The Ascent of Castel Aragonese

I said, almost jokingly, when I first saw the castle that we had to explore it. I mean, that's who I am, in my idealized heart--the intrepid, 19th-century explorer. The castle was an island off the coast of an island, a drop of land that seemed to be created for the divine purpose of guarding the Mediterranean paradise of Ischia Ponte. Had I a less scientific and more theistic view of things, I would easily believe it.

The castle was carved out of the island's stone, seemeing to emerge organically from the shear rocks, like a fine sculpture. I figured that even if we couldn't access the castle, it was still an incredible sight; besides, it was hard to be dissappointed on Ischia. Greg, who's good fortune had taken him to many places in this wide world, commented that Ischia had to be one of the most gorgeous places he'd ever seen. As the ferry boat made waves through perfectly blue water, I found myself smiling for perhaps the one-thousandth time, happy that I threw in all of my chips (most of which were borrowed) and went on the UF trip to Italy.

The island of Ischia lies just west of Naples--a big and dirty city, older than Rome and all the worse for wear--near the famed Isle of Capri, which is said to be even more breathtaking than Ischia... a concept I find hard to imagine. Ischia is not well known to Americans or the British; in fact, most tourists there are either Germans or Italians themselves, taking a break from the mainland heat during the summer. Its small towns and villages skirt the island's coasts, for Ischia's heart is Mt. Epomeo, a dormant volcano that was the driving force of island's geologic birth.

Ischia's towns were essentially small groupings of shops and homes, with all the requisite cracking paint and uneven shingles, nestled together in that specifically Italian way, as if the buildings were all old friends, unchanging through time, with transient occupants that were given the rare privilege to bask in their camaraderie.

In the four days that we were on Ischia, I had made friends with those buildings, and those people. Everyone from the gelateria lady to the friendly family who owned the "hotel" (more like a big house) where we stayed. Sam and I, one night, sat on their porch, speaking only Italian with them for at least an hour, as their whole family--aunts, cousins, nephews, brothers--came strolling down the street to join them before dinner. A whole enormous family on one street block, as if mass globalization and the 21st-century were something that never noticed the people of Ischia.

Another night was the exciting "partita di futbol" between US and Italy--a match-up that revealed the fairweather side of the UF in Rome trip: none of us, save for Kyle, even considered cheering for Gli Americani. I mean, we were trying to blend in, you know? Well, hell, honestly who wants to be rooting for the "other" guys in a town when everyone is in the streets and bars, crowding the roads like its a festival, all for a soccer game? We were Italiani.

Other small moments of interest: climbing Mt. Epomeo, visiting a private beach and dipping into the icy Mediterranean, discussing philosophy in a hut, and....yes, we absolutely got into that castle.