The Start of my Solo Travel Across Italy: My First Hostel Experience: Sorrento (Sant'Agnello)

My solo trip around Italy starts off in the beautiful coastal town, Sorrento. I checked in for 5 nights (then a night in Naples) so I could base myself and use the local buses or circumvesuvania train to make day trips to Amalfi, Capri, Pompeii and Mt Vesuvius. I didn't plan out exactly where/what the plan was each day because that's the thing with solo travel, you don't know who you're going to meet. You want to be flexible. You want the road ahead to be clear.

Sorrento (not my photo)

Although.. I was a bit of a travel virgin, so I did book my hostels in advance (using hostel bookers / hostel world) as well as the trains from city to city (Trentitalia). This meant I had a vague idea of where I was going, which definitely helped me in making the most of my time in one place. Without some kind of outline or deadline, some travellers I met were getting lazy- drinking all day and hungover on the beach. That's not to say I didn't have a couple of these days... but the most rewarding experiences were found in those exhausting long days, throwing on my rucksack leaving the hostel at 7 or 8am and getting back in the early morning sweaty and aching all over.

To get to Sorrento, I got myself to Naples first. (I decided not to stay in Naples at this point but to return after the 5 nights because from Naples I would take the overnight train to Palermo, Sicily). So, I took the circumvesuvania from Naples to Sorrento which was easy enough to do, once I found the actual train itself after wandering around the station for ages. I really liked the train because you would buy your ticket in your coffee shop or tabacchi, then keep it in your purse until the time you want to travel. Just remember to stamp it before you get on!

Now, I didn't look at my hostel address properly. Big mistake. But with a name like “Youth Hostel Sorrento”, one would assume it was in Sorrento, no? No. It was actually the next stop after Sorrento, in the quiet and charming suburb, Sant'Agnello. This wasn't a problem though, only a 20 minute walk / 3 minute train from Sorrento, and at €18 a night (£15/$25) I wasn't complaining. This hostel was my first ever hostel experience! It was clean, beds were comfortable- even had a wardrobe and dressing table in the room. There was a small kitchen with a fridge, hob, and microwave, which was great when travelling on a budget. Only thing was from the station it was a bit of an up-hill trek through the village on a narrow cobbled road. While it was horrendous to hike up with a massive heavy rucksack and a dirty stray dog following me, it was a nice bit of insight into local living. I'd choose it again and again over staying in an expensive hotel.

So it's my first night here, I'm just packing a bottle of water in my rucksack to go head out for the evening when I hear a lot of laughing and music from the kitchen. Amazed, there's about 15 guys and girls around 20-30 years old all squashed into this tiny kitchen, bottles of booze everywhere, and I feel a little shy. I put my bag down and go and introduce myself, some were travelling alone but most were in pairs or small groups of friends. What an incredible feeling to meet so many people from so many nationalities! I was the only one from England and I loved it. We got ourselves sat in a circle on the floor and chatted as a group and then came the drinking games. We planned to take the last train to Sorrento and taxi it back but the drinking got a bit out of hand and most of us just passed out in our beds. I didn't spend a penny that night and had a fabulous time! Sadly that night was the finale for most people, and by morning their bags were gone. Then with each new day came new travellers, more and more inspiring conversations and wonderful memories.

The next morning I left the hostel alone. Near the station in Sant'Agnello I found a cute café with a seating area under a yellow gazebo. Got chatting with the barista and listened to his fascinating life story while explaining my own. He set off my morning with a delicious macchiato on the house, and I hopped on the train to Sorrento to take the blue SITA bus to Amalfi. What a ride that was!

Is an expat just an immigrant with the “right” passport?

After reading an article on the guardian, The British abroad: expats, not immigrants, I've been thinking a lot about the different kinds of people who live and work abroad; where they're from, how long they're here, why they're here, etc, and why one person is referred to as an "expat", like myself, while someone else is an "immigrant", like the Sri Lankan's, working the bar on last nights "Expat Boat Party".

I chatted with a friend who is currently working abroad in Thailand. He said that in his travels he notices everybody will find somebody beneath them in order to feel superior. In Thailand, they look down upon the Cambodians, in Cambodia, they look down upon the Burmese. Here in Maldives, I find the Maldivians look down upon the Bangladeshi's and Sri Lankan's- but not the Western immigrants, oh sorry, I mean expats. But the expats themselves, or at least many of them, look down upon Maldivians! In their own country! The way some Westerner's talk to them can be truly appalling. 

