​It wasn't supposed to go like this.

We were supposed to be on a plane right now. Crossing the Atlantic. I should have been sipping a glass of white wine to calm my nerves over the flight.  Gripping my arm rest when the airplane hit inevitable turbulence. Smiling bashfully once it settled.

We were supposed to be landing in JFK soon, grabbing a cab to Brooklyn. I'd point out important landmarks to my twelve year old son as we yawned and rubbed our tired eyes. My son... my eldest... The Scientist. The boy obsessed with flight economics who had agreed delightedly at a moment's notice to fly with me across the ocean for a five day journey, just Mom and son.

A close family member of ours has been quite ill for some time. This dear person lives in Brooklyn, a bit over 4,000 miles from Italy we spent most of our summer.  

It's very important to me to visit them in person, to give the kind of love and hugs that cannot be shared just over the telephone or via Skype or Facebook.  

Señor Aventura had agreed to stay back and care for Little Angel and Soccer Dude.

"We'll be fine," he encouraged me.  "You need to go and be with your family now.  I'll take care of the kids."

Gratefully, I'd agreed.  There is no blessing like the love and support of a kind, decent life partner.
​

"This isn't exactly going to be a sight-seeing trip," I reminded him gently.  "We're going to visit someone we love... who isn't feeling well at all." 

"Yes, I understand," he nodded.  "That's the most important reason why I am am glad to go.  I want to see them.  A lot!"

What a strange assortment of clothing we'd packed for the coming weeks!  

Brightly colored bathing suits next to shiny black waterproof flats. Quick-drying synthetic beach shorts and skirts rolled up against trendy jeans. Hiking boots, lightweight jackets and pebble beach swimming shoes stuffed in next to "cool tee-shirts" and hip sneakers for my son. We even packed black umbrellas for the predicted 92F/34C rainy New York weather in July!

​Our family hit the road and spent two glorious weeks enjoying the Milan and Italian lakes including Maggiore, Como and Monate. 
​

During this time in Italy my incredibly strong and fit husband Señor Aventura also raced in an amateur/semi-pro cycling competition in France called the Haute Route Alpe d'Huez with his close friend from Colorado, and while he was gone the children and I spent delightful, languid days soaking up sun and playing by the shores of Lago Maggiore.  ​
​

At last, however, Wednesday night arrived.

Two days ago now.

Our flight to NYC was scheduled to leave at 10:25am so we strategized.  We would wake early at six! Finish packing, clean the AirBNB, and then drive to the Milan Malpensa airport, arriving by 8:30. Señor Aventura, Little Angel and Soccer Dude would hug us goodbye and put us on an American Airlines flight to the United States!

Before we knew it, we'd be enjoying a Starbucks latte (me) and hot cocoa (my son) in Brooklyn.

My stomach was full of butterflies for the morning flight. I'm still working on conquering my fear of flying.  I seem to be on the 30 year 'conquer-your-fear' plan!

"Can't wait to see you tomorrow!" I texted our loved ones in New York, and then tucked everyone in to try and get some sleep.  ​
​

 "Your plane has been delayed?" asked our family in NYC.

"It has?" 

Sure enough.  Three other texts were waiting for me from American Airlines. 

"Your flight has been delayed."  Twice!  It was now running SIX HOURS AND FORTY MINUTES late!
​

"Six hours??!!??" I muttered  "That can't be right.  I've never heard of a delay that long. What's going on?"

"That seems strange," my NY family agreed.

Internally I groaned, noting for the first time that my stomach was cramping and aching pretty badly. "It's just about 4am here my time," I typed. "I'd better try to get more sleep. I'm going to be a mess by the time we finally arrive in New York. Sounds like we've got a long day ahead!"

As I reached to turn the lights back out, there was a new buzz.

American Airlines, again.  ​
​

"Flight AA0199 Canceled." 

"WHAT?" I sat up straight, no longer remotely sleepy.  

"WHAT?"

"Oh my gosh," I texted my family frantically.  "They just flat out canceled our flight!"

"What? Are you sure? Who did?"

​"The Airline!!!"

