The Impossible Dream- Amalfi

It was a clear, warm morning, with the sun rising through the palm trees when I boarded the train to Sorrento. I planned my day to work my way to the Amalfi Coast. I was so excited, since the Amalfi was one of the top places on my list to visit in Italy. I had stumbled across it in one of National Geographic's Travel magazines. I looked at the photograph of  whitewashed stone houses built upon cliffs with an azure ocean below and green mountains above, covered with olive tree orchards and vineyards. I instantly fell in love and decided I had to visit that place.

 The train was extremely crowded, hot, and smelly. There were hundreds of people crammed in, heading to visit Mount Vesivus or Pompei. I stood there for about forty-five minutes before we reached Pompei, where 90 percent of the sweaty tourists finally left the train.

I was exhausted and sore. My backpack was still full of the apples and oranges I bought for 99 cents in Firenze. It was just getting too heavy and becoming such a hassle to pack and unpack. I was so tired of living off of apples and oranges. A gypsy woman came by with a baby on her hip, begging for money. I told her that I had no money (which was entirely the truth), but I had some apples and oranges if she wanted them. I handed her the rest of my fruit and a clementine to the baby. After, I realized my burden was somewhat lighter, both physically and spiritually. A man that was sitting across from me began to talk to me. I motioned that I was deaf and that I spoke very little Italian. He spoke no English, but apparently knew some Italian sign language. We were able to communicate a bit, by simplifying our sign language and playing a small game of charades. Italian sign language is so different to American and French, so it is not so easy to communicate in those two languages. I was a little uncomfortable talking to a complete stranger who was an older man, but he was really kind and seemed so excited to try to communicate with me. We sat on the train and looked outside and pointed out our delight at the changing scenery. The sheer-dropped cliffs and the ocean began to appear, along with clementine and lemon orchards, scenic mountains with smoke rising from the vineyards, and the whitewashed homes protruded from the cliff sides.

We arrived in Sorrento and I headed to the tabacchi (a small convenience store) to buy a ticket to Amalfi. I was yelled at by a cranky old lady that there were "NO TICKETS TO AMALFI! NONE!" I brushed off the old lady's rudeness and went over to the information center to see where I could get a ticket. I ran into the man I met on the train, and he helped me communicate with the lady at the desk. I found out that the buses to Amalfi were cancelled until 6:30 PM. It was only 11:00 AM and I was really frustrated. I was so tired. I didn't care if I was in Sorrento. I just wanted to get to my hostel in Furore and just relax while enjoying the scenery. Disappointed, I lugged myself off to find the pier. It was really warm and I was wearing a sweatshirt, jeans, and boots. I wandered around until I found a public restroom (that was FREE! and clean! and had toilet paper!), where I changed my clothes to just a shirt, shorts, and tennis shoes. Then, I dragged myself off to try to find a place to relax. There was a narrow steel staircase zig-zagging down a cliff face to the road that led to the ocean. I climbed down those steps and cautiously hugged the cliff with my back while walking down the road, watching for cars and buses. There were several close calls to being hit, since the roads are so narrow and the drivers are just insane. I arrived at the harbor, with full view of the ocean. The ocean was so vast and endless. The blueness of the waters nearly matched the sky, making it seem like the world went on forever.

I hung out at the harbor for a while and laid beside the garbage littered rocks. The sun was warm and the day was still early. All I could feel was complete physical exhaustion. But, I just couldn't lay there for long. I got bored, so I began to walk. I braved the roads again, ascended the cliff side stairs, and walked the streets of Sorrento, passing overpriced shops and fancy hotels. Finally, I arrived to the mountain roads. They were narrow and winding, but I continued to walk. I passed olive trees, campgrounds, small farms, rustic cabin hotels, waterfalls,  and Virgin Mary monuments built upon the rocks. I walked and walked and walked. Italian drivers passed by me and the males took no shame in slowing down and gawking, turning their heads nearly into a complete 180, most likely wondering what a young girl was doing walking up a mountain in shabby clothes and an overstuffed backpack with a hammock hanging from it. I walked until I couldn't walk anymore. Finally, after a short rest, I turned back and decided I wanted to find an Internet point. Unfortunately, all the Internet points and shops were closed. I guess in the southern parts of Italy, there are some sort of "siestas," or a break. Meaning, all the shops closed from 2 PM to 5 PM. I was upset and ended up sitting in a small cafe, eating the cheapest thing on the menu, which was fried vegetables. It was only 3 PM, and I still had three hours until my bus left. I was so tired. It was all I could think about. I forced myself to leave the cafe and walk around some more. Finally, I could not stand it anymore and sat at the bus stop for nearly an hour and a half. It increasingly became cold, but I was too exhausted to change my clothes. Finally, my bus arrived. I collapsed on a comfortable seat, but wouldn't let myself sleep. I had to be awake to get off my stop. The bus began to leave and suddenly I didn't have to worry about falling asleep anymore. The driver was crazy! I sat on the edge of my seat and gripped the handlebars in front of me until my knuckles turned white. He sped through narrow streets, barely big enough for two regular cars to pass. So, imagine how it was with a gargantuan bus crashing its way through. The traffic was heavy, and we came close to rear ending several cars. As we ascended the mountains, the roads just became even more treacherous, narrow, and winding. I was holding on for dear life and searching for a sign to Furore, praying that I'd be able to find my hostel.

