Ischia
I just got back from the island of Ischia, which is right off the cost of Napoli, above Capri. Ischia is bigger than Capri, and less touristy, which is why I chose to make it my first trip. We left the apartment at 6:30 am for a 7:30 train to Naples. We arrived in Naples around 9:30 and decided to get something to eat. We began to look for a café when we saw a local down a side street and asked them, “Pizzeria?” with a questioning look on our faces to clear up any confusion. The lady beckoned us to follow, so we did. She led us a few blocks until she recognized a man on one of the street corners. They spoke to each other in Italian, so I could not understand, but then she gestured for us to follow him. It was something that would have never happened in America, yet is very common here. We needed help finding something to eat, and since we didn’t know the language the local Italians actually took us to the pizzeria. A few blocks later we arrived at the restaurant and the man talked to the guy inside for a bit. By this time it’s 11 o’clock and we were told to come back at noon. We thanked everyone for their help and said we would be back. So Briana, Melanie, and I went and got some frozen espressos at a café and sat for an hour before heading back to get pizza. Finished with lunch we walked in the direction of the sea to find the port we would be leaving from. The ferry ride was beautiful and I loved seeing the Italian coastline. When we arrived in Ischia we took a bus to the opposite side of the island, Forio, and walked to our hostel to drop off our bags before heading to the beach. We only had an hour of daylight left to swim but we mostly just goofed around and giggled and took photos, excited to be on the island on our first trip. We left the beach and walked around the little town of Forio, poking in some shops and grabbing a spinach sandwich from the streets. It was getting late, so we went back to the hostel to change and then back out to a pastry shop we had seen on the main shopping street hoping we could sit down and enjoy a cannoli. We ordered our desserts at the counter, which we soon realized was a mistake because we had to stand and eat instead of sitting. Either way, the cannoli I ordered was amazing. We finished and left and walked around for a while hoping to find something interesting to do. After a while of walking aimlessly we decided to head back to the pastry shop and order a few drinks. The islanders speak much less English than the Romans. It took a little while for the young bartender to understand but eventually I got the point across that I wanted a frozen espresso drink, like the one I had earlier, but this time with Bailey’s mixed in. The German woman at the counter next to us giggled, whispering to her husband, “the girls are trying to spike their coffee,” and the two of them laughed at us jokingly thinking it was very funny and cute. We got our drinks and since this was our second time at the pastry shop that day, the owners, a middle aged man and woman, were more helpful. We finished up as the shop was closing. We tried to talk to the bartender, who may have been their son, for a while, but he didn’t know any English. Either way it turned out to be a great night. We were all glad we went back to the pastry shop for the second time, I think the owners really appreciated us trying to do everything right, or the Italian way.
The next morning we woke up and were on the way to the beach around 10 o’clock. We ended up on a beach down on the side of a cliff that turned out to be where the locals go, not the tourists. It was an awesome beach. We walked along the water’s edge and looked for pieces of pottery that were smooth and washed up on the shore. At the end of the beach were some rocks we climbed on and they were so neat, dropping off into the sea, making a little cove. We played there for a while and swam and laid in the sun until we got hungry for lunch. We decided to go to a place we had walked by on our way down to the beach. It was quaint and pretty and sat on the corner of a cliff overlooking the ocean. We sat down to eat, the only ones there besides the man and woman who owned the restaurant . Tthe owner came over and asked us if we wanted lasagna for lunch. We didn’t really understand so he beckoned us to follow him to the kitchen. There were two pans of fresh, home cooked lasagnas right there that were just made. We said we would take three. He brought the food out to our table and we ate a delicious, home cooked meal while a few tables over him and his wife did the same.
We got a cappuccino and headed back to Forio to find a bus that would take us to the hot springs that were supposed to be on the island. We got on the wrong bus a few times before finally choosing the right one. We kept on having to ask people for directions but since no one spoke English it was difficult. Hand motions and charades came in handy more than once. After a long journey trying to find the hot springs on the island we got to a road that must have been 2 miles long and very, very steep. We walked all the way down, hoping this road truly was leading us in the right directions. We got to a landing finally and saw people in the ocean below lounging around like they were in hot tubs in the middle of the ocean. So excited we found them, we ran down the steps of the beautiful cliff, right before dusk, dropped our things, and sat with all the locals, lounging in the natural hot water. You could see the steam coming from the mountain’s edge. We were among the only few people there who were not locals, which was fine until a madman who the locals call “Nino” came out of his cave-like-house right next to the hot springs and began yelling with another young man in the water. We got a little nervous, not knowing what was happening, and decided to head out. We climbed back up the landing, out of breath, still with a steep, long climb ahead of us, and it was getting late. Luckily we saw a taxi down the road and asked him for a ride to the top instead. Five minutes later we were back on the bus heading back to the hostel to shower before another night out.
We sat down at a café in the square in the middle of the hubbub around the shops we had seen the night before and all ordered brochette. We finished dinner and for desert we headed back to the pastry shop for drinks and pastries. I ordered a lobster tail pastry, at least that’s what we call it in Boston. I asked the name of it in Italian but they didn’t understand my question. Then I ordered the same drink as the night before, and the shop owner and bartender laughed saying in broken English, “You must have really liked that then!”. The three of us sat down at one of the two small tables, as if we were locals, knowing exactly how this ordering and eating business worked. We could tell the owners had warmed up to us, especially since we loved their pastries and were so determined to do everything right. We chatted and joked and ate and drink and had a blast sitting in that little, family owned and run pastry shop, as if we were all best friends. After a few hours they were closing and I decided to ask if I could buy the plate my pastry came on. I thought it was pretty and it had the name of the pastry shop so I thought it would be a nice souvenir. The kid our age asked his mother, who mans the register and is the most stern of the three, and she said no. We went up to pay for our drinks and the owner gestured to his wife at the register to charge us less. I asked again if I could buy it, and this time the owner looked at me and winked, gesturing for me to take it with me, and jokingly holding one finger up to his mouth whispering “shhhh!” as not to let his wife know.
We had the most amazing day in Ischia and truly got a sense of what it feels like to be a local living on the Island. The next morning we packed up our things, but before we left, we went to a new beach for an hour and while it was lovely, it was full of tourist and not nearly as neat or as beautiful as the one the day before. After, we grabbed sandwiches and one more frozen espresso. At this café, I again really liked the small glass and dish my frozen espresso came in. So, of course, I asked the waiter how much. He took the dish from me and went inside. I really didn’t know why until he brought it out all clean and told me to take it with me.
We caught a ferry back to Naples and quickly got on the train to head back to Rome.
Ischia was an amazing experience. It taught me a lot about traveling and culture. I think the most important thing we did on the island was going back to the same pastry shop multiple times; it truly made the trip worth while, getting a sense for the people that live there. The hot springs were so unique, and the beach a beautiful cliff, but that pastry shop is where I learned the most about life on that island, as well as indulging in delicious deserts.
2 years ago • Notes