So much for going back to bed!  

​The next few hours were a blur of calling and contacting American Airlines, British Airways, Vueling, and AirBNB... trying to figure out what the heck we were going to do.

"We have just one other flight leaving today from Milan," they told me at American Airlines.  "It leaves from Linate airport in exactly one hour.  How close are you to Linate?"

"Um," I said, looking down at my pajamas and listening to my sleeping children snore in the next room. "Linate is at least an hour from where we are staying. My kids are asleep. There is no possible way we can get there in time."

"Yeah," the customer service rep from American Airlines agreed, "Actually, you'd have to be there for check-in right at this moment.  That won't work."

Calmly and kindly, he recommended I take a full refund.  

"I can't process it for you though," he said, "because you bought your ticket through British Airways.  So, you'll need to call them for the refund."

I called British Airways and was quite disappointed to reach what was assuredly a call center in India.  (I later discovered their off-hours call center is based in Mumbai.)

"Can you give me your record number?" a lady with a thick accent asked me on a line that was crackly, distant and faint. 

I gave her the number and described what had happened.  

"Can you hold the line please?" she asked and then put me on hold.  (It was not really a question.)
​

Señor Aventura nodded in the background, affirming that he agreed.  "Let's cut our losses and move on. We'll find a way to fly you to New York soon."

I sat with my head in my hands, feeling exhausted and crushed.  When I looked up, The Scientist was rubbing his eyes blearily.  "What's going on, Mom?"

"Honey, they canceled our flight.  We can't go to New York today after all."

"WHAT?"  His twelve year old face crumpled and he began to sob.  "But I've been looking forward to it so much!  I want to see our family! You said we were going to New York!"

"I know.  I feel the same way."  My eyes began to water.  Before I knew it, we were both crying.
​

So this is how the Aventura family unexpectedly found ourselves on our way to camp as a family of five in France!

After tearfully contacting my family in New York to explain the flight disaster (and our plan to book a new flight asap) I took a shower and began to clean the apartment.

We packed the car and drove to Decathlon where we bought cheap sleeping bags and sleeping pads for The Scientist and I... we had nothing at all with us, since we were supposed to be on an airplane!  

Next, we bought a big tent.  A really big one.
​

Forging ahead we drove northwest for about five hours to Nice. We managed to pick up some groceries in a VERY multicultural Carrefour, where the women were all carefully covered and wore headscarves. More than once I found myself wishing desperately that I hadn't chosen to wear a tank top, as fellow shoppers stared.  

"Why can't I speak French when I need it?" I murmured in frustration, remembering the four years I'd spent studying that language as a kid in school.  "Why do I have to stand out so much right now?"

As swiftly and efficiently as we could, we purchased ingredients for S'Mores and eggs for Señor Aventura's famous breakfast burritos.

"Can we get ramen with sushi?" asked Soccer Dude.  "To have by the camp fire?"

"Um... sushi for camping?"  We laughed.  Classic Soccer Dude!

Finally, purchases made, we headed up into the mountains and down the tiny twisting roads beyond Nice toward Roquesteron, France.
​

At last, we arrived at Camping Les Fines Roches, a lovely campground next to a river bed in Roquesteron.  It was nearing sunset and we were anxious to get the tent set up before dark.
​

Little Angel and I helped the boys figure out how to pitch and stake the rather unwieldy tent, and then we cooked a little dinner on the camping stove.

"I can't believe I'm camping!" she said to me about three million times.

"I can't really believe we're camping either," I agreed, "but here we are!"
​

We finally settled in for the night, and I actually think I even managed to get a few hours of sleep before a rooster began to crow around 5:30am.  It crowed every five to ten seconds for about two hours.  No big deal.  (The boys were ready to hunt it down and eat it for breakfast by 6:15!)
​

"These are delicious!" sang out Little Angel.  "I can't believe I'm eating eggs on a camping trip!  I can't believe I'm actually CAMPING!" 
​

The journey involved a steep hike down hundreds of feet, until we finally found the base of the canyon below.  On the way down I managed to slip thanks to a large mass of slippery, muddy dead leaves and land hard on my backside, twisting my ankle in the process. ​
​

​Frustrated tears slid down my cheeks. It wasn't just the ankle... not really.  

