Mount Epomeo
To get the best views, you've gotta donate a little blood (and a lot of sweat)
Monday, May 13, 9:30 AM, Napoli Airport
I stood outside on the back of the fast ferry back to the mainland, watching the island of Ischia get smaller by the minute, until the tippy top of Mount Epomeo disappeared as we turned the corner into the port of Napoli. We’re on the move to Sicily, where a library tasting and lunch await us at Passopisciaro, one of the most esteemed producers on Etna. I’m excited to get to what has felt like the ultimate destination on this trip in Sicily, but sad to see Ischia go. It was a dream. As I try to think through and rank the “most beautiful places” I’ve ever been, finding somewhere that tops that charming little island is proving difficult.
Yesterday was a busy one, physically, and rejuvenating one, spiritually. Saturday night’s pizza joint festivities took their chunk of flesh from my Sunday morning wellness, and my goals for the day were to 1. sweat out all that evil, and 2. drink lots of water, eat less, and avoid all alcohol. With 5 days to go on the trip, the happy-go-lucky-yeah-sure-what-the-hell-I’ll-have-another-splash-of-Fiano part of the trip is officially over for me. I’ve spent the entire first half of 2024 on a huge wellness kick, and I equal parts don’t wan’t to undo all that hard work and also feel so much better when I’m respectful of my sleeping, diet, and intake.
The sweating part of my return to physical glory was accomplished throughout the entire 7ish mile day of hiking. We trekked from one of the coastal villages down to the cliffs along the sea, stopping at the bottom to take a dip along the rocky “beach”. There was a natural thermal spring warming a pool of sea water along the rocks, and a refreshingly chilly lagoon just a few meters beyond the natural rock formations. I awkwardly crab-walked on the rocks, certain that a bipedal approach would spell a certain broken ankle or slip and concussion. Once I reached some crystal clear open water, I went for a 20-30 minute swimabout, stopping to bask on a big rock here and there. I felt like a hefty merman out there, dodging jellyfish and admiring the views from the best perch in the house. After getting out, I realized that the rocks took their taxes out of my skin in the form of a couple dozen paper cut sized gashes all over my body. Despite the tiny cuts, the salt water had it’s ever-healing effect on my body. The scrapes from my downhill tumble, the soreness in my bones from the shitty hotel bed (the hotel was beautiful but the bed was awful), and hangover curing skin tightening aspects outweighed the little slivers of pain and trickles of blood.
The hike down to the coast was fun and easy. The hike back up was a workout. The incline varied between stairs and hills to stride up, which actually played out to our benefit- the burn went from your quads on the steps to your calves on the incline. It took a good while to reach the top, and the trails and roads never leveled out to give your legs a small pause in labor. If my ribs didn’t hurt like hell today, I’d probably be feeling it a bit more lactic acid built up in my legs that I currently am. Or maybe biking to work everyday for the past month and a half is paying off. Our guide on the first half of our hike was an older island woman who was born in Austria but had been on Ischia for 30+ years. She was chatty and inquisitive and full of information about the geology and history of the island, quick to point out things that we otherwise wouldn’t have noticed. We had a good chat about preconceived notions, focusing on what Americans think about Europeans and vice versa. She talked about how she loves the island because it’s like going back in time, and why would she leave for the hectic “real world” when she has the best job in the world going for nature walks by day and cooking dinner at home every night? It was a compelling argument.
We got back to the cars around 2:30 and now properly warmed up (more like halfway gassed), we drove to the town at the base of of the summit of Mt. Epomeo, the dead volcano in the center of the island. We were feeling pretty good and wanted to take a crack at hiking to the very top. The little Yaris that we borrowed from Frederica was no match for the mountain roads, so we parked it in the last lot we could find on the way up and finished the climb on foot. The bucket of take-one-leave-one walking sticks at the cantina that owned the parking lot ended up being lifesavers. The last 1000 meters to the top was straight up old lava flows and proved somewhat challenging. As we approached the naturally formed crow’s nest of rock at the summit, I got a little giddy. Looking around, soaking in the moment (and the sun), enjoying the company, proud of my (relative) physical fitness, and realizing that any semblance of a hangover was gone. I felt pretty goddamn great up there. The view was breathtaking. We were on top of a volcano in the middle of an island surrounded by the sea. We snapped some photos, rested our legs, and took every bit of it in. I could have stayed up there for hours. Halfway through our decent, we stopped at the mountain top cantina for a celebratory Peroni. Even though it was supposed to be (and ended up being) a day of recovery, I felt like I’d earned that one.
The post adventure shower hit the spot. Calvin and I drove into one of the villages to kill a an hour before we met up with everyone for dinner, and it turned into a really great driving into strolling conversation over gelato about family, relationships, jobs, and the rest of life. We poked around the shops, wandered into a men’s clothing boutique that I couldn’t afford, and spent the evening cooling down from the busy ass day. Dinner was the best meal I’ve had to so far in Italy. The restaurant had a big fish case, and once you picked your fish, the chef prepared it in three ways- crudo, pasta, and fillet. We ate a big ass scorpion fish, and everything was prepared perfectly. Jake became Rum Jake and splurged on a nice old bottle of Clement for the table to share, we all laughed out asses off throughout dinner, and I headed home early properly full and stone sober. It was great.
Sicily awaits us now. I’m excited, but reaching the one week mark of the trip, I’m also dearly missing Megan and my boys. Yesterday was mother’s day, and I know how hard life is with two toddlers and no second half around to help out. I felt guilty last night talking to her on the phone, even though she is so supportive and generous with my travels. Sicily will undoubtedly be wonderful, and I’m going to embrace and soak in every moment, but my head and heart are now split between being here and missing my family (and restaurants, at this point, I miss being in those and being around those people too). As I always say, I’m keen on not looking gift horses in their mouths, so I’ll stop here. Gotta jump on a plane. Will check back in soon.