those that you have around you to share a moment with that can define how you look at where you are in the world, what you see, and what you will do with the rest of your life that makes the difference. Tom and Becky… Thank you for helping me to find myself again and remember why we are here on this earth, and why we must always face the challenges that this life brings us. Take this wine and drink with me as we live the life we choose and embrace the challenges that come with it. Cheers.

A Day on the Trail

Waking up around ten Becky and I headed up to the office to use the free wi-fi and take care of some banking stuff before meeting back up with Tom at the apartment to leave for our big hike. As I said before the five villages are connected by a trail along the coast. There are actually dozens of trails in the Cinque Terre, but only one remains along the coast for the entire stretch of land. It had rained for a couple days before we arrived at the Cinque Terre and one of the trails linking the second and third villages was washed out so after completing the first trail we had to head inland for a bit. It was also in that time that I discovered that my camera had broken, meaning that I was now going to be carrying around two broken cameras with me for the rest of the trip. I was actually really bummed about this because everyone had told me how beautiful it was here, and I agreed that it was one of the most beautiful places I had seen so far on this trip and did not have a camera to capture the beauty and share it with you all. Fortunately Becky said she would copy her pictures with me, which let me forget about my stupid camera and enjoy the walk. Continuing inland to walk around the wash out we somehow managed to get lost twice and ended up just walking back to the town and taking a train to where the trail was again open. From there the hike became increasingly harder, but more and more beautiful with every step. It was absolutely breathtaking. Looking up the mountain all you could see was beautiful, lush green, lined with vineyards, and out to sea was that majestic clear-bue water that the Mediterranean is famous for. We would pass cliffs that had waves pound the shore, stirring the water and causing it to be even more clear and creating patches of lighter and darker water all the way out to sea.



Each of the towns are very different and it was great to be able to experience a little bit of each on as we took a breather each time we reached the next one. Just after the fourth town, after a particularily steep part of the hike we came to an outlook that was stunning. Looking back on the town I kept saying to myself this looks very familiar even though I know I have never been here before. Then it hit me. For Christmas seven years ago my Dad’s girlfriend, Norma, had bought three pictures from Italy and framed them beautifully for me (they decorate the walls of my bedroom at home to this day) and I soon realized that I was standing on the exact spot where one of the pictures had been taken.

Here we stopped here for a few minutes to take in the view of the brightly colored buildings of the town, back by endless green, and looking out over the sea. Breathtaking.


After taking a few pictures ourselves, well, after Becky and Tom took some pictures, we continued on for the last and most difficult stretch of the hike. Here the trail literally goes up 45 degrees for awhile, then down 45 degrees before returning to another uphill stretch. It was quite a hot day and I clearly remember telling the others how much I wished there would be a very cold Coor’s Light waiting for me at the end of the hike. Finally, after just over five hours of absolute, stunning beauty the last and largest of the villages appeared before us as we made our way over yet another peak. The end was in sight and I could already taste the Coor’s Light. There was a bar at the end of the trail, but unfortunately they did not have Coor’s Light (as I had suspected) but they did have a nearly frozen Corona that went down just as well!

After relaxing over a beer we made our way to the train station and back to Riomaggiore and to find a much needed meal. Back at the apartment we met some of our new roommates, a really cool Australian couple who had been travelling for something like five months, and also did the hike that day. We talked for a bit about the hike and how amazing it was before inviting them out to watch the world cup with us and grab a pizza. We found a great table near the TV and enjoyed a quite delicious pizza as we watched a very exciting soccer match. After the match we bought some wine and made our way down to the rocks to drink our wine and enjoy the beauty of the Cinque Terre at night. Another perfect ending to another perfect day…

