I could live in Sorrento. Seriously, I started looking up jobs in the area and contemplating logistics that night. It reminded me of Ft Worth in a strange way...not because the towns looked similar, but because it had the same welcoming big-small town vibe. I think it would be a good starter town for anyone who wanted to live abroad but had no clue how to navigate a strange place. It was a very international area...I still felt like I was in Italy but enough people spoke English that it wasn't difficult to get around. The town itself was well maintained and felt very safe....which turned out to be very important because I ended up staying out until sunrise.
We stayed at Hotel Eliseo 4 in Sorrento and I loved it. There were so many little characteristics to appreciate...everything from the tiled walls to the lemon tree outside my balcony was charming to me. We had a multi-course meal of fresh seafood and homemade pasta at the restaurant there. I was exhausted from the day and could have gone to bed right after dinner, but I wanted to see more of the town than just this quaint hotel. Melissa and I agreed that we would walk down to the pier (because more water, obviously) just to see the area but not stay out late. HA!
We stayed at Hotel Eliseo 4 in Sorrento and I loved it. There were so many little characteristics to appreciate...everything from the tiled walls to the lemon tree outside my balcony was charming to me. We had a multi-course meal of fresh seafood and homemade pasta at the restaurant there. I was exhausted from the day and could have gone to bed right after dinner, but I wanted to see more of the town than just this quaint hotel. Melissa and I agreed that we would walk down to the pier (because more water, obviously) just to see the area but not stay out late. HA!
We were both in search of an ATM. It took us about 15 minutes of walking through streets lined with chic hotels and vacation homes with impressive gate entrances to get to a main street. I learned a very important travel lesson at that ATM we found. Let me set the scene with a funny story. So two days before I moved to Europe, I lost my debit card. Good one, Brittany...reaaaal responsible.You should probably leave everything you know and move to a foreign country by yourself now...you're definitely capable of handling that responsibility. It was Memorial Day weekend, so I wasn't able to replace the card the day before I left because the bank was closed. I had decided the previous month that I was tired of my credit card and I never activated the new one they sent me. I never carry cash because I can't keep track of it...I guess another responsibility that I'm not ready for. Cash is as good as spent as soon as it touches my hands. It's unaccounted for. Those little minus signs in the bank statement are a very important visual aid for me. Considering that attitude, I never carry cash because I've probably already spent it if I had it in the first place and because I know my own bad habits so I never visit ATMs unless I'm at Joe T Garcia's. Side note: many places in Italy don't accept cards. So that has been another learning experience...this time on budgeting.
So the morning that I left to move to a foreign country by myself, I had no credit cards or cash in my wallet. This was the first time in a very long time that I felt just as helpless as any woman does the first 30 minutes after painting her own nails. It was a stressful morning spent at Bank of America as I frantically tried to explain to the poor banker how I was moving to Italy in a few hours and had no way of accessing any of my money. He handed me a temporary debit card that would expire in 30 days and wished me luck...with probably a little more sincerity than is typical from your banker. So when I got to Italy and wasn't able to draw out any cash at the ATMs, I figured it had something to do with my card being a temporary one. But this day, I was completely out of cash (not surprising) and knew that I would probably need some at some point during the weekend so I tried to fix the problem. After many failed calls to Bank of America despite my international calling plan (apparently they only accept collect calls internationally), I finally asked the almighty google.com why I kept having a "PIN not valid" message when I KNEW I was entering my PIN correctly. The verdict? European ATMs don't accept 5-digit PIN codes. Why I have a 5-digit PIN code is something to ask 17-year old Brittany who created it, but there was nothing I could do about it in that moment. Hours of follow up later with Bank of America confirmed this and I was given the helpful advice to change my PIN code by visiting my nearest Bank of America ATM. "Thank you sir, but I'm living in Italy right now...the closest Bank of America ATM is in New York..." So I was given the phone number for the Emergency Cash Team (which ended up being a cab company) and the name of an Italian bank who was supposed to be the sister bank to Bank of America but who had no idea about any partnership and were also unable to help me. I'm laughing typing this...it's the end of July (because it's actually really hard to keep up with writing this blog) and this is still not resolved but it's already kind of funny.