I'm sat with a new friend from Poland, who here, is of course an expat. Why then, back in Britain, is he an immigrant? Here his presence is respected, in Britain, he is stealing a Brits job. If the same logic applies, is he not then stealing a Maldivian's job? Isn't that what I'm doing? How Brits complain about immigrants in their own country while living the life of an expat, either working abroad or retiring abroad, I just don't understand.

In Maldives, I'd say much of the workforce is foreign- in building the roads and apartments, in tourism, teaching- I met a doctor from Bangladesh the other day while trying to promote the new school I work in. Is he an immigrant or an expat? He has a respectful job, he spoke English almost fluently, yet he'll be looked down on. It makes me feel angry. I feel embarrassed for referring to myself as an expat, even the very name of my blog and twitter accounts use the term expat, why not immigrant? Why do I, as many expats do, avoid identifying myself as an immigrant? Am I subconsciously using the term “expat” as a stamp of superiority?

I assume that, ignoring the deliberate (or subconscious) racism/discrimination, the explanation lies in the fact that an “expat” has not travelled to foreign lands solely to save money or to build a permanent life in a new country, but for some spiritual journey, for experience etc, and may only stay for a year or two, while an “immigrant”, perhaps, is working abroad to earn more money than he or she would do so in a similar job back at home. The guys I mentioned working the bar at the party, I'm told are earning about 6 times the amount they would back home. However, they don't have much protection in terms of unions. We have a couple of guys from Bangladesh working with us but they are treated well and are happy when they visit home because they bring a decent wage with them. 

All of the foreign labour force are expats because we live outside of our native countries. Some of us are also immigrants, not due to our place of birth or colour of skin, but because our residence is permanent. I haven't travelled enough yet to decide to settle down longer than a year, but when I do go and make a life in wherever it is, I will consciously refer to myself as an immigrant rather than abhorring the word like some.

Whatever the reason for working abroad, no-one should be made to feel of less value than someone else purely on race; it's disgusting. While it's impossible to make absolute generalisations, I am starting to observe that in no matter which country, people remain people, and although attitudes and languages and culture may change, the majority of them will still have the same prejudices as everybody else, whether they live on an island, in the mountains, in riches or in poverty.

I hope that the term "immigrant" will start to lose it's negative connotations and just stand for it's literal meaning. No more them and us.

NB: I recommend taking a look at the comments section on that article on the guardian, it seems there's an idea that expats don't work abroad but live off of their own assets, while others who work abroad state they hate being called an expat- "Everyone I meet who calls themselves an expat has been a dickhead... wine-guzzling, racist.." Hmmmmm...... thoughts?

How I Spent a Weekend in Paradise for a Little Over £60 ($100) a Night FULL BOARD

Last weekend I had the privilege to escape the crowded, narrow streets of Male' and relish in the idyllic stillness bound within the remote island, Fihalhohi.

Two fellow ESL teachers and I booked ourselves a triple room, which included three glorious meals a day (never have I been so happy to see pork on a buffet), granting us with just a few minutes walk barefoot from the room to the curve of blissful white sand and surrounding turquoise waters.

How did we get such a good deal? Ah, as is one of the many delights from working in a foreign country; expatiate rates! The room and board split between the three of us made about £60 ($100) each a night. Alcohol is not included, and an even split of the bill made an extra £60 each (too many vodka shots... my bad). So there I was, with two beautiful friends on a luxurious mini-break paying a fraction of what the other holiday-goers were subjected to- most of them on romantic breaks.

I often read online of peoples wishes for 'two 6-month vacations every year'. Of course they are joking, since they don't seem to have the balls to just take a leap and go and work abroad. That's not to say working abroad is the same as a 6-month vacation, but it sure comes close. Just a month into my contract teaching English in Maldives I've had my first island resort experience. Next month I hope to spend the half-term exploring and hiking Sri Lanka - I just can't wait to breathe in that fresh mountain air. Until then, taking a lunchtime stroll in Hulhumale', carefully avoiding the cig butts and trash on the sand, or taking a refreshing but odd swim in a burkini, will have to suffice.  

Fihalhohi in 12

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As it was off-peak season I had the unique experience of watching the sun set peacefully in absolute solitude.

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Children play together in the completely transparent and unclouded sea. 

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This TEFL business is a hard life.

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Me trying out a free "practice dive" to get to grips with the oxygen tank. Saw some stunning sea life which almost had me paying up for a real dive, but I decided to wait and try to find a better price elsewhere.