Buon Giorno Cinque Terre

As the train came around the bend and popped out of the other side of the tunnel I had my first view of the Cinque Terre. Cinque Terre, meaning five lands, is given its name for the five villages that are built on the cliff side along the most beautiful stretch the Ligurian Coast. The towns are connected by a walking trail and the train that I was on at the moment. As the train continued along the rails we would go in and out of tunnels and each time we emerged on the other side my breath was taken away by the scene of bright blue skies, perfect white clouds, and turquoise sea below. I knew I was going to like this place. The town I was staying in was Riomaggiore and is the first of the five villages. I had decided to stay here not really by choice, but because it was the only town that had hostel accommodation that was affordable. When I found my hostel I soon discovered why. Walking up the hill, giant 45 degree hill, to my hostel I couldn’t have been happier. Riomaggiore had the classic small town Italian feel, small shops, locals everywhere, pizza shops, bakeries, coffee shops, and fresh produce lined the pedestrian street on both sides, however when I reached my hostel’s reception area all that changed. The owner of the hostel was sitting/laying on the couch messing around on the computer and barely looked up to greet me. He instead grunted a yell to his girlfriend, Francesca, who was clearly in the bathroom because I could see her sitting on the toilet about 20 feet in front of me. She yelled back at him that she was on the toilet and slammed the door. He then told me she was in the bathroom, as if I didn’t already know, and that she would be right with me. She came out and introduced herself a few minutes later and I wearily shook her hand as she welcomed me to the hostel. Sweet! After having given them my passport info and them taking my money, which by the way, they demanded I pay before they showed me the room (red flag number one, well really number three, but who’s counting) they walked me practically all the way back down the hill to where the room was. Upon entering, Giuseppe, we’ll call him as he didn’t give his name and I didn’t care to ask, said, “Take-a which-a bed you-a like”. I looked around the room which had one bunk bed, one single bed, and the oddly placed double bed in the middle of the room. On further inspection I realized that all but two of the beds had been slept in and had not been cleaned yet, (its 4pm, red flag number four if I was counting) At the same time “Giuseppe” realized this and said, “You can take-a this-a one, or that-a one.” I chose that-a one. He then showed me the cramped kitchen and the bathroom which had a glass door. Odd, but the upside I soon found out was that in the morning you knew if someone was doing number one or number two, so you could judge how long you had to wait for your turn! Slightly confused I asked him about the 24 hour common area that was advertised on the internet and he again showed me the cramped kitchen and said, “Its-a open all-a day!” With a smile of course. I then inquired about the free wi-fi and he said, “Si. At the office we have-a the wi-fi.” I had other questions, but decided it better not to ask so I instead thanked him and he left. Alone in this shit hole of an apartment I sat on the edge of my bed and thought, wow, this is going to really make a beautiful place suck. Not really sure what to do I headed out for a walk around the town. Luckily Italy was playing New Zealand in the world cup that day, so I found a nice outside bar that was showing the match. Here I had a couple of beers and watched the game with locals and tourists alike. The game ended in a 1-1 tie which put Italy out of the tournament, and was another downer on my day. I walked back to the apartment thinking, wow, three days of feeling like this, perfect! I walked back to the apartment to find that the two other rooms in the apartment, consisting of five beds in total had been filled, and all the beds in my room had been filled as well except for the oddly placed double. I said hi to everyone and made my way to my bed to sit and think about what to do. That’s when Becky walked in. She introduced herself and we exchanged the normal backpacker conversation that consists of four basic questions: 1) Where are you from? 2) How long have you been here, or, how long will you be here? 3) Where have you been? 4) Where are you going? After we got that out of the way we just kinda started talking and got along really well. All I could think was thank God! Sometimes you can stay in a great hostel and have shit roomies and it ruins the hostel and sometimes you can stay in a shit hostel and have great roomies and it makes the hostel. Luckily this was a case of the latter. Becky was travelling with Tom, who walked in just a few minutes later and they invited me to join them for dinner. Of course I agreed, and the three of us walked the entire town looking for a restaurant that struck our fancy. So after ten minutes we had seen the five, maybe six, restaurants the town had to offer and made a decision. We had a nice time at dinner, though I am sure all of our meals were micro waved. Again one of those things, great food can be spoiled by shit company and shit food can be made better with great company. After dinner we made our way down to the rocks to check out the scene. There are no clubs or bars in Riomaggiore so everyone heads down to the rocks to have some wine or beers and hang out. We had no drinks so had a look and made our way back to apartment. On the way back to the place Becky and Tom asked what my plans were for the next day, and I told them I thought about doing the hike through the villages and they said they were going to do it as well, and suggested that we do it together. Again, I agreed and we set out for bed. First day in the Cinque Terre down, two more to go!

Florence, Little America

Arriving in Florence, shortly after noon and feeling much better, I easily found my hostel, dropped my bags, and headed out for a walk. The USA had World Cup game that day and I was determined to find a bar or pub that would be showing it. On my walk around I found a nice street side café at which I stopped off at to grab a beer and a bite to eat. Lesson learned here; if you find a nice street side café located just off the main bridge (or any other main tourist spot in a city) check the prices before you order. One beer and two pieces of bread with two slices of prosciutto, two slices of tomato, and a slice of cheese = 18 Euros! The server though was very helpful in pointing me in the direction of an American style pub nearby that had a great happy hour and would be showing the game. The Italians in the pub spoke perfect English, as did my server, a girl from Monterey California, and the twenty or so other Amercians who had come to the pub to watch the match. To add to my happiness of my experience at “The Steakhouse” which was in no way a steak house, they served hot wings with ranch, like real ranch. Ranch! I don’t know if it was because I had been craving wings for, uh, I about six months at this point or what, but they were excellent. It’s also a possibility that they were excellent just for the fact that they had ranch dressing. Either way I was stoked. The game finished in a 1-1 tie after a blown offsides call that would have given the US a victory, but it was exciting none the less to be cheering for my home team along with twenty or so others, and to be completely honest it almost felt like home. After the game I made my way back to the hostel to shower and relax a bit before heading out for the night. Unfortunately my night was not as exciting as my day. I found a couple bars that were packed with people, but they were all University students from the states, and I think I ended up just being the creepy old guy standing in the corner drinking a beer by himself. So after two beers and a lot of weird looks from the twenty year olds I headed to Ponte Vecchio (Old Bridge) where the people watching is just as good and it’s not so weird to be the almost thirty year old out on a Friday night by himself. To be honest I had a much better time sitting on this beautiful bridge, enjoying the activity and life of the city, watching people pass by on their way back from work, couples in love, families excited about being on vacation, and groups of friends just enjoying the night. After about an hour or so on the Bridge I returned to the hostel and into my bed. Then came the freak out that would make my hypochondriac friend Chris proud. It was pretty warm in Florence that day and the six of us in the dorm agreed to keep the window open for the night. Quite comfortable I fell asleep pretty easily only to be woken up by a bite on my forehead that swelled up to about have the size of a golf ball. No exaggerating here, if I was exaggerating I would have said the size of a golf ball. Another bite just a big on my forearm, and one on my thumb that was stinging, itching, throbbing, made my thumb numb to the touch, as well as nearly doubling the size of it. I didn’t want to disturb my roommates so I threw some clothes on and headed out to the lobby to have a better look and figure out what I was going to do. So there I was sitting in the lobby at three in the morning staring at my thumb thinking, “So this is how it’s going to happen. I’m going to die from a poisonous spider bite, alone in the lobby of a hostel in Florence. Sweet!” To make matters worse, I, being the idiot that I am, had been on this trip for six months so far and still had not bought travel insurance, so figured I couldn’t do anything about it even if I wanted to, so spent the next two hours checking my eyes for dilation, making sure I was still breathing normally, and that I didn’t have a fever. At the end of the story, I crawled back into bed at around five or five fifteen hoping it was just a really gnarly mosquito bite. Much to my surprise (and happiness) I was still alive when I woke up in the morning, but to my dismay it was raining. Oh well, a little rain is always better than being dead, so I made the best of it. As of yet I still had no plan of where I was going or what I wanted to see, so after a stop at the local coffee bar for a cornetto and espresso, I hit up the local market for some fruit, meats, cheese, and some bread and headed back to the hostel to spend my rainy day relaxing and coming up with some sort of plan. Also quite helpful, the guy who had to be stoned at the internet café next door put 200 minutes on my internet card instead of the twenty I had asked and paid for. Success! By the time the rain stopped in the late afternoon my belly was full, A hostel was booked for the next three nights, and I was ready to get on a train the next morning and make my way to the beautiful Cinque Terre. That night I decided to skip the bars and just grabbed a beer at the market and sat on the pier with many others to enjoy some live music and the sun slowly dropping off behind the hills.