Anyways…I was frustrated with the ATM situation. I was frustrated with not being able to call my bank. I was frustrated that I wanted to do something that night but had no idea how I might fund it. It was already around 10:30 pm and I had already had a carb-loaded meal and split a bottle of wine with Melissa. I had a long day, and had another one coming tomorrow. Every arrow was pointing me towards going to bed. But the wanderlust in me rose above…I was standing on a busy street in a strange town and I wanted to see it. There was no way I was calling it quits.
The center of the town was literally the center of everything. Streets broke off like rays of sun in every direction around restaurants and bars that encircled the whole busy intersection. We walked the winding streets lined with markets first. Oh the lemons!! They were everywhere! I loved it. I wandered into one small shop where an elderly lady showed me hand-painted lemon dinnerware. I found one small plate that I was confident I could get home unbroken, but I was no where near the minimum total for a credit card purchase. I was explaining to the lady why I couldn’t get cash out of the ATM across the street, thinking that she was going to shake her head at the dumb American that she had just wasted time on…but instead she cursed the ATM with me and told me that she would accept my card because (according to her) she could very well be my grandmother and she didn’t want any trouble for me. I hadn’t fully decided that I actually wanted to buy the plate before she started all of this but after her little act of allegiance, I was sold. I’ve seen this “taken under the wing” behavior before from the women in my lineage, so I assumed it to be as sincere as theirs. After all, she could very well be my grandmother. She’s either the kindest little Italian nonna and wants to take care of everyone around her or the best damn saleswoman in Sorrento. I bought that plate with no regrets and left the store feeling warm and fuzzy. Well played, Italian grandma, well played.
So the morning that I left to move to a foreign country by myself, I had no credit cards or cash in my wallet. This was the first time in a very long time that I felt just as helpless as any woman does the first 30 minutes after painting her own nails. It was a stressful morning spent at Bank of America as I frantically tried to explain to the poor banker how I was moving to Italy in a few hours and had no way of accessing any of my money. He handed me a temporary debit card that would expire in 30 days and wished me luck...with probably a little more sincerity than is typical from your banker. So when I got to Italy and wasn't able to draw out any cash at the ATMs, I figured it had something to do with my card being a temporary one. But this day, I was completely out of cash (not surprising) and knew that I would probably need some at some point during the weekend so I tried to fix the problem. After many failed calls to Bank of America despite my international calling plan (apparently they only accept collect calls internationally), I finally asked the almighty google.com why I kept having a "PIN not valid" message when I KNEW I was entering my PIN correctly. The verdict? European ATMs don't accept 5-digit PIN codes. Why I have a 5-digit PIN code is something to ask 17-year old Brittany who created it, but there was nothing I could do about it in that moment. Hours of follow up later with Bank of America confirmed this and I was given the helpful advice to change my PIN code by visiting my nearest Bank of America ATM. "Thank you sir, but I'm living in Italy right now...the closest Bank of America ATM is in New York..." So I was given the phone number for the Emergency Cash Team (which ended up being a cab company) and the name of an Italian bank who was supposed to be the sister bank to Bank of America but who had no idea about any partnership and were also unable to help me. I'm laughing typing this...it's the end of July (because it's actually really hard to keep up with writing this blog) and this is still not resolved but it's already kind of funny.
Anyways…I was frustrated with the ATM situation. I was frustrated with not being able to call my bank. I was frustrated that I wanted to do something that night but had no idea how I might fund it. It was already around 10:30 pm and I had already had a carb-loaded meal and split a bottle of wine with Melissa. I had a long day, and had another one coming tomorrow. Every arrow was pointing me towards going to bed. But the wanderlust in me rose above…I was standing on a busy street in a strange town and I wanted to see it. There was no way I was calling it quits.