After about an hour, I asked the driver where the heck Furore was. He said it was just ahead, and that was when I spotted La Vela Bed and Breakfast. I got off the bus and headed down the staircase to the family home, where I was greeted warmly by a sweet, sweet old Italian man, who was probably about five feet tall, and his son, who fortunately spoke English. The son took me to my room, where I about fainted from shock. I had my own room. And the beds had TWO FULL PILLOWS and a HUGE, SOFT COMFORTER. And no bedbugs. I checked. I had my own bathroom too, which was clean. There was even a TV in the room. It was amazing. I had never slept better.

The following morning, I woke up to sweet, warm sunrise. Looking out my window, the view held white stoned houses and the ocean in all its vastness, sparkling with the reflection of the sunrise. Upstairs, I walked into the dining room to find my breakfast laid out for me. It was just a simple meal; toast with jam, pear juice, and an espresso. The old man had seated me on the balcony, facing the ocean. He served up my espresso and chatted with me in Italian. I understood quite a bit of what he said, but couldn't really answer him because my spoken Italian is terrible. After I ate, I snuck on the bus heading to Amalfi. On the way there, the bus rear ended a parked car and went on its way. Then a few minutes later, we got stuck passing another bus. We ended up scraping sides with a terrible noise, but eventually squeezed out of the mess. After about thirty minutes of praying for my life, I hopped off the bus and onto the streets of the Amalfi Coast.

My tired feet walked up the pier and I gazed at the coast. Twelve days of backpacking and I actually made it to a place that was off the beaten path. There were few tourists. It was a calm, warm, and sunny day. I wandered around the coast for a while, and ended up hiking up the treacherous roads. The scenery was amazing. I just kept walking alongside the cliffs. I walked until I got blisters and I didn't want to turn back to Amalfi. So I stuck my thumb out and started hitchhiking. A while later, someone pulled over and I hopped in the car. I told him to just drop me off at the next town. He didn't speak any English, so I just motioned to him when I was ready to get out. We had arrived in a small town called Maori. My goal for the day was to do some snorkeling. I did not find a snorkeling shop anywhere and was really disappointed about that. So, I ended up walking around, learning about this small town. Here, rarely anyone spoke English. Most people were locals. I also found out that the coast was famous for its ceramic artwork. I ended up buying a ceramic fish as a souvenir. When it became siesta time and all the shops closed down, I headed to the beach and stripped to my swimsuit and basked in the sun. It was a moment of heaven that I would not get back for the remainder of my trip at the Amalfi.

It was about 3 PM when I decided to move on from Maori. I hiked along the mountain roads, until my feet became too sore to continue. I saw signs to Salerno, and decided I wanted to go there. So once again, my thumb went out on the side of the road and I was picked up by a rich man that owned a 200 year old vineyard, handed down from generation to generation. He drove me out to about two miles away from Salerno, where he dropped me off and continued on his business in the unknown town I was in. I walked down the mountain, wandering aimlessly. Once again, I found myself to be completely lost, hiking down a highway side. I stumbled across a shipping harbor, with gigantic cargo ships holding Italian sports cars and continued on until I found myself in the center of the city. Exhaustion was absolutely hammering me down. There was no way I could go on anymore. I didn't give a cigarette's butt that I was in Salerno, "off the beaten path." I just wanted to go back to Amalfi, have some pizza and ice cream, then go back to my room and sleep in my cozy down feathered comforter with my head resting upon double pillows. I dragged my worn out body around the city, looking for the bus stop back to the Amalfi. I happened to pass an old lady on the street while I was searching for my stop. She had white hair pulled back into a bun, stooped over with age, tiny as a doll, and took baby steps while leaning on a cane. I paid her no attention as I simply passed her by. Suddenly, she grabbed my hand and asked me where I was going. Surprised, I told her I was looking for the SITA bus stop heading to Amalfi. She gasped and informed me that the last bus for the day was leaving very soon and that she would show me where the stop is, but we had to hurry. She grabbed my hand and walked as fast as she could. After a few feet, she turned to me and said,  "Run to the Tabbacchi and get your ticket. Run fast! I will meet you there!" I turned out into a sprint and entered the Tabbacchi, paid for a ticket to Amalfi, and turned around to find the old lady standing there asking me if I had gotten my ticket yet. I was shocked. Last I had seen the old lady, she was at least a block behind me, attempting a run by taking rapid baby steps topping no more than three miles an hour. It hadn't been one minute, and she was already by my side, not even the slightest out of breath. The sweet old lady grabbed my hand again and led me out the door to the bus stop across the street. She said, "See, now here is the bus." Sure enough, the bus was heading our way. She waved the bus down and then turned to me, kissed me on both cheeks, smiled and said, "Be safe. Ciao!" She walked across the street and then she was gone. With no doubt in my mind, I knew she was my guardian angel.