The music continued till about eleven that night, which was perfect as I was getting up at eight to shower and get on my train. Another great night in one of my favorite cities in Europe.

Homesick in Rome

I found it more difficult to leave Ischia than I did to leave California. Now before all my friends in California get upset at this statement you must first listen to why I make it. When I left California, though I didn’t know when I would be coming back, I knew I was coming back at some point within the year. As I was getting ready to leave Ischia, though I had every intention of returning, and returning soon, I did not know for sure if or when that day would actually come. Last time I was there I had planned on returning the following year, and as you’ve heard more than enough times it ended up taking me seven years to actually make it back. The first time I was there I made great friends, however this time around was different. The bonds that were created seven years ago were strengthened, and the feeling of belonging and family is now beyond words. So arriving in Rome I was feeling a bit lost. Actually very lost. The feeling of missing my friends and family in Ischia made me miss my friends and family in California even more. I didn’t know that it would be possible to be homesick for two places at the same time, but let me tell you it is. My first night in Rome I wandered around not sure what to do and questioning why I even left Ischia in the first place. I knew I needed to stick it out and deal with these feelings, and that it was all part of this journey and the growth that I have been looking for in this trip, but at the moment I just wanted to escape it. I sat in a piazza near the Vatican for a couple of hours just trying to get the knot out of my stomach, a very similar knot to the one I had when I started the trip. You know, the one that feels likes it’s devouring your spine, making your heart beat faster, and making it difficult to breathe. Yeah, that one. I made my way back to my hostel, made a couple phone calls and debated booking a flight back to California. I thought I have travelled for six months, had seen and done things that most people only dream about. Why not just head home now and call it a day? I spoke to Trevor that night and he reminded me to stick it out and that it would pass. I decided to stick it out till the sailing trip I had planned with my Cousin Rob and his family from Utah, and if I was still feeling this way I would head back home. That night I got in contact with Martino, Carmela’s boyfriend from Ischia who lives in Rome, and made plans to go out with him and a few friends to grab some food and a beer or two, only after he yelled at me for staying in a hostel and not telling him before hand that I was coming to Rome. I apologized and made arrangements to crash at his place. He picked me up when he got off work and we met up with four of his other friends and headed out for dinner. I was feeling a bit better but still could not shake the melancholy feeling that was filling my head. Martino dropped me off at the hostel and told me I needed to shake the “mush” that was controlling me and that he would be by to pick me up the next day to take me to his house. The next day, still feeling a bit “off”, but somewhat better I headed to the Vatican and Saint Peters Basilica. Martino picked me up in the evening and we made our way around Rome to see all the sights. In about three hours we walked to Piazza Venezia, the Spanish Steps, parliament, countless fountains, and even more statues.




After the walking tour of Rome we headed out with another friend for something to eat and a couple of beers in an Irish pub, and then headed home as Martino had to wake up early for work and I had to catch an early train to Florence. Falling asleep that night I remember thinking how much I hoped that Florence could cure me of this sadness that was filling my brain and body. I had fallen in love with the city of Florence seven years ago, actually made three trips there in those six months and was hoping to find that same feeling again. Up early, Martino insisted on taking me to the train station so I didn’t have to take any busses or the metro, and I happily agreed. Florence here I come…

My New Approach

Okay, I am still about a month behind on the blog and see myself getting closer to two months behind with each passing day. I’ve decided I need to take yet another new approach. I’m going to start writing about the amazing things I am currently doing as they happen (like I did before) and get caught up on the rest when I can. As much as I don’t want to do it this way I had to give in at some point. To be completely honest, Ischia is such a special place for me and the feeling of being there fills my heart and head pretty much on a daily basis as it is, so it shouldn’t be too hard to go back and write about that later. Plus I have decided to return to Ischia for a month or two before I come home, so I will end up having more of the same to write about then. I guess this is what this trip is about anyway; going with the flow. It’s funny, I left home (California, in case, you, like me sometimes forget where my home is) thinking I would be gone for about five maybe six months tops, but here I am, almost six and half months later, day 197 to be exact, sitting in an apartment in Rome, with my cousin Rob, his wife Suzanne, their daughter Rachel, and her best friend Kiara. We finished a week of sailing in Sardenia and Corsica today and met back up in Rome, before I continue on to Croatia tomorrow or the next day. Now that you know where I am, let me tell you where I’ve been…

Il Mio Corpo Va, Pero Il Mio Cuore Rimane

My body goes, but my heart remains. There are so many things about Ischia that give it a special place in my heart that I don’t really know where to begin to explain what I was feeling both while I was there and even more so as I sat on the boat heading away from it. I have told you the stories of the things I have done here and the wonderful people I have met, but there is one thing that no matter how I write it you will never understand unless you have felt it; that is the pure love that filled my entire being in every moment I spent there. It is such a unique and special thing to find people who love and treat you as family in a place that is not your home, but it is truly beyond words to describe what it is like to literally have an entire town make you feel like you are their son and that it has been your home all along. I could not walk more than a block without someone stopping me to ask how I was doing, invite me over for dinner, ask me to share in the celebration of their family member’s wedding, anniversary, baptism, or birthday. There wasn’t a day that passed that someone didn’t offer me something to make my time here more enjoyable. Everybody I encountered seemed not only willing, but eager to show me how great the place they lived was and found my enthusiasm for the island and their way of life refreshing and wonderful. Life on the island is literally like taking a giant step back in time. The most important thing in Ischia is not work, money, what kind of car you drive, or how big your house is. The most important thing here is living life. So much of the day is taken up doing nothing other than truly enjoying life and those around you who you have to share it with. The general routine of the day for most people goes like this. Wake up and get a coffee and pastry and sit in the piazza with your friends or go to work till lunch time comes around (one o’clock). Lunch is always eaten with the entire family, and is never less than an hour long affair. After lunch you take a walk to work off the massive amounts of delicious food you have just eaten and then take a nap. The older generation heads to the piazza after the nap to talk about what they had for lunch and how good their nap was. The younger generation walks or rides a scooter to the beach directly after lunch for their nap and to make plans for the evening.