The center of the town was literally the center of everything. Streets broke off like rays of sun in every direction around restaurants and bars that encircled the whole busy intersection. We walked the winding streets lined with markets first. Oh the lemons!! They were everywhere! I loved it. I wandered into one small shop where an elderly lady showed me hand-painted lemon dinnerware. I found one small plate that I was confident I could get home unbroken, but I was no where near the minimum total for a credit card purchase. I was explaining to the lady why I couldn’t get cash out of the ATM across the street, thinking that she was going to shake her head at the dumb American that she had just wasted time on…but instead she cursed the ATM with me and told me that she would accept my card because (according to her) she could very well be my grandmother and she didn’t want any trouble for me. I hadn’t fully decided that I actually wanted to buy the plate before she started all of this but after her little act of allegiance, I was sold. I’ve seen this “taken under the wing” behavior before from the women in my lineage, so I assumed it to be as sincere as theirs. After all, she could very well be my grandmother. She’s either the kindest little Italian nonna and wants to take care of everyone around her or the best damn saleswoman in Sorrento. I bought that plate with no regrets and left the store feeling warm and fuzzy. Well played, Italian grandma, well played.
We found a man playing “That’s Amore” on a set of homemade drums and maracas, and then a limoncello store. It amazed and fascinated me that they had whole stores completely dedicated to lemons. Melissa was so patient as I wandered into ALL of them, but this one was passing out samples of the best limoncello I have ever tasted. Of course I had to buy some. I was talking to the man that had handed me the sample about how much I loved it, so he invited me back behind the counter where they actually made this wonderful limoncello. He was kind and gracious and even offered for me to take pictures. On my way out I noticed that he was on the advertising banners for the store, pictured at varying ages harvesting lemons and making the limoncello. It was clearly a family business and I had been talking to the gracious patriarch. Again, I left feeling warm and fuzzy.
We wandered everywhere. One of the restaurants in the big center. Down the flight of stairs and ramps leading to the docks. Back up to an “American Bar” that had terrible karaoke coming from it, that we walked in and walked out of. We had bought a bottle of wine to take with us the next day in Capri Island, but we passed it back and forth as we walked instead. We were just about to turn in when a woman stopped us on the street and asked if we wanted to come into the club that we were in front of. Well, I’m not a club person in the least bit. I might have visited a few when I was younger but thankfully when I was in the stage to do that, I lived in Lubbock, Texas. West Texas doesn’t exactly have a thrilling club scene so my club phase was short lived. And now, I would usually rather shove hot pokers up my fingernails than spend an evening in a dance club. (#adulthood #imfinewithit) I hate the music, it’s too loud to talk, and I can never stop cringing at the couples grinding on the dance floor. I don’t care if it’s a club…there is just something I find so inappropriate about all of the dance floor. Put me on a patio with a cold beer and some live music and I’ll be a happy girl. But tonight…tonight I was in Sorrento, Italy and I was already hypnotized with the wine and the warm wind and the feeling of wanderlust. So we went in and had the best time.
We met friends, of course. A few 19-20 year old guys from Norway, a couple guys from Australia, two blonde girls that I don’t think ever told me where they were from, and more random people to throw into the mix of all of us on the dance floor. I ended up chatting with one of the guys from Australia who had met everyone we were with from the hostel he was staying in. It’s always so refreshing to meet anyone else who is wanderlusting too…and this guy was also traveling solo, had been all over Italy, and wasn’t done exploring yet. We had plenty to talk about. Since he shared the same sentiments about dance clubs as I did, we ended up leaving to walk back down to the dock. In the U.S…everything closes at 2am at the latest. I forgot to check my watch and just assumed that it was that same in Italy too. So if no one was turning on the lights yet, it couldn’t be 2am right? Wrong. I realized it was 3:30am by the time we finally made it down to the dock, but it was a long walk so I didn’t want to go back right away. We sipped the rest of our wine and decided to stay up the rest of the night, since sunrise was like, in an hour anyways. I’m sure that was my idea.
