We began our mini-vacation with a three-hour drive that took four.
Frankly I was relieved to have a little more time to make contact with our guide from the rental agency who was supposed to escort us to the seaside villa, take the deposit and provide the keys. Said guide was MIA. Not reachable by phone, email or text. So we waited in traffic, inched forward and sent a text. Waited, rounded one bend, sent an email. Waited, called both numbers, and nothing. Eventually relief came in twos when traffic subsided and Genarro returned our text. Into the villa we went.
Unpacking and getting situated in a rental house is always a little like Christmas morning. Curiously darting from room to room, you wonder what you’ll find. Will there be a nice view? Maybe a jacuzzi tub! In this case the answer was yes and no, respectively.
Then it was off to find lunch. But late afternoon is not the right time for dining in Italy, especially in a small village. We ended up at the only open establishment, where we were the only patrons. Two plates of mediocre pasta later, we headed in the direction of the grocery store to stock up on essentials. It was closed.
And so it went. For a few days, we enjoyed the absolutely gorgeous sea views from the villa but battled the forces of navigation, weather and sheer dumb luck, or lack thereof. It took three tries for us to do one hike–the only activity we successfully managed to do on this trip–to a site aptly named Crapolla.
All giggling aside, it’s an amazing scene, but the hike to this natural fjord was not for sissies. There’s a hilly trail and 700 steps. These are stones carefully embedded into the hillside and even labeled, “500”, “550”, “600” etc.
Zig-zagging across the grassy hill with the sun setting and sea lapping at the rocks below, the natural splendor was amazing.
I’ll never forget it. Neither will my quads.
No word on whether the experience left a lasting impression on Phoebe.