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Beautiful and breathtaking. The view's not bad either.

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Like the sound of the sea? Sleep with the ocean right below you.

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Who needs a fiancée when you've got your friends? 

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 At first I thought the birds were fake because of the way they pose so still and steady. He had a bit of a struggle getting it down!

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I sat here for a while to soak up the sheer tranquillity impossible to find back in Male'.

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With each time I went under water I saw a different fish, a multitude of colours. Once under that water I didn't want to come back up!

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I have never seen a clearer sea in my life.

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This is where those vodka shots come into action. Absolutely amazing performance from the Sri Lankan catering staff- I couldn't not join in!

“We live in a wonderful world that is full of beauty, charm and adventure. There is no end to the adventures we can have if only we seek them with our eyes open.” – Jawaharial Nehru

Summer in Italy: Teaching English – Living Local – Solo Travel & Falling in Love

If you search the synonyms of 'experience', the following words crop up: action, involvement, maturity, participation, patience, practice, struggle and understanding. Last summer, after another breakup, I decided I needed to spend the summer away; I needed an experience. Something more than just the instant gratification of seeing the most places possible- which is highly individualistic. I wanted to invest in a collective identity. To integrate in a whole different context. To suffer through language barriers and cultural differences. To learn to adjust and restrain. To be able to quote Nick Miller and say “Maybe I don't have to do it that way when I get home.”

One problem: I had just less than £100 to my name.

I looked into summer work and that's how I came across the camp industry. Having already gained my TEFL certificate (Teaching English as a Foreign Language) the year before in Vietnam, I found I was eligible to teach English in camps across Europe even with the absence of a degree. While working at a summer camp, your board and food would be provided by a host family, the son or daughter of which would be a student at the camp. Therefore all you have to pay for are the flights. I had enough to just cover the costs of a single ticket. I'd worry about the return later.

I applied to positions in France with American Village, Germany with Sprach Camp, Spain with English Summer, and Italy with Lingue Senza Frontiere, The English Camp Company and BELL – Beyond English Language Learning.

I decided to go with BELL because they were able to offer me 4 two-week long camps (8 weeks total) while the others only 2 or 4 weeks. Each camp paid around $450 (£370). The first 3 camps were one after the other, following a week of training, from June 17^th to July 26^th. Then there were 3 weeks where no camps were running through lack of demand. The 4^th camp ran August 19^th to 30^th. Later on I was asked if I could do a 5^th camp at a private school, which I happily accepted. This ran straight after the 4^th camp from September 2^nd to 14^th.   

After the first 3 camps I had been given the opportunity to teach children ages 4 to 12 years old which had earned myself over a grand. I had lived locally across 3 different regions in towns I may not have otherwise visited (Teramo, Massa di Carrara, Baricella). I had experienced real insight into Italian life. I learnt to eat, speak and kiss like an Italiana- something a guide book can't teach. There are times of course when living in someone else’s home isn't always easy, but with struggle comes a new opportunity to learn and experience. Not sure if summer a camp is for you? Check out my post 8 Reasons you should be a Camp Counsellor/Tutor this Summer.

I used the entity of my earnings to fund the month of adventure that came after, saving just enough to get the train to my host family the Saturday before camp 4 started (which was later reimbursed by the company). I then used my final salary on a shopping spree in Bologna (where I was living with my host family), bought my flight ticket home, and put the rest towards a romantic weekend- my last weekend in Italy- with a special guy we will refer to as Mr Italy.

This passage sums up my trip perfectly, written by my beautiful friend Jessica (@jessicadiana - Instagram) who I met at camp, plus a couple additions from me:
 

Basil infused hands, crisp dry laundry hanging from the line. The explosion of encompassing jasmine. The sound of espresso cups clinking in the cafés into their tiny dishes. Extraordinary conversations with ordinary people. Biscuits for breakfast. Waking up to the sea and falling asleep to the breeze sneaking in through the window. Late sunsets and freezing ocean dives after heat exhausted days. Churches compelling enough to enter. Vanilla gelato melting onto your sticky fingers. Coconut granita, steam from fresh pasta, and arms wrapped tightly around your waist. Morning cappuccinos, and afternoon nutella sandwiches. Cliff dives, cold showers and wine after a hard days work. Long trains, longer walks, and laughs that are forever remembered.