Around five everyone heads back to work until dinner time (between eight and nine thirty) to again share a meal with the entire family. After dinner it’s off for another walk and again to talk with your friends. The older generation heads home at this point and the younger generation heads out to wherever they had made plans to go that day. For me the hardest decisions of my day usually went in this order. 1) Cornetto with chocolate or marmalade? Usually marmalade. 2) Nap, on the pier, the beach, or at the house? 3. What flavor gelato to order? 4. Red wine or white wine? 5. Coffee, Rucolino, or both. Yeah, life is rough here. I would have conversations with people younger than me, my age, and older than me all the way into their eighties with ease, and was more than appreciative for every conversation I did have. Certain things here would happen every day, but every day they amazed me as if it were the first time I had that experience. Like the smell of the Jamine as I crossed over from Forio into Lacco Ameno, saw the view of Lacco ameno from Mezza Torre as I rounded the corner there, or saw the castle as I made my way into town.


I have felt the different types of sand from every beach on the island between my toes so many times that if you blind folded me and handed me sand I could tell you what part of the island you got it from. I’ve seen the sun rise and the sunset here and still cannot tell you one is more beautiful than the other.


I have eaten the best pizza in Italy, enjoyed the most delicious home cooked meals ever, and dined in the best restaurants I have found in the world all on this little island. I have made friends that are more like family, and become part of families as well. I’ve hiked a volcano and spent a day in castle all within hours of each other and still had time to drink a coffee and watch the sun go down.



I’ve learned a new language, culture, and way of life that has changed the person I am forever. More than all of this however, I have found a home. I may not live here forever but Ischia and the people I have met here will forever live in my heart. I look forward to each time I return knowing that whenever I do come back, I will be greeted with smiles, hugs, and kisses all saying “benvenuto a casa”… welcome home!

The Final Goodbyes

Now I know that I should not be looking at leaving Ischia as having to say goodbye to people, but the truth is it took me seven years to get back here last time I left and life happens. Even though I had plans of returning in only three months time, I knew there was a chance I would end up back at home having not set foot on the island again. So for me, this was a goodbye, at least for now. I woke up fairly early in the morning and made the walk down to Triangolo for the usual coffee and cornetto and of course to say goodbye to Gianluigi, Alessandro, Sara, Rosaria, and Gino. I assumed this would be some of the easier goodbyes, but still managed to shed a few tears. From there I walked over to Bar Franco and said goodbye to Michele as he poured me a rucolino (on the house of course) and continued on to Dancefloor to say goodbye to Carolina and Antonio. Next stop was the old lady who sits in front of her shop knitting all day. I actually don’t know her name, but still said hi to her everyday and we had shared some wonderful conversations over the last two months. After that, it was over to Zenze to tell Carmelina goodbye and that I hoped to see her in America. A brief stop into Delfino to tell the family there I was leaving and hoped to see them soon, as I continued on my way to what I knew would be one of the hardest goodbyes, Carmela. As I have said before Carmela is like a sister for me. We tell each other that we love one another often, and it is clear that we both mean it. As I walked into her shop I said farewell to her mom and dad and she asked if she could leave to take me to get a coffee at the bar next door. Sitting at a table in front of the bar, just across from the piazza, as we had done so many times before, we sat and had our coffee, and tried to find the right words to say. Of course my tears only hid behind my sunglasses for a short time, before making their way onto my cheeks and down to my mouth. In her sweet and kind way she wiped them away for me and gave me a hug as we ran out of words to say. With that I was off to see Elena, before heading back to the house and upstairs to see Zia Mariglia and Zio Pepino. I sat and talked with them for quite a while, telling them about what I had done while I was here, where I planned to go, and when I planned to return. They told me I was always welcome to stay at the house and to give them a call when I wanted to come back. With that I was out the door and waiting for Antonio to come pick me up. He came as I finished saying good bye to a few of the neighbors, most importantly his grandmother Lucia, who, as I said before, was not my biggest fan seven years ago, but actually was very sad to see me leave now and said she hoped I returned soon. Lastly, I asked to see Antonio’s aunt, Anna, who had become very close with me in the short time that I knew her and was by far one of my favorite people on the Island. Luckily we saw her in the street on the way to her house and stopped for a quick conversation. Her comment to me was probably my favorite of the day. As I was again crying while thanking her for everything and telling her how wonderful she was, she said, “Does this mean you’re going to have to cry all over again when you leave in September?!” I said, “Probably!” as we hugged and said our final goodbyes. And with that we were on our way to the port to meet Gianni, and for me to board the hydrofoil headed for Naples so I could catch the next train to Rome. Gianni arrived at the port shortly after us and the three of us sat and talked about nothing for a while trying to avoid the obvious. Eventually I said I was going to go get a bottle of water from a nearby bar and Gianni said he would come with me. As we made our way to the bar we didn’t speak a word, but as we returned to the dock I looked at him and simply said, with a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes, “Non voglio dire niente, perche le parole non esiste e tu sai gia tutto che io vorrei dire” (I don’t want to say anything because the words don’t exist and you already know everything I would like to say. He simply responded, “Lo so” (I know). With that we shared a hug and joined Antonio. After just a few minutes my boat arrived and we walked over to the boarding platform. I said goodbye to Antonio and Gianni walked me up to the steps of the ship. We shared one last hug and kiss on the cheek, as I turned to step on board. With tears streaming and trying to catch my breath I turned to give a wave and say one last “Ciao” to the brother in my heart and turned back to find my seat.

