This past weekend we took our biggest school trip, where we visited a palace of a thousand (give or take a few) rooms, the ruins of Paestum, and the Amalfi Coast (Salerna and Sorrento to be exact)...We all had to be up and ready by 7am, which wasn't too much of a struggle for me since I'm always up and early anyways. Thankfully, I had packed my travel bag the night before so I had nothing to worry about. Nonetheless, even with my preparations I almost forgot my wallet in my room, which I fortunately realized before the buses had left campus.
The bus ride from Rome to Caserta was about three hours long. Throughout the bus ride, I had a Jesuit priest sit right beside me. It was kind of a tense situation for me in the beginning since I assumed that I had to alter my behavior to be a bit more formal and contrite than usual (which meant being quiet for most of the ride and only speaking when spoken to).I realized that the priest was pretty informal in behavior and quite friendly, actually. However, the realized was not enough for me to put my guard down. He was very talkative and always ready for a conversation, but the early morning along with the thought of the long bus ride ahead tempted me to silently doze off.
We made it to Reggia di Caserta around 10 to 11 in the morning. The entrance to the palace was at least 300 feet in distance, from one end to the other, and had ceilings that were about 30 feet high. The floor was cobblestone the color similar to that of the rainy and cloudy sky that loomed above us. The multitudes of pillars were marble of similar color to that of a thick London fog. The ceiling, however, was much brighter with colors of goldenrod and azure.The main staircase that led us to the upper floors were made of ivory white marble with beautiful carvings on the side. As I walked up the first flight of steps, I was faced with the sculptures of royalty that have come to pass, marble sculptures of grotesque lions on both sides, and grand frescoes up above me. By comparing the size of the heads of some of the people in the photo, one can try to imagine the scale of the frescoes. Throughout the whole palace (or from what I was able to see of it), every room's ceiling was adorned by a grand fresco. They were religious scenes, historical scenes, and portraits of the artists' patrons. It was interesting how the marble floors were scoffed, pockmarked, and scratched, yet the beautiful, vibrant frescoes above us had preserved their beauty and majesty.
Later, we found ourselves in the palace's chapel. The ceilings were beautifully gilded with gold, the whole room was surrounded by ivory colored marble that had a touch of a rosy hue. They say that during World War II the Allied Forces had occupied this palace and before the U.S. departed, they left a bomb. Unfortunately, this bomb had detonated in the chapel, which damaged a few of the columns on both sides. It may seem like not much damage was obtained, therefore one might assume that the bomb was not of great power. Perhaps, instead, one must think of the strength and quality of work of these marble columns and walls that were able to withstand the explosion of a bomb. Meanwhile, one must wonder, why did the U.S. leave a bomb in a chapel to detonate?
We ended the day in Salerno, where we stayed two nights in a hotel right by the coast. It's the first time in a long while since I've been to a sea or ocean's shores, and it was definitely the very first time I had been to the coast of the Mediterranean Sea. It was a beautiful sight as mountains surrounded us on one side and the waves of the Mediterranean embraced us on the other. The presence of rain, its clouds, and sunset resulted in a beautiful picturesque scene right above the Mediterranean.
A few new friends/classmates I met that day spent the night walking around the streets of Salerno. Apparently, there was a huge sale going on that was only lasting til that weekend. The streets were illuminated by street lamps, decorative lights, and the slick cobblestones reflected these lights as if they glowed themselves. I wasn't able to find anything of interest to me that was on sale (that's saldi in Italian). Instead, my new found friends and I bought ourselves a bottle of wine (each) and walked around whatever street seemed interesting and attractive to us. With every corner we turned on we found small shops offering cuts of meat, cheeses, and various types of alcohol. With a bottle of wine to call our own, we took as many sips from the bottles as every corner we turned.
After a visit to the ruins, we visited a farm where organic mozzarella di bufala was made. It was a beautiful farm surrounded by pastures and mountains dotted with greenery. The sky was clear, the sun was bright, and the air was fresh with the smell that made me think, "Yes, we're at a farm with animals. It kind of smells like it." The strong smell of the animals and excrement took us by surprise as we entered the buffaloes' living space. Apparently, the water buffaloes are kept from experiencing stress by giving them large expanses land for grazing, machines that provide massages, and they are never treated with any sort of antibiotics. When the animals do get sick, they are quickly sent to the butcher in order to prevent them from infecting the other buffaloes. After, the tour of the farm, we were able to sample fresh mozzarella di bufala. It was very delicious and much more flavorful compared to the ordinary supermarket kind. It had a slight sourness distinctive of cheese and a creaminess to it that signified its freshness. At that point, I knew that I had tasted something I probably won't be able to taste anywhere else unless I visited that particular area again.
We spent another night in the hotel by the coast in Salerna. I became acquainted with more schoolmates that night during dinner. My friendship with them further developed as we went out after dinner that night and had a few drinks. Before heading out to the bars, we went to a gelateria near the hotel. Mind you, this was around midnight or perhaps even an hour after, yet this little shop was bustling with customers from club goers to children as young as seven. It was our last night in Salerno and I think it we made the best of it.
The next day, we packed our stuff and made our way to Sorrento. Unfortunately, my camera had died the night before and I had forgotten to bring my battery charger with me. The trip up the hills and mountains of Sorrento was terrifying and entertaining at the same time. We road on large tour buses, four of them in total, that effortlessly squeezed themselves on these narrow roads that hugged the sides of mountains overlooking coastal towns by a few hundred feet. These roads that curved and turned countless times could barely fit one car was able to successfully offer us passage even with traffic going the other direction.
When we got to the lemon farm, my group had a man named Giovanni give us a tour. He was a very attractive man. He had these hazel eyes, this humble yet confident smile, a sun kissed complexion, along with lustrous and thick black hair. A few times we caught each others gaze for a few seconds too long and I took this as a sign of interest. I stood near him when we took a break from the tour and he said hello to me. I was quite nervous yet emboldened by my interest in him that I hurriedly introduced myself. We talked about his vespa and I commented that it was my dream to ride a vespa before leaving Italy (implying that perhaps he can give me a ride on his, of course). Throughout our time at the lemon farm I tried to stay close to him, which I'm sure he noticed. We spoke throughout the whole tour with light conversation when he wasn't busy talking to someone else. Perhaps I was trying too hard to maintain contact with him or maybe I wasn't assertive enough, but in the end, our interaction didn't proceed any further.
Maybe it was just the way of the Italians, his suaveness and piercing gaze made me interpret a possible interest. I wasn't able to determine whether he was interested in men, women, or both; it's what drove me to pursue him even further. If he was just into women, fine. However, if there was a possibility of me having some sort of intimate encounter with this man, I wanted to take that opportunity. Unfortunately, near the end of our time at the lemon farm, he into deeper conversation with a few other people. I did not want to seem desperate (more than I already was) by intervening. I bought myself a bottle of limoncello as a memento of the whole trip. Surprisingly, I'm not too fond of limoncello; it's surprisingly strong and very sweet.
When we got back on the buses, he got in his car that was next to my window. Since I knew that I would never see him again and I really didn't care to pursue him any further, I just waved at him enthusiastically like a fool. Whatever, it was the end of a chance encounter and I wanted to entertain myself somehow by believing that he could have been a nice fling during my time in Italy.
Didn't Frances from Under the Tuscan Sun have a short fling with Marcello in the Amalfi Coast, specifically Positano? Perhaps I thought that I could have something similar to that. Oh well, I still have about three months here. Who knows what will happen in that time period?