"We were supposed to be in New York!"  

​I couldn't help but think about my family across the ocean, missing us.  We were missing them too.

My eight year old daughter reached out her delicate hand to me, gripping my muddy fingers with her elegant clean ones.  

"It's okay Mommy.  I'm really glad you're here with me!  Isn't this beautiful?" 

Seeing her elated face, I pulled myself together.  I stood up and dusted myself off. Together we kept going, and at last came to the pale blue green pools my husband had described.
​

"Wow!!!" 

"Mom, look at this tiny frog that just hopped onto my hand!" cried Soccer Dude.

"Mom, look at that dragon fly!  I've never seen one like it!" exclaimed Little Angel.

"Mom, look at the clay on the bottom of the pool!  It's just like the clay we play with at school!" she added.

"Mom!  Can I go explore these pools with Dad?" asked The Scientist.
​

We didn't make it to New York. The Scientist and I weren't yet with our American relatives. Our family member didn't suddenly recover. This is truth, not fiction.

Yet, we were together with our dear ones. We were here!  Standing in a remote, pristine clay bottom pool in the middle of a box canyon in France... watching tiny amphibians and insects swim languidly past our legs. What a surprise!

The world - even with all of its twists and turns and raw imperfections - still manages to awe me with its unexpected beauty.  
​

​I want to write this now, while I am sweaty and exhausted.  Before my feet stop tingling, before I take a shower and wash off all of the stink of hard work, fear and pride.  There is salt dripping from my forehead into my eyes, and that’s the way it should be at this moment.  ​

I want to write it while I am still full of endorphins, still brave.  Legs covered in dirt, t-shirt damp and clinging to my abdomen.​
​

Why is this such a big deal, you will probably ask.  Thousands of people, millions of people even, climb trails alone every single day of their lives.  They think nothing of it.  

Why is it a big deal that one city slicker, a woman who still thinks of herself as a girl, someone that prefers lattes and movie theaters to camping under the stars… has done such a simple thing?

Is it because I’m now 41, an adventurer entering midlife? 

Am I a living, breathing cliché?  (“Hey world, don’t be afraid to try new things!”)

Do I want my daughter to see that women are strong and powerful?

Or how about this...
​

​
I throw on something, who knows what - something I hope will look pretty, and pack my backpack full of books, papers, a large soft blanket to sit on with an embroidered sun and stars.  It’s one of those machine woven blankets popular with students right now.  It is my very favorite; I wrap myself in it at night to feel warm and safe now that I am far from my childhood home.

Off we go! 

I am smiling at this guy, and laughing at all of his jokes.  Except, the trip is turning out to be not that romantic after all. I’m in the back seat, his brother in the front. As we drive my friend holds up a a ziplock bag of magic mushrooms; he tells me that he and his little brother will take them at the beach today and have an adventure.

“Oh, sure,” I smile awkwardly, disappointed.

“Do you want some?” he asks, probably trying to be generous.

“That’s okay,” I shake my head and smile.  “I’ll just stay and work by the ocean.”

We park on the side of a road.  Next to the road there is a field, and from the field a trail down to the beach.  The ocean looks beautiful below the cliffs, and I’m heartened by the sound of waves crashing and sea birds calling.

I spread out my blanket, pull out all of my political science books and papers and begin to study for the upcoming final exam.  The boys take their mushrooms and go on walkabout.

“Have fun!” they grin at me, as they walk away.

An hour passes.  I’m alone, but pretty happy.  The water is really beautiful here in Santa Cruz, and I’ve got snacks and a lot of work to do. The sun is shining.  It almost feels like my home in San Diego.
​

Nearly 24 years later, I remember this experience like it was yesterday…  most of all when I’m hiking. Thankfully though it’s now just a tiny memory, one that surfaces once in a blue moon. Hard to believe nearly a quarter of a century has passed since that odd Spring day.