The Last Supper

Gianni had left my last night up to me saying that whatever I wanted to do, he was at my disposition. I told him I would like to go to dinner, just the two of us, and then meet up with everyone at Bar Triangolo after. He was delighted at my decision and showed up at my house around 9 to drive us to dinner. Seven years ago I had a dress shirt that I wore often and Gianni always commented on how much he liked it. Since I had slept on his boat the last two weeks I was there I had left that shirt hanging up for him. I decided I would do the same for him this year and had picked out one of my dress shirts, a pair of sandals (rainbows) that he always said he liked, and a book as a going away present. To my surprise he showed up wearing the shirt I had given him seven years ago, but quickly changed into the one I was giving him now. I Felt the tears coming as I handed him these parting gifts and so we simply shared a look that said it all and kept the tears at bay. We didn’t say much, but it was okay, we both knew we didn’t need to. So it was on to the scooter and heading to Il Briciola for what would be our last meal together for who knows how long. As Giovanni greeted us, and was sad to hear that I was leaving, he asked what I would like for my last night. I told him to bring out whatever he wanted as I had never had a bad meal at his place, and dinner was soon under way. First the wine and water was served, followed by raw mussels, bruschetta, and stemed clams. Next was the famous Taglietelle al Limone (cooked by Giovanni not me this time), then some fresh grilled fish, and of course finished off with coffee and fresh fruit. Giovanni as usual joined us for a glass of wine to talk about my travels and invite me back to Ischia soon. He told me I was always welcome in his restaurant/home anytime I was in Italy and gave me a hug as we left. Though Gianni and I ate together almost every day it was rare that we ever were able to share a meal just the two of us and that made tonight that much more special for me. After dinner we headed down to Triangolo for an after dinner drink and to meet up with Carmela and Cristian, as well as a couple of other friends that had come down to say good-bye to me. As Triangolo came to a close Gianni and I decided to head out to Forio to meet up with a couple of other friends, Nelly and Monica, for one last drink and some dancing. The girls had to work in the morning and left for home around 3:00 and Gianni and I stayed for about another hour just talking and relaxing before heading home ourselves. The house was already clean and my bags were packed, so I climbed into my bed for the last time and was quickly off to sleep.

Ristorante Mama Maria

Before I tell you about my last lunch with the family I need to tell you about every lunch with the family. For the eight weeks, some almost sixty days, that I was in Ischia I had lunch with Gianni, his mom Maria, sister Restituta, father Michele, nephews Antony and Michele, and occasionally brother-in-law Giovanni, for something like forty five or fifty of those days. Not only did I feel like part of the family, I WAS part of the family. A lot of things in Italy are done with a lot of regularity, routine, and rules. This was the same inside the house as well. Lunch was always served at one and dinner was always at nine. You washed your hands as soon as you entered the house, and then waited for Mama to tell you what needed to be done.


My usual duties consisted of cutting the bread and taking care of Michele. Meat was only served on certain days, fish on other days, rabbit once a week, Saturday was rice salad, and Monday was simple pasta or rice. The pasta always was the first course, followed by the protein and salad, then the fresh bread and cheese, and finally fresh fruit (from the garden) and coffee made its way to the table. Needless to say everyone had their place at the table and that was never to change, and being part of the family I too had my spot at the table as well. Michele always took little Michele for a walk as soon as we finished eating, Antony went to play video games or watch TV, Gianni went to read the paper, and I sat and talked with Restituta and Mama until Gianni was ready to leave. The feeling of family in Ischia is one like I have never experienced anywhere else in the world, and how fortunate I was to able to truly be a part of the family here. Seven years ago Antony was two years old and immediately we were buddies, always playing together. Michele was just about one year old this year and did not take to me right away, actually would scream and cry when he was given to me, but that changed over time and soon he was reaching out for me to pick him up and play with him. By the time I left he had even learned to say my name.



For my last lunch not much had changed from any other day. I walked in and washed my hands, cut the bread, kept Michele busy while Mama finished the cooking; I took my place at the table, and ate more than everyone else. The only things that were different were that Mama went off the normal menu and made meatballs today because she knew they were my favorite and after we finished eating everyone stayed at the table for about an hour to soak in the very precious last minutes together. I would love to say that I held it together and didn’t shed a tear, but those of you who know me would know that that would be a lie. Sometime in that hour it hit me that I didn’t know when I would be seeing my family in Ischia again or when I would again take my place at the table, and the tears formed in my eyes and were soon rolling off my chin as they fell to the table that we had shared so many special moments at. With that Mama began crying as did Restituta, and suddenly it was back to the normal routine. Gianni made his way to the back to read the paper and I remained to talk. We pulled ourselves together and shared some last words, gave each other hugs and kisses and I promised to not take seven years to come back. Soon Gianni was back and we were off. Back at the house I hurried to change and get down to the beach to meet up with Carmela and Carmelina for what would be our last day at the beach. Carmela instantly noticed the sadness in me and tried to cheer me up with her wonderful smile and kind nature, but it wasn’t enough to stop the tears from falling once again. Eventually I pulled it together and we laughed and joked about all of the great times we had had. Soon it was time to go as the Carmelas had to go back to work and I had to go to the house to finish cleaning and take a nap before dinner.

And Then Came Monday

Though I had been to Negombo, the thermal park, a few times already during my stay on Ischia I had yet to go with Gianni, and he invited me to go with him for one of my last days. We made our way to park around noon and relaxed by the beach until lunch time (one o’clock as always) when we headed up to the restaurant for a little wine and some delicious food. I decided to take it easy and not eat too much since I had overdone it the last few days, and ordered a nice fresh salad of tomato, basil, and mozzarella, followed by a plate of fresh and delicious fruit. After lunch it was back to the park till nearly five o’clock when we made our way home. Back at the house I spent a couple of hours cleaning before meeting back up with Gianni at Triangolo to watch Italy’s first game in the world cup. We watched the first half there and at halftime headed over to Delfino for some dinner and to watch the second half. Two other friends, Angelo and Liborio also joined us for dinner which was perfect. I had not been able to see Liborio much this trip, but had spent many a day on the boat with him seven years ago, and Angelo is and always will be a great friend and one of my favorite people from the Island. After dinner I headed back to Gianni’s for a beer and some long conversation. We both knew our time together was coming to an end, and though neither of us wanted to admit how tired we were, sat and talked till nearly four am. My bond with Gianni had grown so much over the past two months and now he was as they say in Italy, “Non e un fratello nel sangue, pero e un fratello nel cuore.” He is not a brother in blood, but is a brother in the heart. Tired and sad all over again I walked down the street to my house to get ready for the next day, my last full day in Ischia.

