Adventures in Amalfi: 30th birthday takes family abroad

by Jessica Sacco (United States of America)

A leap into the unknown Italy

On my 29th birthday, I was already thinking about my 30th. Strange, I know, but I needed to make my last year in my 20s count. “I’m going to go to Italy,” I thought to myself one day. “To the Amalfi Coast -- I’ve always wanted to go there.” “...And I’m going to bring my entire family.” The trip included my parents, two younger sisters and their significant others, my boyfriend and myself. I had my doubts that a group of loud Italians prone to arguments, together in one place for an extended period of time with no way out other than the return flight home, could be disastrous, but figured, what’s the worst that could happen? Organizing a vacation for eight people, some of whom had never been out of the country before, is not for the faint of heart. The deeper we dove into the details though, the more I realized this was really an experience for everyone -- a leap into the unknown -- as no one in my 100 percent Italian family (minus myself) had ever been to our homeland. It’d be a chance for us to explore the streets our ancestors once walked, eat the food we could only attempt to replicate ourselves and marvel at the language we’d lost over time. Finally, after months of talking about it, agonizing over dates, where we’d stay on the coast (we settled on Furore) and exhausting the “to rent a car,” or “to not rent a car” question (we chose the former), we were booked. Sept. 11-21, 2018. I hoped Italy was ready for us. Benvenuti in Italia We arrived on the morning of Sept. 12, tired, hungry but excited for what lie ahead. I had the whole 10 days planned out, with trips to the “must see areas” -- Positano, the island of Capri, Sorrento, Pompeii and Monte Vesuvio -- planned practically to the minute to ensure we saw as much as we possibly could. We split up in two cars: me, my boyfriend Kyle (at the wheel), my youngest sister Lauren, and her boyfriend Rob in one, and my parents, middle sister Andrea and her boyfriend Keivan -- who assured us he could drive a standard -- in the other. After getting lost at least once, we arrived in Furore several hours later. Our relief to have safely made it through the narrow roads along plunging cliff lines soon faded when we realized the second car was missing. In an attempt to get groceries at a nearby market, Keivan had blown the transmission after failing to properly maneuver the stick shift. Inevitably, this resulted in all eight of us cramming into one hatchback (with two people squeezed in the trunk) for the duration of the trip. At one point, the sheer weight from everyone inside prevented the car from remaining stationary on one particularly steep hill, enticing screams from the peanut gallery until Kyle was able to successfully get us to flat land. The remainder of the trip was filled with moments that tested the boundaries of our sanity, like the trek to Salerno to acquire a new rental car, only to find out the place closed an hour prior to our arrival, and where a waiter at lunch not so politely corrected my father’s pronunciation of spaghetti. Twice. It’s “spAghet-ti” for those who don’t know. Or our trip to Vesuvio, where we had a mere half hour to briskly walk the mile up to the rim of the volcano, nod in appreciation of the view and rush back down before the gates to the park closed. For all the nail biting, hair tearing, who-can-yell-louder-than-the-other moments, there were times where the group was able to exist in unison, pausing to appreciate the exquisite beauty surrounding us. On our flight home, after Andrea and Keivan were bumped from our connecting flight and my mom was dragged to the terminal in hysterics, I settled into my seat, pondering how we’d manage to survive our time abroad together. Before closing my eyes to doze off, I thought, “where to next?”