I seated myself on the bus and got prepared for the crazy, hair raising bus ride to Amalfi. It was dark now and the driver was talking on his cell phone, had a coffee in the cup holder, and judging on his driving, probably was holding each in his hands and steering the wheel with his knee. We whipped around the wild curves and probably dented a few cars on the way. I noticed an elderly woman holding on the seat in front of her for dear life, mumbling to herself the Lord's Prayer in Italian and doing three crosses every turn we took.

Finally, I arrived in Amalfi, all in one piece. It was chilly out, and I was stuck with my swimsuit and shorts. I was kicking myself for not bringing a change of clothes. Wandering the cobblestone streets of Amalfi, I found a small pizzeria and tried out the pizza... eating alone in a swimsuit while everyone else was with their family and friends. It was a bit lonely. I paid, and headed over to grab an ice cream, just for the heck of it. Licking on my ice cream cone and shivering in the bitterly cold wind, I headed off to the ticket office to check the times for the next bus to Furore. In the office, there was an old woman closing down. I sweetly and ever so politely asked her when the next bus to Furore came. Impatiently, she threw her hands up the air and screamed, "The buses are ALL DONE! THERE ARE NO BUSES! GET OUT! WE ARE CLOSED!", while waving her hands and shooing me out back into the dark and cold outdoors.

I stood there shivering in my shorts, holding an ice cream cone, all hope and happiness had been sucked out of me in an instant. I felt like I wanted to burst into tears. But I refused to allow myself to cry. I told myself, "How pathetic would you look, standing here shivering like a wet dog in the winter, holding an ice cream cone, and bawling your eyes out? Don't you even dare. Suck it up!" So, I did. I shoved the rest of the cone in my mouth, without even tasting it, then angrily marched to the side of the road and stuck my thumb out. I was no longer afraid of being a solo young girl hitchhiking the seedy side of Italy. My fear and frustration quickly turned to fire and anger. I was ready to unleash hell if anything was to go wrong and not shy of it.

After two or three cars ignored my thumb, a shiny, black car finally pulled over. It was an old man who spoke no English. I plopped in the passenger seat and said, "Furore." The man tried to converse with me but I was in no mood to try to communicate in Italian. As we neared Furore, he tapped my leg and gave me a seedy grin and asked if I'd give him a kiss when he dropped me off. I saw my hostel right up ahead and told him to pull over. I opened the car door, shook his hand, said my "Grazie Mille," and hopped out quickly. And no, he did not get a kiss.

As I entered my hostel room, I just broke down. I had no money (my debit card had been put on hold by the bank and so I had no way of accessing cash), and no Internet connection to contact my dad. The toll of living a broke-ass adventurous lifestyle was overwhelming. I was absolutely exhausted in every single way possible. This kind of exhaustion was different than any other I had ever experienced... physically, I was worn to the bone. I had not slept in two weeks. I spent every single day on my feet for at least twelve hours; walking and walking and walking. I had not eaten a proper meal since I left Venice. Mentally and emotionally, I swear I had just gone insane. After all, there are not very many 20 year old college girls that just pick up and run away to Italy with no plan whatsoever and end up wandering the streets, living off of apples and oranges (and actually considering stealing the uneaten leftover foods abandoned on outdoor cafe tables), and hitchhiking rides south of Napoli. Amid all the craziness, I never once regretted it. I never once thought about going home or going back to the security of living in Geneva.

People ask me why I do this to myself.

I do this because it's my passion. Because this is exactly how I dreamed my life would be. I dreamt of adventure. I knew that there would be a heavy price to pay, but the rewards reaped from the experiences are endless. To me, adventure is a learning experience and a way of improving myself. It is simply a way for me to take a thousand steps outside of my comfort zone to remind myself that I am always stronger than I think. When I end up alone, sitting on the edge of a stone wall with citrus trees below my feet, and the brilliant waves tipped with white foam crashing underneath razor straight cliffs, I can't help but be amazed how my impossible dream came true. It was not perfect in any way, yet, standing upon glittering white shores underneath the warm blanket of the sun, it became perfect in every way.

I believe that my journey to the south of Italy is unfinished. It's quite funny, actually. I thought that traveling to the other side of the world would quench my desire of adventure. Instead, I've found myself in love with it. The fire is still burning brighter, and my dream continues. Just making it to the Amalfi has proved to me (and to all those around me that told me I would never make it), that there is no such thing as an impossible dream. I know I will return and finish my visit to south Italy. This is just the beginning of a new life, a life full of success and failures, of heaven and hell, of friendships and betrayals. But as long as I have a dream, a goal, I have a reason to live. I have a reason to never give up, and I never will, regardless of what others may say. In the words of Douglas H. Everett:

"There are some people who live in a dream world, and there are some who face reality; and then there are those who turn one into the other."