My Last Sunday

Though Sunday is usually the biggest lunch meal of the week I rarely made it to Mama Maria’s for the Sunday feast as we normally didn’t get back from the clubs till sometime between 4:30 and 6:30am Sunday morning. However, being that it was my last Sunday I decided that I needed to go this week. As Usual it was a great feast and Mama Maria was happy that I came. Also, as usual, my plate was much larger than everyone else’s. After lunch I returned to the house for a much needed nap. Normally on Sunday nights I liked to go to Bar Campo for a pizza and stuck with that tradition for my last Sunday. So it was off to Bar Campo to watch the World Cup and eat yet another perfect pizza with Martino and another friend of ours. From the bar we headed out to Forio for a few drinks, and then down to Bar Franco for some live music and to meet up with Gianni and Antonio. What a great way to end things! As I walked in the bar was packed with a lot of friends and everyone was in a great mood. Before I knew it everyone was swinging off of each other’s arms, singing along, and even getting half naked and dancing on top of tables and chairs.



As the bar came to a close we all went our separate ways and I returned home to organize my things a little and think about how much I was going to miss this wonderful little piece of land in the middle of the Mediterranean Sea. Unfortunately I was already starting to get too emotional about leaving and I still had three days to go before I would leave.

You’re Beautiful

If you have been following the blog you will recall that for prince’s birthday we had a dinner with the girls, one thing that I didn’t mention about that night was that at the end we all had exchanged facebook details and shortly began exchanging messages and having the occasional chat. I began chatting and messaging one of the girls more often, and eventually only with her. Teresa (as her name will be for this story)was in town for Prince’s birthday but returned to school the following day in a town that was about five hours away from the Island, but would soon be returning to Ischia and we had made plans to go to the beach together. I found her smile irresistible and thought that through our internet conversations we would get along great. The day she returned to the island I was at Tira Tardi with Prince, Carmela, and Martino when we ran into Teresa. Excited to see each other we spent most of the night talking before exchanging phone numbers and making plans to get together soon. We did get together shortly after that night, but not to go to the beach, instead we went for a coffee. Originally we had planned for her to pick me up and we would go to a nearby beach for coffee, but her mom needed the car and I quickly arranged to get Gianni’s scooter and an extra helmet from Antonio so I could pick her up and be on our way for our first date, which in Italy consists of going to a bar near the beach and having coffee. We sat over our coffee for over an hour, even thought the coffee was gone in about two minutes, and then went for a walk down by the water before finding a nice spot to sit in the sand and watch the sun go down. It was a beautiful sunset that night and everything seemed as if it had gone perfectly. Just as the sun dropped below the horizon Teresa told me she needed to get home to study and so we reluctantly hopped back on the scooter and made our way back to Lacco Ameno. Dropping her off at her house, we shared the normal double cheek kiss, said that we had had a great time and made plans to get together again. That night I was floating. So excited that what, was only my second actual date in almost five months, had gone so well and we seemed to get along even better than I had expected. We exchanged a few texts reconfirming that we both enjoyed ourselves, possibly too much, and made plans to get coffee again in two days time. However, about an hour before we were to meet she messaged me to let me know that she would not be able to make it. I was deflated, however, played it cool and said that I understood and that we should reschedule for the following day. She apologized and said that the following day would be great. We did get together the next day and headed to a different coffee bar and then went for a walk along the pier before again finding a nice spot to sit and talk some more. Again Teresa had to get home by around 8 to study and we made our way back to the car for her to drop me off at my house as she continued on to hers. Back at the house I again was full of life and excited about this new found possibility of having found someone that I was actually interested in. Again we made plans to get together, for you guessed it, coffee and a walk. This time we went to yet another coffee bar, in Forio, and then walked to a nearby church that overlooks the coast and sat for a talk. We talk about a lot of things but mostly, but a lot of what consumed our conversation was conversation about the fact that I would be leaving within a couple of weeks and that Teresa was scared to continue to see me and allow a connection to grow, knowing that it would only come to an end. I assured her that I understood where her feelings came from and that they were valid, but also said that I had plans of returning to the island soon, and that if all went well we could see what we wanted to do. She agreed that we should see what happened. Our fourth and final date was our best. This time we actually went to have something to eat. Back at the first bar/restaurant that we had a coffee at, we had a beer and a panino. Again the conversation was great and we after settling the check we headed back to the beach for a walk just as we had done only one week before. As things had been going so well, at some point during our walk I nervously reached out to grab her and was delighted at the fact that she accepted it and turned toward me with a smile. We walked for about another ten minutes or so, before the moment seemed right and I had worked up enough courage to move in for a kiss. As my lips found hers she accepted my advance and we enjoyed our first kiss. Shortly after the kiss we made our way back to the car, continued to kiss a little while longer until it came time for her to have to return home. That was the beginning of the end. On the way home she noticed car was low on gas and as we pulled up to the station asked me if I knew how to pump gas. I said yes but that I had never done it in Italy before, not knowing if it was any different than from the States. She saw that a friend had also pulled into the gas station at the same time and asked if he could pump the gas. He quickly filled the tank and we were on our way to my house to drop me off. About two minutes into the drive we noticed a funny smell and immediately realized that her friend had put regular gas into the diesel engine. Freaking out she called her brother to ask what she should do and he said hurry home and see in the morning. She quickly dropped me off, not leaving the opportunity for one last kiss goodnight and hurried home in a panic. That would be the last I would see of Teresa until the day before I left. We made plans many times, but something always came up or didn’t allow her to meet me. The words I began to hear the most from her turned out to be, “I’m sorry. I hope you forgive me. Can we get together tomorrow?” Finally I told her that if she had time or would like to get together to call me, because I had plenty of friends who were able to find time to see me and that I didn’t have another day that I could afford to lose waiting for her to find time. She said she understood and that she would get in touch with me. So there we were, the day before I left with her telling me how great it was to meet me, but the timing was wrong and that it wouldn’t have worked. She told me that I had nothing to be sorry for and that she had made the mistakes. I thanked her for finally being honest with me, we hugged, and were on our separate ways. If you’re wondering why the title of this entry is You’re Beautiful, I will tell you now. The first day that we had been together for coffee the James blunt song “You’re Beautiful” came on and would forever make me think of Teresa. Back at the house all I could think was that I had for the first time since I have been on this trip I really put myself out there and had to except that even though the girl I had put myself out there for wanted to see what could be she would not allow herself to get over the fear to actually find it. And just as the words of the song say, “….but it’s time to face the truth, I will never be with you.”

