What A Long Time Since Some Whimsy on a Wednesday!

Ad Nauseaum

So, I told ya, I did, and you’ve all probably gone and forgotten like forgetful little kittens. I told you that if I wasn’t famous and sunbathing on my yacht as it travelled to Bora Bora by the end of September 2022 then that would be it. 

Well, my ravishing readers, guess what?

Ad Astra Per Aspera 

They say, whoever they are, that through adversity we are strengthened and find our greatest success. I don’t know what that looks like for me given that the endless grafting, inventing, and trying I’ve done has resulted in nothing much to write home about. 

But then that gave me an idea – maybe what I need is something to actually write home about.

Alea Lacta Est 

Roll the die and try and get a double six, but if you don’t, then cheat. Go and get two of those ten-sided dice. I made my decision and stuck with it.

The bed was made. 

The case got packed.

Don Jules went to Italy for a month. 

Carpe Diem

Life is much more fun when exploring is done and adventures are being had. And a two-week trip is not the same as a month living la vita bella with the locals.

Besides, sunshine is free and central heating bills are insane.

In Vino Veritas may be the consequence but isn’t that what whimsy is all about?

Anyway, all that said, I have just got back home after 33 days in la Isla Ischia and here are my thoughts:

Getting to Ischia is a bit of a pain in the arse. It’s all Planes Trains and Automobiles with a ferry thrown in on top. But it’s definitely worth it. They call Ischia the green island and it lies in the bay of Naples next door to Capri.

However, unlike Capri which is hideously expensive and pretty much a tourist trap, Ischia is the humble alternative: authentic, rustic, and a little bit coarse which makes it that little bit more beautiful. The food and wine are cheap even though you know prices have been hiked. You can get a handmade, wood-fired pizza for €7. And so I did.

Get to the Ponte

I started off in Ischia Ponte which is not far from Ischia’s port. I stayed in a boutique hotel. The first day was sunny and glorious. I swam in the sea and ate bruschetta on the seafront. I even braved the ice-cold pool.

The following five days it pissed it down with rain. Torrential. My hotel room was just about big enough to house the bed so I felt trapped in what was basically an oversized coffin. There was nowhere else to go in the hotel except the pool which isn’t a good move during thunderstorms.

I went out and bought a brolly. It leaked. Not that it mattered. The way Ischia deals with rain is quite aggressive. Not only is it rushing down the uneven cobbled streets like a river of fury – trust me, you take your life in your own hands when you go out in it – but they have pipes sticking out of the sides of buildings that vomit water at you as it escapes from the rooftops. I got absolutely drenched.

I visited the beautiful Aragonese castle. That took a while. Seven days it took me to walk up that bloody hill. I felt very sorry for the people that had only come on holiday for a week. What a washout. Still, that’s a chance you take at the end of the holiday season. At one point I desperately wanted to go back home with them because I was rather fed up but I’m so glad I didn’t.

Here We Forio

Ten days later I moved to Forio over on the west side of the island. I had an Airbnb with a beautiful view and this was the sunset on my first night. Things were looking up. Very up. The reason the views were so good is that the apartment was on top of a great big hill and then four flights of stairs up to the front door. My thighs have never burned so viciously.

I enjoyed Forio, the biggest town in Ischia and a lively little place. I bought fresh bread from the bakery: focaccia, a big loaf and a mozzarella and pomodoro pasty for just €3.90. Bargain. I stayed in and cooked Italian, making pasta limone with the world’s best-ever lemons and arrabbiata with the best-ever tomatoes. At one point I thought I had tomato poisoning but it turns out I’m just mental.

I swam in the sea every day and hiked up and down the hill. I found good wine, a rather pleasant Chianti for €5 which is double the price in the UK and I watched the sun set into glorious pinks every evening from the balcony. I managed to avoid getting run down by scooters on the streets and crazy drivers on the roads and it only rained one day out of twelve. I caught the local bus and went all the way around the island getting on and off at pretty places. I sat and sketched daily to keep creative and hone my skills because I couldn’t get my blog to work on my phone. I learned to be still. I learned patience despite being on the edge of mania due to 47 angry mosquito bites.

I also learned that it is illegal for a bar to serve you a drink without supplying you with tasty free snacks like mini pizzas, focaccia, nuts, crisps, olives and so on. Naturally, I had to exploit that.

I watched the people of Forio celebrate their saint, Francis of Assisi, with a parade and fireworks and a sermon from the priest in the street. I felt very Italian.

And then I moved to Heaven

My final twelve days were spent in the south of the island at Sant ‘Angelo. A small fishing port where no cars are allowed and you nestle at the bottom of what they call “The Big Rock”. There are a few cafes, pretty boutiques, cocktail bars, and seafront restaurants. Wherever you are and wherever you sit there is the beautiful Tyrhennian sea all around.

I had a small apartment overlooking the sea which I could see as I lay in bed.

I mean, as views go…

I would wake up to that every day and the sun shone gloriously. I’d start my day with coffee in the square and then wander around and maybe sit and draw and make up stories. I’d climb the hill (with my now muscles of steel) to the mini market and buy whatever was left and in the afternoon I’d swim in the sea and feed the fish.

In a place this small you soon get to know the locals and understand why they want to live in Sant ‘Angelo. I even had a very attentive neighbour…

I absolutely fell in love with Sant’Angelo and could easily have stayed here. FOREVS.

They had little water taxis that would take you to other beaches and the famous thermals.  Le Fumarole beach has sand that is over 100 degrees centigrade and they bury your fish and potatoes in the sand to cook. They’ll also bury you up to the neck declaring that it will cure any ailments. Maybe that’s Mafia talk.

Da Pasquale Pizzeria

I found a lovely pizzeria up the cobbled steps that was small and friendly. The pizza guy threw around his dough like a Neapolitan pro and fired you up a mouthwatering pizza in minutes. That was fun to watch. The staff were lovely and I really enjoyed this place. I painted them a picture as a thank you.

And then it was time to say arrivederci. And just like that, the month was over. I travelled home with the great unwashed and caught a nasty cold that put me in bed for the last few days. Holiday? What holiday? That’s clearly exactly what I need.