I live a life blessed many times over.  It took eight more years to meet my perfect travel companion, the brave and good man known as Señor Aventura… but meet him I finally did, and now we cross the globe with our Scientist, Soccer Dude and Little Angel.  ​
​

Lovely Little Angel is (amazingly!) closer than I am now to the age of eighteen.  We are raising our eight year old daughter to be strong and fearless.  ​
​

​We are raising her to jump into deep natural pools, rappel down cliff faces and slide through waterfalls.  ​
​

I’m so proud.

Today when she gets back from canyoning with her dad and asks me, “What did YOU do today Mommy?” I will tell her:
​

​Today there was a terrorist attack in our adopted city, Barcelona.  The place we adore. Our home. A terrorist group has claimed responsibility for inspiring the horrific incident that took the lives of at least 12 innocents with scores more victims in the hospital tonight.  Some reports say more attacks may be in store over the coming days.

When the news broke Señor Aventura and I had just come back to our apartment with the three Aventura children after enjoying a very typical three hour Catalan lunch with our good friend here in the city, "George" who, like me, is an American teacher abroad. George is on summer vacation from his teaching position here in Barcelona and has just taken a wonderful new apartment in the area of the city near Vall D'Hebron.  He'd invited us to meet up for lunch and to see his place.  

Lunch in Spain is a very relaxed affair, especially in the month of August when the city is essentially shut down and almost all of our native Catalan friends have left for a month of vacation.  Restaurants are uncrowded at this time of year (when you're far from the tourist action) and it was fairly easy to find a table.

Many restaurants offer what they call a 'menu' which consists of two courses (such as paella and fish) plus a beverage (water, beer or wine) and a dessert (like flan) for 9 Euro.  It's a fabulous deal, and makes eating out with the kids a real joy.  

I ordered a glass of white wine and so did George.  The Catalan waiter announced he'd bring us a bottle, and then he also handed a full bottle of vino tinto to my husband.  We must have looked surprised to be handed two full bottles of wine because the waiter laughed and said cheerfully in Spanish, "It's a Mediterranean lunch!"  Then he grinned and told my husband, "I'll call you a taxi after."  Everybody laughed warmly, though we had no real intention of polishing off both bottles at 2pm.  Somehow, this story feels important now.

We had such a nice time together catching up on our summer travels and plans for the new year. By the time our family got home hours later everyone was smiling and feeling quite relaxed.  Our kids began to play a game and my husband sat down to accomplish a few things.  I decided to put my head down for a brief, lazy August 'siesta' and had just drifted off when I heard my husband say, "Hon - there's been an attack.  Looks like a terrorist attack."

"Oh no, where?" I murmured, thinking immediately of Paris and London.  

"Here.  Barcelona," he told me numbly.  "Las Ramblas."

"Oh my gosh."

I sat up and grabbed my phone.  He stayed on his laptop and we began to search for news to learn more about what was happening.  

"It's still happening, I think," my husband said quietly.  "I'm not sure."

Just then I got the first of many loving and concerned messages from home in California, from a dear childhood friend.  "I am incredibly saddened to hear of the van attack in Barcelona. Are you guys all OK?" my friend wrote.  

Immediately I responded to let her know that we were all okay, that we sent our love.  

"It's all over the news," my husband nodded when I told him about the many messages of support and worry that were beginning to pour into my mobile phone via text, WhatsApp and Facebook.  I called my mother, to let her know that we were safe.
​

I continued. "Earthquakes happen a lot around here, so nobody paid much attention to the fact that the ground had been rumbling for days.  People continued to plan dinner parties and go out to shows and gladiator fights.

In the days right before the massive eruption there had also been some strange signs that things were not quite right... for example, pets and domesticated animals ran away from their homes, and the local wells and fountains suddenly dried up."  ​
​
"Doesn't it seem like somebody should have noticed that things weren't normal?" asked Little Angel.  "Wouldn't people be surprised and upset that their pets ran away?"

