Mostru Maida

If Catrina ever feels the need to explain in greater detail (or even if I do at some point) then, dear readers, you might get a more accurate description of our Italian adventures. As it is, I feel it is better to just get down as much as I can.

To start, we raced from work to class to flat to shower to pack and out the door. After a lost Underground card and ticket problems, we made it to Stansted Airport around 10 pm, Wed. We attempted to work on our 5000 word papers, but apparently in Europe, outlets are nowhere to be found. After staying up all night long, we went to go through security when I realized I did not have my passport because it was sitting on my desk. The others went to get on the plane as I, of course, cried in the airport. There was another plane at 1040, leaving me not enough time to take the train again. One 150 pound taxi ride and graffiti artist Banksy spotting later, I returned to the airport to find that my plane actually didn't leave until 1230 and I definitely could have taken the train. I chose to spend my extra time sleeping on the airport floor. When getting on the plane, turns out we were not allowed to have one bag plus purse and I consequently had to shove everything into my already stuffed backpack. When I finally made it to Naples, I only had about 15 min to make it to the train station. The bus moved as slow as molasses and I then got to sprint across the piazza with all my baggage. Somehow my hat fell out of my bag and since the nice Italian man pointed it out to me, the rapidly sprinting American, I was forced to briefly retreat to retrieve the 2 dollar hat. I don't know how but I made it onto the train.

Of course, turns out we were on the wrong train, but we didn't find that out for another hour. In the meantime, I rapidly consumed most of a bottle of wine that a random Italian man opened using a screwdriver. Once our incorrect train returned us to Naples, we then jumped on a different train that we were pretty sure was going south. Four and a half hours later, hungry, tired, confused and somewhat lost, all six of us could be seen, faces pressed to the windows, staring out into the dark Italian countryside. With a little luck and a lot of phone shouting between Amanda and her mother, we finally made it to Lamezia. Waiting for us were a group of Italians, including Amanda's Nonna. Quickly placed in little cars, we were zipped over to Maida where we were soon stuffed with pasta, what was soon to become a common occurrence. After a brief breakdown and comforting by Nonna, I was finally able to close my eyes and go to sleep. It was around 1 am Friday morning.

The rest of the trip consisted of tiny espressos, fetching water from springs, gelato, pasta and delicious crystal light lemonade, showing the italian guys how to do shots, late night pastries, language barriers, trips to the beach with sandwiches made for us by the italian boys (we of course got sun burnt), more pasta, driving very quickly through the italian countryside with italian boys (you notice they crop up a lot), Nonna's cousins, mamma mia! (yes, they actually say that), more gelato, more beach and sunburns and old men in speedos, more pasta, more driving with italian boys, more pastries, pasta, lemonade, gelato, hilarious music from the 90s, olive groves, eating in the dark, Nonna doing our laundry, fingers smashed in car doors, fingers stung by bees, pasta, beautiful settings and wonderful people. It might seem like the bad things outweigh the good, but I'd still do it all over again if I had the choice (maybe that time I'd remember my passport).

Luckily, our trip back was reasonably successful, lacking the catastrophes of the first journey.

My first trip to Italy is one I don't think I will ever forget.