My Itinerary

(With the help of Frommer's "Italy: day by day")

 
1. Campania (Sorrento, Amalfi, Ravello, Capri, Pompei, Mt Vesuvious & Naples)

6 nights

 

Exploring the ruins of a destroyed town. Watching the sun set and sharing wine with two Italians. Feeling at home in Ciao Toto's ristaurante. Racing to the ferry in Capri with new friends from the hostel. Spending the day with a family I met at a bus stop. Smoking on the platform. Climbing a volcano with a friendly Aussie. The Amalfi Coast bus ride. Searching for Gino Sorbillo for the best Neapolitan pizza. Bumping into the same family at dinner the next day and pulling up a chair. A shot of limoncello. Throwing my head under various fontanelle (small fountains) to cool down. Stamping the tickets. Stripping down to underwear and swimming in the Blue Grotto. Making friends with the waiter over an espresso at the bar. Taking a chairlift and admiring the views below. Donating blood for Italian children in a mobile clinic. Buying a bag of deep-fried aubergines for next to nothing. Taking a cheap and cramped overnight train to Sicilia...

The Start of my Solo Travel Across Italy: My First Hostel Experience: Sorrento (Sant'Agnello)

2. Western Sicily (Palermo, San Vito Lo Capo, Erice, Agrigento) 3 nights

Crispy hot arancini. Watching Sicilian teens have a dance-off in Mondello. Getting chatted up (and stalked) by a Palermitan. Delicious seafood and drinks with new Italian friends. Sunday at the Temples. Massage on the beach. Cable car to the castle of Zeus. Swimming in the warm turquoise sea. The kindness of strangers. Lunch with a stray cat. Horse-drawn carriage rides. Stargazing outside the hostel. The 3-hour bus ride East...

3. Eastern Sicily (Syracuse, Taormina) 2 nights

 More arancini. Exploring Ortigia Island. Night out with a couple Irish girls and their vodka. Looking for a bar and finding the ballet. Dinner on a budget. Staying up to 4am on the cubes with new friends. Girls in the bunk next to mine from the same home town as me. Jumping into crystal clear sea. Watching newly-wed couple walk hand in hand across Piazza del Duomo. Exploring the tiny side streets. Gazing out over the harbour. Being the only ones dancing. Getting kissed by Mr Italy. Scrapping plans to climb Mt Etna just to spend one more day with him...

4. Rome 3 nights

The Pantheon. Piazza Navona. Fiat's yellow, red, black. Castel Sant'Agelo. Touring the Vatican. The eternal pine-cone. Michelangelo. St Peter's Basilica. The Spanish Steps. Trevi fountain. Countryside views along Via Appia Antica. The underground world of the Catacombs. Vespa's colouring the road. Ivory covered bridge with a history. Campo de' Fiori and Trastevere. Exploring the Jewish Ghetto. Sitting in Capitoline Hill and people watching. Spending hours in the Roman Forum. Taking in the Colosseum. Staring in awe at the statue of Pieta. Trying to work out how the Indian busker levitates. Hydrating with free, ice-cold water from a nasone fountain. Almost crying in the Sistine Chapel. Taking time wandering around. Listening to fabulous street musicians. Buying art from a stall. Taking the train north to Firenza...

5. Florence 2 nights

Climbing 414 steps up Giotto's campanile. Queuing for the Uffizi for 3 hours. Taking in the beauty of the architecture. Making friends with a German busker. Being drawn for free by a street artist. Sitting down by the Palazzo Vecchio drinking a beer. Infatuated with David. Watching artists paint on the ground. Haggling for leather at Mercato di San Lorenzo. Taking a stroll over the Ponte Vecchio. Buying parma ham and dried porcini at the Mercato Centrale. Breathing in the river air. Train to Venice with under €100 left in my account...

6. Venice 3 nights

 

A bottle of red wine by the Grand Canal. Sipping a cappuccino in Piazza San Marco. Making friends on the beach with the guys selling beer and clothes. Taking a relaxing gondola ride with a couple new friends. Strolling through the Rialto markets. Taking a passeggiata (evening stroll) on the Zattere. Struggling through crowds for a view on the Ponte di Rialto. Running out of money! Looking out at the rough seas below and the sun sinking into the backdrop. Taking the time to sit in bed to read, reflect, and restore. Preparing for the next four weeks of camp.

“Please be a traveller, not a tourist. Try new things, meet new people, and look beyond what's right in front of you. Those are the keys to understanding this amazing world we live in.” Andrew Zimmern