What is it that inspires us to travel? What motivates us to leave our comfortably routine workaday life, cast off the lines and sail toward some unknown horizon? What far-off call beckons so loudly that we can’t quiet it without further investigating its source? How bright does the sunset at the end of the distant road or just over the farthest mountain have to be before we drive towards it in an attempt to make it last just a moment longer?
Perhaps we derive inspiration from colorful words arranged on a page in such a way that our wanderlust is aroused. We simply can’t live without seeing if the vision our mind created matches the scene the author describes. Perhaps the smell or taste of some exotic food carefully prepared in an ancient way by a well-practiced chef inspires us to follow our hunger toward the simmering pot of goodness that waits to be sampled in a faraway kitchen. Perhaps we harbor a secret doubt that the combination of colors captured in a photograph of a rainbow filled sky could actually exist in a distant land just beyond our own?
How intense does our minds creation need to be before we decide to find out if there could be a reality that lives up to our imagination? How vivid do the colors, smells and sounds in our head need to be for us to cast care to the wind and follow that vision, no matter how long it may take to find? What do we need to visualize before we are motivated enough to deviate from our normal path?
What did we imagine?
Did we imagine crowded ferries quickly loading and unloading impatient passengers at busy terminals? Ferries that ride on choppy, aqua water destined for tiny islands with famous names. Islands that appear on horizons as small dots under large, darkening clouds. Larger ferries for cars and fare conscious passengers. Fast moving hydrofoils that carry tourists and those who think time is money. A group of skyscraper teenage models drink espresso and pick at pastries at a large table. Anxious photographers hover nearby, obviously having noticed the clouds that threaten their productivity and pocketbooks. A burning smell of your carelessly prepared panini drifts from the toaster as the indifferent young cook pays more attention to the models than your first food of the day.
Did we imagine being greeted on arrival by a blinding rainstorm so strong that it didn’t seem possible that amount of water could be held in a cloud? Water that seemed to come from every direction, including up. Wind howled hard through nearby sailboat masts creating a dreadful moaning sound that seemed frighteningly human. A race with heavy bags to a nearby fisherman bar filled with a rough cast of characters straight from a Hollywood movie. Enjoying a well-earned beer from the self- serve cooler next to the bar. Listening to the sailors tell stories you knew were bawdy even though you couldn’t understand even one word.
Did we imagine cobbled roads that wind through peeling stucco buildings designed centuries before there were thoughts of modern transportation? Roads designed to carry wares between the two main marinas of the island. Tiny streets filled with pedestrians, scooters and cars competing for space at speeds that don’t feel comfortable to newcomers. The cars with side mirrors turned back or broken off entirely, surely from earlier battles with the well scuffed walls. The sides of the cars show scratches of many colors, no doubt matching a scratch on another car, somewhere else on the island. Feeling like you should be wearing white clothes and red bandanas in Pamplona as you hurry from tiny doorway to doorway to avoid the honking metal bulls. Your fear turns to embarrassment as you hurry past two young mothers with carriages casually having a conversation knowing that the cars have just enough room to pass.
Did we imagine views of secret courtyards behind ornate wrought iron gates with designs of centuries past? Grassy yards behind 10 foot walls that surely keep the road noise at bay. Untended grape vines beneath waxy green trees with lemons so large they could be grapefruit. The fruit has wrinkled skin, thick pith and a sweet taste that is rightfully famous. Developed to keep the islands sailors healthy on long sea journeys of the past. A delicious lemon salad is served in most restaurants and homemade limoncello is popular at any local gathering.
Did we imagine living in a house on the highest point of the island? A terrace that sits above every other building on the island and provides 360 degree views of the entire 4 square kilometers of volcanic land below. Taking in distant views of Pompeii, Sorrento, Capri and Vesuvius as your laundry dries in the warm breeze of a late October afternoon. A nearby church that was founded 1000 years ago by monks and now has beautiful bells that sound perfectly throughout the day. A house that sits inside the oldest settlement on the island, surrounded by ancient walls. Walls built first to protect the religious and the wealthy from far away intruders. Later the walls held prisoners in the classic punishment of seeing all the lights of civilization from behind the bars of your drafty island cell.
Did we imagine strolling along the marina amongst the tiny houses built in a way that no mad architect could ever have imagined? Houses with such a vast pastel palette they appear to rise from the sea like scoops of fruit flavored summer gelato piled one on top of another. Ancient fisherman mending nets in the afternoon sun. A man, perhaps channeling his own Pablo Neruda, writing in a journal while sitting in the dockside inn made famous in the movie “Il Postino”. Stairways climb steeply from the harbor to the church above. Stairs so steep that they take your breath in equal parts from exertion and from witnessing the beauty of the view they provide over the tranquil harbor.
Did we imagine the everyday sunsets and sunrises so intense that it sometimes appeared the sky was on fire? Viewed from the lookout high above Marina Corricella or from the belvedere in Terra Murata the brightly colored clouds made each morning and evening something to look forward to.
Did we imagine the spine jolting bus ride through the narrow streets and up the imposing hill to our walled mountaintop villa? Cursing the rattling and bouncing ride we memorized each bump along the way. Climbing the steep hill to our house twice daily while the bus was being repaired for several days, making trips to the market into grueling, lung busting marches. Being ever thankful and promising never to criticize the bus again as it carried us up the hill after its return from repairs.
It’s difficult to say if our month long journey to our tiny island in a faraway sea lived up to the vision we created in our imagination. This was never going to be the classic trip to the deserted island in an endless sea that many dream of. Far from that, it was a month spent in a place far from tourism. We lived as locals on a tiny island in the middle of an ancient land far away from our own home. While not everything we imagined, it will still be remembered as more than we should have hoped for.