We met friends, of course. A few 19-20 year old guys from Norway, a couple guys from Australia, two blonde girls that I don’t think ever told me where they were from, and more random people to throw into the mix of all of us on the dance floor. I ended up chatting with one of the guys from Australia who had met everyone we were with from the hostel he was staying in. It’s always so refreshing to meet anyone else who is wanderlusting too…and this guy was also traveling solo, had been all over Italy, and wasn’t done exploring yet. We had plenty to talk about. Since he shared the same sentiments about dance clubs as I did, we ended up leaving to walk back down to the dock. In the U.S…everything closes at 2am at the latest. I forgot to check my watch and just assumed that it was that same in Italy too. So if no one was turning on the lights yet, it couldn’t be 2am right? Wrong. I realized it was 3:30am by the time we finally made it down to the dock, but it was a long walk so I didn’t want to go back right away. We sipped the rest of our wine and decided to stay up the rest of the night, since sunrise was like, in an hour anyways. I’m sure that was my idea.
We sat at the water’s edge where it was so clear that we could see the sand on the sea floor as far as we could see light. That’s why it was so easy for me to spot the squid that swam by. I’ve never seen a squid in the wild, which is probably why I got so excited that I decided to catch it. My new friend laughed at me and was in the middle of telling me how elusive they are and how impossible they are to catch without the proper equipment when I plucked it out of the water. I’m not sure who was most surprised out of the three of us. I know my Australian friend was surprised because he immediately started taking pictures and exclaiming how rare this was, I know I was surprised because I was speechless (another rare event), and I know the squid was surprised (or terrified) because he inked me. It was a good thing that we were far from the vacation homes because this chaotic scene was not quiet. I went on to catch a starfish shortly after that, although that wasn’t as impressive because starfish don’t move as quickly as squids. Both animals were set free after the pictures, but I admit that I wondered if I could eat my squid.
We managed to stay awake until sunrise, and I’m glad we did. The view was worth the mild headache the next day and cleared up after a nap on the beach in Capri anyways. It sounds kind of romantic. It’s like the trailer to a summer romance movie…the chance meeting of two native English speaking solo travelers in a small foreign coastal town, the shared dislike of dance clubs, splitting the wine, the dock, the sunrise. I admit, it really was kind of romantic but both of us were too enchanted with the views of the horizon to be too enchanted with each other. We exchanged social media information but I doubt I ever see him again…and I’m fine with it.
My phone died as soon as I started walking home. Since I was no where close to my hotel, of course I got lost. I ended up wandering for over an hour trying to get back. I finally ended up in the lobby of some other hotel who called a cab for me to get me back to the right place. It was about 8:30 in the morning when I finally walked in…our tour for Capri was coming to pick us up at 9:50. I walked straight to the breakfast buffet that was already underway, made myself a tray, ate it in bed, and napped for about an hour. If it had been any other place than Capri on the itinerary for the day, I might have just stayed in bed. But I pulled it together because I knew this was going to be a trip I wouldn’t want to miss.
I’m so glad I didn’t go to bed right after dinner. Instead of a good night’s sleep, now I can say that I’ve sampled homemade limoncello wandering the streets of Sorrento. I’ve now danced in a night club on the coast of Italy. I’ve stayed up all night to watch the sun rise over the Tyrrhenian Sea. I caught a live starfish and was inked by a squid. I’ve been completely lost with a dead phone and not a soul in sight to ask for directions. I’ve crawled into bed with breakfast and set my alarm for an hour later. It was definitely worth sacrificing sleep for.
I’m so glad I didn’t go to bed right after dinner. Instead of a good night’s sleep, now I can say that I’ve sampled homemade limoncello wandering the streets of Sorrento. I’ve now danced in a night club on the coast of Italy. I’ve stayed up all night to watch the sun rise over the Tyrrhenian Sea. I caught a live starfish and was inked by a squid. I’ve been completely lost with a dead phone and not a soul in sight to ask for directions. I’ve crawled into bed with breakfast and set my alarm for an hour later. It was definitely worth sacrificing sleep for.