Italian Island Summer (Wish I Bought a Camera Before Traveling)
Everything about summer in the Italian islands feels right.
It’s a long ass travel day to get here: two flights, one boat, and a taxi ride later and I arrive at my the house, tucked away down an alley, at 9:30 at night (I left EWR at 8:30pm the day before) and you know what?
It’s all worth it.
My first layover was in Rome.
I had ambitions to use the 5 hour layover, store my luggage and go shopping but seeing that I did not sleep on that 8 hour flight, I violently needed to nap. In the grueling tourist-filled line for non-EU passports to get through customs, I called the airport lounge front desk for day passes for hourly nap pods and booked one for 4 hours at $130 (a steal compared to what I valued being in a clean comfortable bed for at that moment)
I got there through the skybridge, checked in at the front, asked for a European adapter, charged my phone, took off my pants and slept deeply for 3+ hours, waking up in the same position I fell asleep to.
I wake up and decide to calmly find something to eat and make my way to my gate for Naples. I’m not the biggest fan of the FCO. It’s too crowded and the stores don’t sell anything interesting, so I grab an espresso and prosciutto panini.
On my way to the gate, I visit the electronics store to buy an European adapter and see a young boy dancing in front of the JBL speaker that’s lighting up different colors.
He’s laughing by himself, pure vibin’ watching it change from pink to purple to red. In that same row, I see a gorgeous petite Italian woman with a perfectly grown bob wearing sunglasses trying out the headphones, looking at herself in the mirrors, also dancing.
Like really dancing.
Maybe be his mom.
It’d be insane if they weren’t connected at all.
She’s not just casually bobbin or keeping a beat. She was dancing in the way one does at an outdoor barbecue.
Hell yeah.
Italians are just living life out here.
I walked down the hallway, passing all the gates to find– of course as Italy would– a gelato cart.
A tiny decorated gelato cart with a man wearing an apron had a queue of about 5 adults and at the front was an Italian grandpa with a hat one only wears on a yacht, enjoying his freshly scooped gelato on a cone.
Spiritually young. He was a real life version of the grandpa from Up.
When I boarded my plane to Naples, I had the exit row seat. As the flight attendant asked all of us if we were in good condition to follow the exit instruction in an emergency and made eye contact, an older gentleman in the row stood up and took a different seat, clearly too tipsy. in all my times of flying exit row, I never witnessed someone voluntarily give up their spacious seat.
I landed and felt the coastal humidity immediately, exited and took a local taxi to catch a hydrofoil.
Once I arrived to the islands by boat, I was ready to pass out again. My taxi driver, Lore and I have been chatting on WhatsApp to coordinate my pick up at the port. I told her I changed to an earlier boat in hopes to get to the house faster and eat something even though restaurants close at midnight or 1am.
She sent me a selfie of herself:
I loved that it was a woman
I loved that she thought to do that for me
By the time we docked, stars were out and the moon was skinny. Everyone was rolling their suitcases across the cobblestone. I had 2 missed calls and several texts from Lore that the roads were closed and to meet her a little uphill.
Not a problem.
I’m asked by several people if I need a taxi and I get to say “I’ve got one” avoiding the worry of being scammed for a higher rate.
I see a compact van (ones I’m used to seeing in Seoul) pull up and a short woman with glasses step out with so much gusto, grab her purse from the car, leaving all the windows open and walk toward a group of people across from me. I called to her “Loredana!” and she looked at me “AH KAILA!” which strong potency and with a thick Italian accent generally sounds like “kai-lah” which I love.
I love when Italians talk in general, there is so much concentrated pronunciation in their words like all their focus is in communicating in that moment.
We promptly hop in what feels like a magic taxi.
It’s got so much character and she knows it does.
She also drives it with style, stick shift and all.
The windows rolled all the way down and you get exposure to the energy of the town, which comes alive at night after the hot sun has gone down.
She asks questions like what I do and what brings me back as she makes eye contact in the rear view mirror.
Roads are one-way and very tight and everyone’s walking around us.
We pull up to a side parking lot and I hear a group of 3 men say “Loreeeee” in a way one greets their homie. They also look at me which makes me feel shy. We park and she gets out, slides my door open, whips out a little step stool and pops the trunk for my suitcase which one of the gentlemen grab.
She’s speaking in Italian but I can pick up her mentioning it’s my second time back here. They look at me with kindness and accommodate my late arrival to welcome me in and show me the balconies and gates and keys to the whole place.
It’s a father and son, both adorable, walk me through how to use the ACs, wifi, and leave me with a bottle of prosecco. I change my clothes and walk 20 meters to a restaurant for dinner alfresco.
I’m famished and order a diavola and tiramasu, things I could surely get in NYC. They were divine.
I come back, shower and pass out and wake up at 3:30am naturally. My alarm was set to 9:30am, which is when shops open, thinking I’d have a slow morning and go shopping before swimming but I can’t sleep again so I read and I eat snacks they kindly stocked in the house and scroll TikTok. Soon I see the blueness brighten my windows.
Dawn is here.
I glance at my phone, it’s 5:25am and I could sleep for 4 hours but my instincts are to catch the sunrise. I’m east facing on the island and 7 minutes from the spiaggia so I grab my journal and a beach towel and walk in some general direction toward the shore.
I’m the only person outside, taking in all the details of the homes, laundry lines, cats trying to find something eat.
I wish I had a camera instead of my phone.
I get to the shore just in time and see the sunrise, absorbing its innocent red peeking out from behind the mountains, as if it’s shy.
But then shows its fullness so quickly. Does time always go by this fast?
Watching the sun move with comparison to the still horizon is awakening.
Yes, Kaila, time does go by at this speed.
Soak it up.
Everything.
I put on my sunglasses so I can keep watching the sun.
How could I be here when just 24 hours earlier I was in NYC? How magical.
There’s two swimmers in the water and a man cleaning the front of his beach club (and people said Europeans don’t work hard in the summer, it was 5:40am)
I do a 10 minute meditation to the sound of waves, journal and walk to the closest espresso bar.
On my way, ahead of me is a man with a dog who both get into the tiniest little pick up truck, the driver on the right side and the dog was happily sitting passenger.
I instantly smiled at them and saw the man turn in the back window and smile at me. I approach the espresso bar, accompanied by Italian grandpas smoking their cigarettes, chatting it up loudly compared to what I was just around. I ordered a macchiato for one euro and sipped it at the counter as I joined them.
