Day 3

Captain’s log, day 3. We must say goodbye to DeLo and Roma very early. Tbh, these early-morning obligations have helped me acclimate to the time change tremendously. We hail a cab whose driver makes NYC cabbies seem subdued. Quickly, albeit dangerously, we make it to the train station. We get there early to have an overpriced espresso and a cold bufala pomodoro from some rude Romans. Note: when in Rome, don’t go to the train station early for coffee. We board the train and sit in *coach*. This is highly upsetting. With its $10 ticket price difference, we’re not sure why we didn’t book business class, but our bougie asses deal with it. Note: book business class or silent/pregnant cars for train trips. We help a precious old American couple coordinate their next move after missing their stop in Napoli, enjoy some Prosecco in our coach car and arrive in Salerno a quick hour and a halfish later. As soon as we step out of the train station, the cool salt air hits us. The laidback vibe of Salerno feels a world away from the bustle of Rome. It’s refreshing and exciting. Our walk to the ferry port is the setting for my 15th emotional breakdown. The water is crystal-clear, there are children playing on the jetties laughing, the sun is warm, and the smell is clean. We have an hour to kill before our ferry leaves and the little cafe owner makes us a plate of prosciutto, tomato, basil, focaccia and mozzarella so fresh it squeaks and squirts when you bite it. We decide on a limoncello spritz with mint and our senses are overloaded. So. Damn. Good. It’s time to board the ferry and we’re greeted by the leathery, patch-work-Speedo-wearing wee local man, Giuseppe. We’re not sure that’s his actual name, but it fits. We secure a spot in the front of the boat and cruise about an hour to Positano with a stop at Amalfi. Note: do not take a bus or car to Amalfi when boat is an option. I’ve never seen anything like what I’m witnessing. It’s giving Jurassic Park/Hawaii vibes with a side of Virgin Islands. Its beauty is simply beyond compare. We unscrew a bottle of Prosecco, which is far less satisfying than a pop, but we make do. We meet a lady from Vancouver as we disembark who we share our Rome dinner recommendation with (reminder: you MUST go to Contrario when in Rome) and she proceeds to drop trou and change into her bathing suit on the dock right in front of us. Risqué, eh? It’s hot and we did wait awhile for the boat to dock, so we decide to jump in the sea before making our way to our hotel. We opt to not undress on the platform and pay .50€ to change into our suits. We find a luggage porter to take our stuff to the hotel (SPEND THIS MONEY, TRUST ME!). We head to the water. The beach is comprised of hot, black sand that turns into hot, black pebbles as you near the shore. Much different than our pristine Florida sand. As we get to the shoreline, a lovely woman from South Dakota, Jana (Shena with a J), overhears us talking about transportation. She says she’s leaving with her 3 daughters today and kindly gives us her bus passes and her front-row cabana to use for the day. Must be good karma because this beach is PACKED. We jump in the sea and it is FREEZING. We were not prepared. It’s spring-like and invigorating. It’s so salty you can float without effort. We swim to the buoy, get a free nettipotting a time or two, and head back to the cabana where we end up staying until the sun disappears behind the mountain. We are entertained by swimsuit modeling - both professional and for the gram - and a local underwear-donning man doing squat thrusts with a large rock in what appears to be some sort of mating ritual? We order more limoncello spritzes (sorry Glenn and Lori, but this beats an aperol spritz all day), have bruschetta delivered to our cabana and leave hours later with sun-kissed cheeks and salty skin. It was a glorious, unplanned beach day. We head to the hotel and opt to not use the bus pass; we think we could use the walk. What we did not know was the walk consisted of approximately 1,468 stairs straight up the mountain. I say my Hail Marys I learned at the Vatican yesterday as I’m sure this is where it ends for me. But then I see/hear a young mom struggling to carry her toddler child who absolutely will not walk. I’m a sucker for babies, so I grab lil Noah and make the rest of the way about 35 pounds more difficult. When we drop Noah off, we’re about 3/4 of the way there and at the entrance of a restaurant with a spectacular view, so we decide to catch our breath and eat there. I did no research on this place, which is completely out of character for me, but I’m near death and not thinking straight. The food is reminiscent of that of a fellowship hall covered-dish luncheon and the service is shit. Note: do not eat at Positano Cafe. Ever. The view and the company make up for the meal. However disgusting, it does provide us with energy to tackle the remaining 2,493 stairs to our hotel. Our hotel. OMG. We grab a bottle of wine and take it to our terrace that overlooks the sea. I don’t have a word to describe the emotion that I’m feeling here. It’s joy but also anger at the joy because it feels impossible that this is real life. We’re chatting and a little spirit animal appears on the terrace above. Katie, a 9 yo resident of Texas, is here with her family celebrating the bar mitzvah of her older brother. She’s chatty and wise beyond her years and so fun to talk to. She throws us a lemon from the trees on her terrace, asks us if we ever “just want to be the one that has the most fun” and tells us we’re “meant to be here”. I love her. I love this city. I love this life of mine. I love my travel partner that’s meant to be here with me and yeah, Katie, I DO want to be the one that has the most fun. Buonanotte!! Fino a domani….

PS Apparently in Italy, one must run to their exit. Their signage cracks me up.