A Letter To Dad

Dear Dad,

I’m sitting on a train from Prague to Berlin and thought that it is about time that I send you a letter. I can’t believe that I have been gone over seven months already. Sometimes it feels like yesterday that you were dropping me off at the airport and at others it seems like years ago. I am glad that we have been able to keep in touch since I’ve been gone. Being able to skype and send messages on facebook really makes it easy when I miss you the most. However, I think that because I can call you and communicate with you so easily I haven’t really felt the need to tell you what is going on in my heart. One of those things I guess we all just take for granted sometimes. So, I’m reading this book right now called, “The Art of Racing in the Rain” and had to put it down because I looked like a fool crying on the train so hard. The book deals with death and family, and was just a little too much for me to handle at the moment. But as I sat there thinking after setting the book down I remembered how fortunate I was to have the time with mom that I did before she died, and how special it was that I was able to tell her everything I wanted to say. Not that you are going anywhere anytime soon, but I just wanted to take this moment to tell you how much I love you and appreciate you, and how much I am looking forward to spending time with you when I get home. So here it goes… I love you! Not in the just saying it because that’s what we say kind of way, but in the, with everything I have and from the bottom of my heart kind of way. I appreciate all that you have done for me throughout my life, but more than anything you have ever done for me, I appreciate what you have become for me. Over the past ten or twelve years I feel that our relationship has really grown and become something that I feel very special and blessed to have in my life. I know that it has not always been easy and that is what makes it so special. I have seen you grow, and step out of your comfort zone to be there for me, when maybe it doesn’t come naturally for you, and that means more to me words could ever express. I want you to know that I look back on all those vacations and little trips we made together throughout the years, whether it be the week long trips fishing in the Sierras, weekends here and there, birthday Vegas trips, or just a day to the lake, and feel lucky to have been able to spend that time with you. As we get older and our relationship continues to grow and evolve, I am happy to get to know the person you truly are, and more than this, I am proud to call you dad (well sometimes pop or old man as well). Thank you so much for supporting me on this journey. I have to admit I was really nervous to tell you when I made the decision to leave because I thought you may think it a bad idea, a waste of money, irresponsible, and things along those lines, but you were supportive from the start. I would like to think that that is a result of our strengthened relationship and trust that we have built. Well, let me tell you this is by far one of the best experiences of my life and I have grown and learned so much about myself in this time away. I am a better person for having had this experience and you and your support has been a big part of that. I am very proud of the person I am, and I would not be who I am without you. I see the way you talk about me with your friends and even with the family and I see that you are proud of me and I just hope that you know that you are a part of who I am. So let me end this letter with this… thank you! Thank you for always being there. Thank you for accepting my challenge and holding up your end of the bargain as best you could. I know that you are sorry for the times you have fell short and I hope you know that I am sorry for the times that I fell short as well. I know that I have not been the easiest child to raise, and at times you were not the easiest father to have, but we would not be where we are today if we had not travelled the roads we have to get here, and to be honest I would not change a thing. I love you dad, and can’t wait to get home and give you a hug.

With Everything I Have,
Nick

Dinner with the Boys

Martino had told me that for my last Saturday night on the island he wanted to have me over to his house for dinner with him and some of the boys. I gladly accepted, but did not know that the feast of quails was going to last until nearly six pm. Luckily the Italians don’t normally have dinner till about ten pm so which gave me a little time to relax and digest before having yet another feast. Before I tell you about dinner let me give you a little history about Martino. First off, Martino’s name is not Martino. It’s Giovanni. I, embarrassingly, didn’t know this till almost a month after knowing him. I always found it weird that no one called him Martino when we were out around town, so finally one day I asked Carmela, and she told me his name was Giovanni. Apparently when your name is Giovanni on an island as small as Ischia, and there are strict rules on how you name your children, like your first born son takes the name of the father’s father, the second born son takes the name of the mother’s father, and so on. As you could imagine there are a lot of Giovanni’s. To make it easy on the teachers at school they sometimes call the Giovanni’s by their last name, which in this case, was Martino. Due to the fact that I already have too many Giovanni’s in this story I will continue to refer to him as Martino as well. Martino and Carmela have been dating for about five years and since he knew that Carmela and I were like brother and sister he immediately became a good friend of mine. Most Friday and Saturday nights I would spend at the club with them and most of that time he and I would have fun giving each other shit. When it came close to the time I would be leaving I didn’t expect him to do anything special for me, but I was pleasantly surprised when Carmela told me that he wanted to cook for me. And so it was, Saturday night at Martino’s, a feast of pasta, rabbit, and of course… wine. Arriving at his house Martino was working hard in the kitchen and the USA world cup game was on, so I was told to take a seat outside, grab a glass of wine, and relax with the seven other guys that were joining us for dinner. Most of them I knew and some of them I didn’t, but it didn’t matter because in Italy there is the mentality that if you’re a friend of a friend you are a friend of mine. After sometime, which I was happy to wait, the first course was served; pasta with the sauce that the rabbit had been cooked in. Sound familiar? We all crowded around the table that had been set up outside, with the tv propped up outside the bedroom window so we could enjoy the game as we enjoyed dinner. After the pasta course Martino quickly jumped up to serve the main course, a delicious rabbit that was seasoned differently than all the other times I had eaten rabbit on the island. In general the Italians stay away from spice because they think it takes away from the flavor of the food, however, Martino had added just the right amount of red pepper and other spices to enhance the flavors of his dish perfectly. Of course the chef was not happy, thinking he had put too much salt, but the rest of us agreed that it was perfect, and the fact that the huge clay pot that he had cooked the two rabbits in was not only empty within minutes but we had also soaked up the remaining juice with pieces of fresh bread as well. After dinner Martino headed to his room to take a quick shower so we could make our way to Ischia for a night on the town. While he was in the shower I began doing the dishes, which, with a slap across the neck when he returned, I found out was a mistake. I explained that since he would not take money from me it was the least I could do to which he only responded with another slap across the neck. Needless to say, I put the sponge down and we left.