Twelve hours later a wall of volcanic mud rushed down Vesuvius and covered nearby Herculaneum completely, suffocating that entire town and burying it and all inhabitants that had not already fled alive.  ​
​

Because the mud came down so fast, many of the buildings of Herculaneum still have their second level intact... and some even have their original wood beams and balconies which did not decay, thanks to the mud which acted as a preservative. Many still have their original paint in vibrant colors on the walls!
​

​
Pompeii and Herculaneum, plus a few other local towns, were eventually lost to history, except for two letters written by Pliny the Younger, a historian and statesman who was just a teenager when Vesuvius erupted. He later wrote an eyewitness account of the eruption that had killed his uncle, the famous naval officer and scientist Pliny the Elder.  

Pliny the Younger wrote two letters to a famous historian named Tacitus, describing the entire eruption in as much detail as he could give from his vantage point across the bay, and also drawing from reports from family friends about what had happened to his uncle who had died of an asthma attack in Stabiae. That is actually how we know what happened!  Without his letters none of these ruins might ever have been found."

"That's really sad," said The Scientist with a frown.  "You mean, the Italians might have just built other cities right on top of them?"
​

"Oh my gosh!  They must have been so amazed!"  

"Did they find Pompeii too?  At the same time?"

"Well, about 10 years later another excavation, this one led by a man called Rocque Joaquin de Alcubierre, discovered Pompeii.  The cities lost to Vesuvius weren't lost any more!"

"Cool!!!" 

I then described to my children how for nearly 300 years since then, these sites have undergone extensive excavation by archaeologists.  ​
​

I finished by telling them how smart this technique was, and still is!  

​"Even now, hundreds of years later, this remains the best method for getting an accurate representation of the dying figures.  Over a thousand bodies have been retrieved from the ash in Pompeii, but only 100 of them have been perfectly preserved in cast replicas."

"Are we going to see those bodies, Mom?" asked The Scientist.

"That's really creepy!" announced Soccer Dude.  "I want to see them though."

"I think the harder thing to see will be the skeletons at Herculaneum," I replied.  ​

"That's so sad!" sighed Little Angel.  

"Yes. It really is.  But it's history, and it's important to understand it by seeing it in person, rather than reading about it in a book."

Señor Aventura had just pulled our car Chico Suave into a paid-parking lot right across the street from the ruins of Pompeii.  It looked like you could buy anything in this lot, from fake statues to bottles of water, to an Italian lunch; even 50 euro cents per bathroom visit!  They were definitely maximizing their location.

"Ready?" my husband asked.  ​
​
Emerging from our car into the sticky heat of the day, we began to ascend the hill leading to the ancient town.  

Watching our three children gently place their hands on walls that were thousands of years old was incredible.  There is no way you can learn the sensation of cool stone beneath your fingertips from a book, or smell the inside of a two thousand year old gymnasium!  

​Their eyes were like saucers as they stuck their heads inside real ancient bakeries and pretended to serve soup from the world's original fast food restaurants.
​

More photos: POMPEII

More photos: HERCULANEUM

​For our fourth day along the Amalfi and Sorrento coasts we'd planned an early morning boat ride to the island of Capri, but as it turned out, I couldn't sleep! After many long hours of tossing and turning uncomfortably in the darkened apartment, I finally gave up the ghost and came out to the kitchen for breakfast at dawn.  

"I'm really sorry honey," I told Señor Aventura later in a hushed voice, since the children were still asleep.  "I've slept only two hours... at most.  I think Capri needs to wait for another day. I just don't have it in me to take the kids all the way out there on a crowded ferry boat."

"No problem at all," he nodded, making his morning coffee.  "We have plenty of time left to see the island. Why don't I go for a bike ride now before the kids get up, and then we can plan a more restful adventure somewhere closer... less of a trek?"

I put my head into my hands and closed my eyes for a moment.  "Thanks, that sounds perfect.  Have a fun bike ride!"  

Exhausted but still too keyed up to sleep, I read quietly in my JoJo Moyes book until the kids woke up and then helped them to make breakfast and get ready.
​

By the time my husband returned from three hours of hard exercise, the rest of us were prepared and had a plan.

