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I didn’t have the stomach to drive the challenging, narrow roads to coastal Ravello, so I took the bus that went to the town centre instead. It was a breathtaking drive with spectacular views of the Amalfi Coast. I saw the dramatic contrast of the mountains with the sea.
Ravello was perched on a high cliff above Amalfi. It had a stunning view on the coastline below. I could see the beach of Castiglione and the views across to other small villages further away. The views were mesmerizing; they were a painting in waiting for an artist’s brush.
Ravello was a quiet, aristocratic place that had a main square with a few luxury hotels close to one another. Each hotel was more spectacular and opulent than the other. Walking was a priority for me, after the carefree calorie-laden days, so I headed for the sights on foot. I heard about Villa Cimbrone nearby in the main square, so I spend some time there among the finely manicured gardens.
On my walk, I made another discovery. One pathway in town led to a cliff from where I could view the Amalfi Coast. It was so high up I had slight vertigo looking down. I saw the Cathedral of Ravello, which had a three-storey bell tower.
The highlight of my trip to Ravello was being able to attend the Wagner Festival. The Ravello Festival or the “Wagner Festival” was the annual summer festival of music and arts held in town. The festival usually lasted for two months and featured a wide variety of music.
The large orchestras were delightful .
I grooved to the jazz musicians.
I attended the chamber groups, art shows and dance.
There were photography exhibits and discussion groups.
I even met and talked with world renowned artists.
Ravello was a great place in summer for classical music concerts. The beautiful coastal Italian town left a sweet melody in my heart.
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I was too late to attend Milan’s Fashion Week that occurred in February and March. I was too early to attend the one that happened in September and October. Still, the streets of Milan were unparalleled for fashion. I know I said the same of Paris and Tokyo. I can’t think around beautiful people. All they leave me with are stars in my eyes.
I knew the next few weeks would be a blur as I explored the rest of Italy. Time would never be enough, and I would not be short of amazing sights. I will try to experience it all as much as humanly possible.
I planned to eat my way through Naples. I spend days popping in and out of all the local eateries. No pizzerias or pastry shops left unexplored or untasted.
It seemed Naples shared my exuberance for their sweets. Pastry shops stayed open late into the night and I could enjoy espresso and fresh ricotta cheese filled sweets at any hour.
Despite my herculean efforts, I felt I only scratched the surface of the local cuisine. I tried the fried pizza and my taste buds touched heaven. It was well worth the calories.
I indulged on Neapolitan pizza, Sfogliatelle and Pasta alla Genovese. Each dish created a new standard for perfection. I was afraid after the meals I had, no pastry would be flaky enough or pasta as infused with flavor.
I got addicted to Taralli, which were the Italian version of crackers, I tried a variety of flavors at bakeries all over town. My favorites were the ones with black pepper and toasted almonds.
I tried Cuoppo. These fried fish in a cone were a masterpiece of street food. They were a flavor sensation and a delicious taste of Italian tradition.
Despite my unreserved ardor for Italian food, a thought nagged at the back of my head. Calories in. Calories out.
That is what my personal trainer would say, but I parted ways with her just before my trip. I had a good reason; I didn’t want to think about training while I was having a culinary experience around the world.
Still, her words echoed in my head. Calories in. Calories out.
Sigh. It was unlikely that I would forget them that easily as old habits die hard.
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It was going to be a test of wills between the two sides: Fitness-obsessed Ellie vs. Indulgent Ellie.
Things reached a crisis point when I was squeezing into my loose jeans and progressively, it was taking longer to put them on. Soon my dresses would be all I could still fit in.
I thought about calling my trainer, but she would have instantly detected my guilt. I thought about talking to Cassie about my struggles and I would have done it too... if I didn’t already know her well.
Cassie was the human equivalent of a cat. She understood sunshine, food and naps. I could predict which side she would shove me towards, and it wouldn’t be the one with exercise.
I was getting nowhere in my indecision. After contemplating my decision over many pizzas and gelatos, I packed my bags and headed towards the Dolomites.
I was going where I couldn’t resist being active.
The Dolomites were a mountain range in northeastern Italy. The mountain range renowned for skiing in the winter months. It also had lots of activities for the summer months. So that was my plan, I planned to mountain climb, hike, cycle and hang glide out of my early fitness retirement.
Before leaving for my trip, I got an international driving permit. I was going to drive to the dolomites in my rental car, which was the best way to experience them. I took my time wandering around the beautiful paths, and I took many pictures of the mountain peaks. I spend time talking to the locals. Sometimes we spoke in German, other times in Italian. When a conversation got difficult to understand, I even communicated with google translate.
I had temporarily averted my fitness crisis. Although my legs and back were sore from hiking, it no longer took me fifteen minutes to squeeze into my jeans. I couldn’t even remember the last time I had a calorie heavy meal. (Maybe it was a week ago?)
I knew there would be a constant internal tug-of-war, as long as I was on this trip. A dilemma common among vacationers, the battle between indulgence and activity.
The next time it happens, though, I might just call Cassie.