For the Love of Italy

We arrive in Rome to a sweltering August heatwave, relieved to have booked a hotel strategically close to the train station to lessen the luggage haul. We navigate our way from airport to train station, and finally spilling into the ancient city with locals and travellers alike. Our suitcases bump and bounce along the cobblestone streets as we traverse a wide expanse of mostly crawling traffic and hoards of people to find our hotel, the Deco Roma, with a nod from the security man outside the front door. The city vibrates with music, clanking dishes, horns and chatter from languages stretching the globe. We enjoy a dinner of pasta and wine in a little canopied section directly on the street, and hit the pillow, exhausted from the six hour time change, the long travel day and the overload of our senses in this vibrant country.

Day 2. We wake early and enjoy a hotel breakfast of yogurt and peaches, eggs, coffee and fresh breads and decide to navigate the city by foot. The sun is already penetrating the rooftops and landing on the backs of our necks. Sweat drips down my torso under my long black dress. The pace is slow and the tourists take over every inch of sidewalk and road space. We walk to the Colosseum and locate our guide. We spend the day wandering with a lovely woman who excitedly explains the rich history of this place. We enjoy our first cones of gelato dripping down our hands as we make our way back to our hotel that evening.

Day 3. Travel day. I read online that Positano was too crowded in August, so we decided on nearby Praiano. This sweet little beach town gives the feeling of a surfside villa without the surfing. The hotel Maresca, where we have plunked ourselves for the next while, is quaint and almost has the feeling like you are staying with family. We enjoy a stunning private balcony with an overhanging lemon tree and two lounge chairs. The perfect spot to read a summery novel and take in the sounds of Italy all around me.

Day 4. We spend the day relaxing by the sea, reading and diving in every 20 minutes or so, until a woman shrieks and scrambles up the side of the cliff. She'd been stung by a jellyfish. An afternoon unfolds of many Italian men trying to capture them while we all watch, only to lose the net which sinks into the frothy water. A blonde Aussie steps up and says he'll retrieve the net. Down he goes with only goggles. He does not succeed, nor does he get stung. His ears pop from the depth of his attempt, and I watch him continuously blow with nose plugged to correct them. A solid effort but the net was lost to the Amalfi coast for good.

Calypso music floats out of the cliffside bar as we devour frozen hollowed out lemons stuffed with citrussy sweet gelato. An enormous yacht pulls into the bay and we ask our server at lunch if he's ever seen one bigger. He nods, eyes wide, a few weeks ago a yacht that was 125 meters went by. It was Jeff Bezos'. A feeling overwhelms me that I must have simply slipped into this dream life, and wonder when I will wake from it.

Day 4 part two. We find a lovely dinner spot and take the town bus. They pack us in and they just keep coming. It was a van mostly... Almost all locals. The restaurant, La Strada, (like many places here) is built into into the cliff. From the view you can see Positano in the distance. We decide on a ride home from the restaurant instead of chancing the bus again. A nice option that some of the places offer here. The owner himself beckons you to his garage and yells to his sons' friends to move their scooters so he can leave. I love this place.

Day 5. We take the bus to Amalfi for a guided tour of the paper mill museum, which was in operation from the 1700's until 1969.

On the bus back to Praiano, my husband takes videos of the cliff edges, hairpin turns, the honking and turning, praying it's clear. I hold a little white dog named Lulu on my lap who is very stressed and shaking. When the owners ask if we have dogs, we say two. They point at Lulu and we say, "bigger." They don't understand until my husband says, "big like wolves." They nod and repeat, "big like wolves." We exit the bus and I wonder if they now think Canadians have wolves for pets.

Day 6. We take the bus to Positano for $1.30 each. I find myself scanning the village, but more so my memories, for some sort of recollection of my time here twenty years ago, but come up blank. It's not that Positano has changed, it's that the world has changed. I find myself dodging Instagram photo sessions everywhere I turn. I'm in the background of a million videos and stories from a million strangers showing off their time here, and yet, I'm not sure they'll ever experience it the way I did when I was their age. I'm grateful to have spent time in this beautiful place before cellphones existed. I'm grateful to be here now with my husband whom I can laugh about it all with. We enjoy a lazy lunch at a cute Pizzeria where they use a wood stove, which was exciting for us to watch. Incredible how things change.

On the bus ride back, I watch these young girls, dolled up in their sexiest outfits, their perfect hair and makeup. I'm reminded of a Sharon Stone quote from Master Class where she says, (paraphrasing), "I don't want to be a girl. Been there. Done that. Being a girl was hard. Fun, but hard. I want to be a woman."

Arriving back in Praiano felt like settling into my 40's. A quieter, slower place.

Day 7. Last day at the coast. We start the day by emailing a local chef to see if he has room for a cooking class. He says to stand by, that someone may cancel. We decide we should be within the area just in case, so we take the bus close to his place and wander around. He writes us back to say unfortunately, the people showed up. We continue down narrow pathways towards the sea. I announce I am getting hungry, which my husband shrugs, "we won't find anything on these little paths." Immediately we hear upbeat music and turn the corner to such a cute little bar perched on the cliff with friendly staff, way off the beaten path. "I stand corrected," he says, laughing. It felt like a mirage. Breathtaking views, exotic cocktails and lively atmosphere. "Buongiorno!" They beckon us.

Afterwards, we climb our way back up to the main road peering in at restaurants and trying to decide where to eat. As we contemplate a tiny pub, a couple on the patio with a heavy Boston accent tells us it's "wicked good," so we stay. We spend hours there with this couple, sipping wine, ordering food, chatting about everything under the sun. Laughing the afternoon away. They've been to Italy a few times, his biggest tip for us - "eat where the suits go. Those are the locals on their lunch break. You can't go wrong." A tip we'll try as we head back to Rome.

Day 8. Our driver, Luigi, picks us up at 9:00 am from Hotel Maresca after one last terrace breakfast and view of the sea. We hug the coast through Amalfi and Ravello before ascending. Down below we see Minori with a stunning beach, and even further, Maori. Luigi tells us they are just as beautiful as the other towns but less touristy.

We leave the coast and its panoramic views of mountains and cities, the sea slowly disappearing behind us. We turn a corner to see Mount Vesuvius looming far in the distance and Pompeii below it, along with other overlapping cities spilling out to every corner of the valley. The road is winding, and we see a lady throwing up over the side of the cliff. "Every day," Luigi laughs, then quickly checks with us.

"All good?"

"We're good."

He cranks the radio and it's Lionel Richie belting out, all night long.

We hop on the train from Naples to Rome feeling a newfound confidence in our ability to navigate this country. We spend one last hurrah in this ancient place, hitting touristy spots like the Trevi fountain, if for nothing else than to leave knowing we saw them. We leave Italy the same way one wakes from a dream. Slowly, reluctantly, and recalling the many moments again and again, convincing ourselves it was real.