"Why don't we check out that other local beach Gioia recommended today?  She said it would work well for kayaking.  The kids would love to take the boat out. How does that sound?"

"Please, Dad?" the boys begged.  "We really want to KAYAK!"

"Sure, great," Señor Aventura agreed.  "Kayaking sounds fun. Should we bring lunch?"

While he grabbed a quick breakfast the children and I packed up the car for the beach.  We were all pretty excited about our new inflatable kayak from Decathlon.  It was the kind you can inflate by yourself on the beach using a plastic pump, and we'd driven all the way from Barcelona to southern Italy with the boat rolled up tightly in the back of our beloved Volkswagen, Chico Suave.  

This would be the first time we'd ever used it.

"I call the first kayak ride!" announced Soccer Dude.

"Wait, so do I!" exclaimed The Scientist.

"Why do THEY always get to go first?" grumped Little Angel.  "I want to go in the kayak with you, mama!  Or with Daddy!"

"Everybody will get a turn in the kayak," I promised.  "For now, let's stay focused and get the car packed so it will be ready as soon as Daddy wants to go."
​

​
Marina di Puolo is located a short drive from Sant'Agata Sui Due Golfi, just seventeen minutes away by car.  We were so wrapped up in noticing the local hotels, restaurants and views of the Bay of Naples that we barely noticed time passing.  Before we knew it, Señor Aventura was pulling off the road and turning right into a big shady parking lot.  

"Olio di Oliva - 20Euro" read the sign, and then, "PARKING".  

This parking lot seemed actually to be part of an adapted olive grove... the cars were parked side by side on hard packed earth beneath many wide branched olive trees. Together the tree branches created a thick cover of shade, which was very nice since the temperature outside already felt extremely warm.  

Large tin canisters filled with olive oil, no doubt made from olives in this same grove, were for sale in the same office where we paid for parking.  "We're in Italy!" I thought with a smile, grinning over that unlikely sales pairing. 

"Ready?" Señor Aventura asked, as he pulled on his backpack.  "Which boy wants to help me with the kayak, and which one will carry the oars?"

"I'm walking with Mom!" announced Little Angel. 

"That means you get to help me bring our beach bags and water."

​"Okay!"
​

Together we headed down the hill along a narrow road, occasionally pulling off to the side when a motorcycle or car buzzed by.  We followed signs posted directing us to the marina.

Marina di Puolo is a small fishing village that sprang up within the estate of an ancient Roman villa that once covered the entire area from Sorrento all the way to Massa Lubrense.  Puolo is still a very tiny town today, with only a few hundred actual residents, but despite how small it is there are several restaurants and bars there that cater to locals and tourists alike.

This is truly a 'locals only' kind of place... we didn't hear a single British, American or northern European accent around us.  Its wide, pleasant shore was full of Italians... families, older people, couples, and young children playing.  They seemed to be having a great time under the sun, sitting in their beach chairs under colorful umbrellas and enjoying that sunny Mediterranean bay.
​

After depositing my tired body on a long blue beach chair under a matching umbrella, I set up my book, a bottle of water and some fresh fruit close at hand.  Looking out at the bay I saw a glimpse of mighty Vesuvius towering against the horizon, hugged by clouds. The infamous volcano seemed mild mannered enough today... no eruption likely!

​Relaxing in the sun listening to laughter and conversation bubbling up around us, I felt a surge of contentment.  
​

​Little Angel began to explore the rocks and water next to my chair for sea creatures, while the boys helped their Dad inflate the kayak.  What a kayak!  They grew more and more excited as it began to fill with air.

"Look Mom!" Soccer Dude shouted.  "Isn't it AWESOME?"

"Wow!" I replied.  "It's even bigger than I expected!"
​

The Scientist and Soccer Dude looked so happy and joyful as they prepared to go on their first Italian kayak ride with their dad.  Since they were headed into deeper water they cheerfully donned their brightly colored orange life jackets and helped push the boat into the Mediterranean. 

Seagulls chirped cheerfully in the background and even from the shore I could hear my boys laughing, already having a great time.
​

​"I think maybe it was stuck on the sand," I called to my daughter.  "Maybe it was having trouble breathing out of water or swimming. And now this man is helping it get back out to its home."

