A peaceful vacation

By Niki Thiessen

A cool sea wind whips the hair from your eyes as you look up at the imposing church in front of you. You can hardly believe you have found this hidden paradise, where lemons grow in winter; the air is warm, and the people beautiful. On the door you read “Dear Guest, I welcome you to this lovely place in which the ancient history, the faith, the tradition are a great wealth. We need vacation to rest, to find again the spirituality of our soul.” The truth of that sign won’t resonate until I meet Pasquale, the smart-car driving landlord who lives to make his guests comfortable

Study abroad students often try to make the most of their time abroad by taking a “turbo-speed” tour of the continent they are visiting. Vacations are marathons of four countries in 10 days, 10 beer halls in five days, cultural sights and museums. It is physically and emotionally exhausting. They return to school unprepared for the work that awaits them. Sometimes they can’t even remember highlights of the trip. My traveling companions and I found Sorrento, Italy, near Naples, to be a secret paradise to relax and enjoy the culture and beauty of a place we had never seen.

Getting to Sorrento can be tricky. Lying on the Adriatic coast, south of Naples, the only way to access this beautiful city is by car or the Circumvesuviana, a commuter train running from the Naples train station. When our train stopped in Naples, I immediately wanted to leave. The town was dirty, the people unfriendly, and the station confusing. When we tried to purchase tickets to Sorrento, we found we were in the wrong line. As the train snaked south, stopping every 5 minutes, the sun broke through the clouds, we rounded a cliff and were stunned by the view of the Bay of Naples and the Sorrento peninsula, and suddenly the people seemed friendlier.

When we were booking the trip we took a chance, one I encourage other students to take, and booked an apartment instead of a hostel or hotel. Casale Nunziatina was touted as a remodeled villa originally built in the 1700’s. While we were still in Rome, I received a phone call from an unrecognizable number and answered on a whim.

"Nicole? This is Pasquale!” The voice sounded as if he was my best friend and I shouldn’t be racking my brain trying to decide who Pasquale was.

“You have a reservation in Sorrento tonight, no? Are you still coming?”

“Yes,” I replied, still a little confused.

"Ok, good. When you get to Sorrento, call me on my cell phone and I will come pick you up! Do you have a pen?” Pasquale’s offer to pick us up was just the beginning of his unending kindness and the benevolence of Sorrento residents.

When we arrived, true to his word, Pasquale was there to pick us up. A tall but weathered older man with thick glasses stepped out of a tiny Smart Car. Now if you’ve never seen a smart car, it is about six feet long. Incredulity must have crossed my face as I wondered how we would fit four young women plus luggage into that tiny car. Pasquale quickly explained he would take two of us and the luggage to the apartment, and then return for the other two.

The hilarity of the situation increased as we drove through roads wide enough for only one smart car and about three spare inches on either side. Pasquale joked naturally with us and teased us about the frightened looks that contorted our faces. His English was easily understandable and in less than five minutes, he told us his life story and how he learned English by working on a trade ship that ran routes from Alaska to Long Beach.

When people and luggage were safely dropped off at what we thought was the apartment, Pasquale informed us that we would have to walk another 100 meters. He conveniently left out that it was all uphill. Pasquale, who looked to be in his late sixties or early seventies, was in better shape than most people my age and climbed the hill with ease. We practically jogged to keep up.

Our friendly landlord opened the gate to the grounds and led us into a hidden heaven. Lemon and orange trees filled the garden bearing fruit the size of a fist. Pasquale said it wouldn’t be picked until May. The house was a beautiful coral color. The arched doorways were short enough that most men would have to duck and the cobble stone paths that taunted our high heels reminded us of the building’s 18th century history. Our delighted expressions brought a look of satisfaction to Pasquale’s face.

“You like?” he asked, although it was more of a statement.

For the next 45 minutes Pasquale showed us the ins and outs of our apartment including how to use the free washing machine and the automatic windows. The kitchenette even came stocked with spaghetti and red sauce, olive oil, coffee, sugar, and basic Italian spices. He introduced us to his wife Rosetta, who doesn’t speak English, and their five cats who love to sunbathe on the apartment windowsills. Before he left us to settle in, he said “I ask one thing, just don’t break everything!” And with that he left us pondering our luck at finding such a wonderful place to stay.

Two days later, Pasquale’s humor and hospitality were showered upon us again when we tried to make coffee. We decided it would be fun to drink an Italian espresso and thought we were smart enough to work a moka, an Italian coffee pot, but we ended up burning the grounds. We left the pot out to cool before we were going to attempt it again, but before we had the chance, Pasquale was knocking on our door. “I smell something burning, is everything ok?” he asked with legitimate concern.

“Oh, we were just trying to make some coffee,” I said.

Immediately concerned that we had ruined the moka, Pasquale examined it like a doctor would a patient. Satisfied that there was no damage to the coffee pot or the apartment, a glint of mischief appeared in Pasquale’s eyes and he said “Oh my, you burn everything! Here I show you how to do it right.”

Puttering around the kitchen and not caring that he was interrupting us washing dishes, Pasquale dumped the scorched coffee, filled the moka with water and re-started the coffee. He joked with us about how weak American coffee is compared to the shot of espresso Italians drink. As the coffee finally began to percolate, Pasquale turned the heat down, and slipped out the door before we could invite him to join us. He made sure he stayed long enough to help us, but didn’t intrude on our vacation.

While Casale Nunziatina was an extraordinary place, we didn’t stay there all day long. Sorrento and the Amalfi coast have scenic panoramas and tourist attractions. Supposedly it has hopping nightlife in the summer, but very few bars were open during out February stay. We took day-trips to Pompeii, Positano, the Amalfi Coast and Capri, none of which were more than an hour away by bus or train.

Pompeii sparked daydreams of living in the town of 20,000 people and walking along the cobblestone paths in Roman style togas the day it was buried by the eruption of Mount Vesuvius. Positano and the Amalfi coast offered an opportunity to see the beauty of the Adriatic Sea from a bus. A word of warning for those who suffer motion sickness: bring the Dramamine for the Amalfi coast tour. Buses zip through the narrow switchbacks along the costal cliffs and if you go to Capri you may need it for the 25 minute ferry that leaves from Sorrento.

On our final day in Sorrento, Pasquale loaded our luggage into his Smart Car, asked us if we enjoyed our stay and if we had “broke everything.” We said no, but he checked just to make sure. He drove us to the train station in pairs of course. As he drove away I was unexpectedly sad, as if I was leaving something I had truly come to love. But Pasquale’s kindness prevailed again. He smiled and waved as if we were old friends and would see each other again.

When I returned to school, my comrades had great stories of beer fests and bike tours; museums and castles; getting lost and missing flights. They had fun but they were exhausted. I was tired but my soul was rejuvenated. That little church’s sign rang true in my ears. I felt peaceful about returning to school. I smiled as I recalled my fondest memory of Sorrento; a little old man, pulling up in a smart car, and explaining how he would transport four college women and their luggage to a paradise they didn’t know even existed. In that moment, I knew that because of Pasquale’s kindness, someday I will return to Sorrento.

Niki Thiessen, a journalism and communications double major at the University of Kansas, attended the CIMBA undergraduate program in spring, 2009