100 Quails

Back at the house I quickly showered and waited for Gianni to come pick me up to take me to the other side of the island for what I had been told was a very unique experience on the island. The island has only twenty five hunters on it and twice a year they get together to feast on what they have caught. Once again, having fallen into the right circle of friends I was invited to join the festivities. Pasquale, Antonio’s dad is from the town of Barano, which is also where my family is from, however I have not yet met them. The last time I was in Ischia my Aunt told me not to look up the family as they had a fight over the land many years ago and things were left on very bad terms. Following my aunt’s direction I never looked for them. However, this year I decided I would look for them and hopefully have a meal and take some pictures. It is through looking for my family that I developed a relationship with Pasquale. Turns out that he is actually close friends with my uncle and has arranged for us to get together when I return to Ischia in September. I’m not sure why Pasquale has taken such a liking to me, but I can tell you that he has done everything he can to include me in everything the family does, and is always very excited to share the customs and traditions of the island. Today was only different in the way that this is not a custom of the island, but rather of a small select group. I felt as though I was being let in to the inner circle, the secret society; The Illuminati. To say that I was honored to be a part of this would be a gross understatement. After the fifteen or twenty minute scooter ride up into the mountainside we reached the cantina where we would be feasting. As we approached the house it did not seem like anything special, you know the usual large property on Ischia, grapevines leading the way to the house, a large garden running alongside the house, a cantina to make and store the wine, and a simple small house attached for eating, sleeping, and relaxing with the family. Once we entered I quickly found that this was different than any other house I had been to. I had already been told that the only person who does not hunt who is allowed to come to these lunches was Gianni (surprise surprise) so I was a bit reserved as I approached the cantina. Maybe I’ve watched too many mafia movies and had this idea in my head that everyone would be whispering and wondering who the American was. I was pleasantly surprised that I was greeted with nothing but smiles, friendly handshakes, and wishes of warm welcome.

I was we walked into the cantina I was quickly handed a glass of wine and directed to the table with all the meats, cheeses, olives, and bread. As I was picking out my appetizers Gianni told me a little bit about the place we were eating. The guy who lives there, I wish I could remember his name, also runs a small restaurant from his house, but the unique thing about his restaurant, well aside from not having a name, a sign, an address, a phone number, let alone a menu, is that he makes absolutely everything in house.

Gianni explained this, pointing to my plate that the bread was made fresh this morning, the cheese is made and stored in the cantina, the olives are grown on the other side of the hill and then marinated, the meat is from what the guys had hunted and had been cured and dried in the cantina, and most importantly the wine is all from his own grapes, grown, harvested, processed, and aged all right here on his own land and by his own hands. After about a half hour of mingling and sampling the different antipasti we were told to sit down as the first course was about to be served. Outside, under the shade of the grapevines we sat at two tables. The first table, which I was seated at, had twenty of the hunters at it, Gianni, and myself. Just to the left of us was a second table that only had five, and they were clearly the eldest of the group.



One thing that I noticed while sitting there was that this unique and special tradition was not going to die anytime soon. As I looked over at the table with the men who were well into their sixties I then looked to the other end of my table to see the youngest generation of twenty year olds also taking part. Clearly this was something that would be kept in the family and passed down to their children and their children’s children. Shortly after having sat down our first course was served. A delicious pasta (spaghetti) simply tossed in the wonderful sauce that the quails had been cooked in. Next came the first round of quails which had been simmered in large pans with herbs and spices. This was followed by another type of bird that I do not know the name of, but is incredibly flavorful and a little more meaty than the quails. Finally, another round of quails, but this time they were simply seasoned, rubbed with herbs, and cooked on an open wood fire. As the last of the quails were eaten I was told to take a guess at how many quails we had that afternoon, my guess was fifty, but as you know from the title of this entry we had 100 quails. Lastly was dessert and a little time to talk with the boys. Dessert consisted of platters of fruit, a sampling of cakes, gelato, and dessert wines, grappa, and champagne, all of course made in house. As we finished off the desserts the owner opened a special bottle of champagne for the celebratory toast and the festivities continued.





Sitting at my end of the table I tried to explain to the guys closest to me that things like this don’t happen where I come from, and that if it does I am surely not aware of it. I explained how much I love the life in Italy and specifically in Ischia, but more than anything I expressed my gratitude for not only being invited to, but being welcomed so warmly to share in what is a very special and unique celebration. As usual I was told not to thank them, but that they thanked me for having been a part of it, and the fact that I appreciated it and enjoyed it was all the thanks they needed. So after another hour or so of drinking and talking we called it a day. They call it a lunch, but somehow I think there needs to be another name for it. And so it was, back on the scooter heading home at just after six… Just enough time to take a nap and get ready for the dinner Martino had planned for my going away.