"Oh, I really hope the squid makes it home!"  

"Me too."  We watched together as he held the creature under water and walked it out beyond the break of the waves, and then finally let go as it began to swim off.  

"Yay!" Little Angel cheered.  "He made it, he's swimming!!"

Half of the beach at Puolo watched as the squid swam silently away, and then cheered and clapped the young man on the back as he returned to his female companion.  

Settling back down at my beach chair, I felt relieved and happy that the squid had lived to see another day.  "There are good people in this world," I thought, reflecting on that kind young man who had taken the time to free the cephalopod from a tragic fate suffocating in the sand.
​

Our boys began to clamber along the rocks protecting the little harbor from the rest of the Bay of Naples, hunting and searching for sea creatures like hermit crabs, mussels and more.  

They basked in the hot sunshine and took dips into the bay, but mainly looked for animals and played along the shorebreak.  Every so often they came back to get more fruit or sandwiches from me.
​

​
"I think it's about time to head back," my husband said quietly.  "They've had a great day, and we should leave now while it's still positive, before anybody gets too tired." 

"Besides me, you mean," I laughed.  "I agree, that sounds perfect."  We began to deflate the inflatable kayak, deconstruct the oars, and repack the beach bags.  

"What a great day!" Little Angel wrapped her tanned arms around my waist.  "I'm ready to go home."

As it happened, two out of three of my kids left the beach at Puolo that day with cuts on their feet that later began to swell painfully and they both eventually needed mild topical antibiotics.

"If we ever go back to that beach," confided The Scientist, "I'm definitely wearing my beach shoes on the big rocks. They are sharp!"

"Good point," I agreed.

Overall we'd shared a relaxing and happy time together at Marina di Puolo.  Even though the water wasn't the absolute cleanest, it was still a fun, safe place for the kids to play with a wide shore and plenty of sunshine.  We'd enjoyed exploring the good restaurants and amenities nearby.
​

"The beach today was fabulous," I thanked our AirBNB host Gioia when she popped by one afternoon to visit us in Sant'Anna Sui Due Golfi.  "Thank you so much for recommending it!"

"Oh, I have another really interesting place for you to visit tomorrow, if you don't mind climbing a lot of steps."

"Steps?"

"Yes," she smiled, and handed me a small white wicker basket.  "Steps! Before I tell you about this beach here are some fresh cherries grown in our garden.  They are for you and your children."

"Wow!" I gasped, pulling back the cloth on top of the basket to reveal a small mountain of plump, fragrant cherries clustered together.  Instantly I could feel my mouth begin to water.  The deep scarlet stone fruits rested gently against the edges of the white basket; each supple cherry beckoning almost sensually.  

"Grazie mille!  We love cherries!  They will make a perfect summer dessert tonight."

"Si," she nodded happily.  "We grow very nice cherries here. We are very happy to share them with your family!"

Gioia sat down at our circular table for a moment. "The place I recommend to you now requires some effort. You must hike along a trail and then down many steps to find. It is called Marina Di Crapolla. Look, I will show you on the map. You can walk to Crapolla from here, or you can drive your car to Torca and park it near to the start of the trail."

"How long is the walk?"

"From the parking area in Torca the walk to the beach is between forty minutes and an hour... including the steps."

"You said we can walk there from here?  From this apartment?"

"Yes, it is possible.  It will take longer though.  You may find that your children are too tired to attempt the steps, if you walk from here."

"What about these steps?" I pressed her eagerly. "Please tell me about them. They sound interesting and challenging!"

"Yes!" Gioia smiled widely.  "They are very old. There are nearly 700 of them!"

"Seven hundred? Wow!"

"It's not so bad when you are going down the steps," she nodded.  "But make sure you save some energy for when you would like to come back up!  It may take a long time for your children. It is worthwhile though, the views are very beautiful and there will not be many tourists around.  Crapolla is a little beach that Italian people go to, with their families."

"It sounds very special," I beamed at Gioia.  "What a fun challenge! I will tell my husband all about it.  I'm sure he will want to go there too!"

Sure enough, Señor Aventura was immediately intrigued by the news of Crapolla Beach and definitely eager to tackle this new opportunity.  "I really like heading to these smaller, secluded beaches that are away from the bigger cities," he grinned.  "Should we bring the kayak?"

"I think we should probably save the kayak for another day," I shook my head. "There are apparently something like 700 steps to climb down to get there, and we'll have to climb them again to get back to the car.  That might be tough to do with an inflatable kayak and oars."

"Good point."  

The next morning Señor Aventura rounded up the children while I packed us a good picnic lunch full of sandwiches, chips, fruit and a lot of water.  A LOT of water!  The weather forecast had called for another very hot, sunny day along the Amalfi Coast.

"Remember, there is nothing there," Gioia had confided.  "No shops, no food, no fresh water.  No bathrooms. You will need to bring everything with you that you will need while you are there."  Heeding her advice I packed water and even toilet paper, plus any small thing the kids might need.

"Let's drive," my husband decided, having just returned from a morning bike ride in the already-hot weather. "That way the children will still be reasonably fresh at the beach when we arrive and ready to have fun exploring."

Equipped with backpacks, nets to collect rocks and beach glass, towels and ample sunscreen, we happily hopped into the car, drove to Torca, found a parking space (not an easy feat in such a small town on such a beautiful day!) and began our long descent to Marina de Crapolla.

At first, the path toward the beach led through part of a neighborhood of Torca.

We passed by the back yards of many single family homes and peeked at their beautiful vegetable and fruit gardens.
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After a while we found we were hiking on a trail right next to the edge of a vast ravine.  It was thickly wooded but you could tell from the sharp edge of the slope that it must go down a very long way.  

"Why don't we walk closer to the other side of the path?" I smiled and took Little Angel's hand.  She skipped merrily along.

We continued walking for fifteen minutes or so. Then, just as I wondered how far the thickly forested part of the trail might last, we caught a glimpse of something new.  A deep blue, stretching endlessly toward the horizon!
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Encouraged, we began to move more quickly.  Surely the steps to the beach could not be far away now!  The boys raced ahead, eager to discover new things.
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Abruptly we found ourselves turning down the trail toward the actual stairs.  They were wide, made of stone, and seemed in very good condition... especially when compared with other ancient trails we'd taken recently.

"Look, Mommy!" Little Angel squeezed my arm.  "I see islands!"

We began to descend the stairs.  At first it seemed quite easy, and we laughed and chatted along the path.  Really, the only catch was that there was no railing to hold onto and nothing to prevent us from falling down the side of the very steep mountain if we accidentally tripped.  The walking itself was very peaceful.  

"Dad?" Out of nowhere we heard a small voice coming from below, beyond where we could see.  "Mom?"  

It was The Scientist calling, our eldest child.

"Yes?  We're up here!" we called back to him.  "You guys okay?"

"I'm waiting for you," his voice came back faintly.  "But I don't know where Soccer Dude has gone!  I can't see him anywhere!"

My heart skipped a beat, as I pictured my 10 year old (who had chosen to hike in flip flops) racing down the stone steps and perhaps tripping somehow.  Could he have fallen over the edge?

"I'll go check it out," Señor Aventura told us, and swiftly he too was out of sight.

"I'm sure Soccer Dude will be fine, Mommy," Little Angel assured me.  "Isn't it just a beautiful day?"  She stopped hiking steps long enough to wrap her arms around my waist.  
"Thanks." I hugged her back. "Your brother is quite an adventurous boy, isn't he?  Let's keep going! I'd like to find our guys so we can all hike together."

We continued to descend, a bit more quickly now.  The views were beyond spectacular!

"Do you think anyone lives on that island out there, Mommy?" Little Angel asked me.  "I see lots of boats and it looks like there is even a house there!"

"That's a good question," I answered, wondering what kind of Italian billionaire might own an island off the Amalfi Coast. "That would be a fun place to live, wouldn't it?  Pretty hard to get your groceries though... you'd have to take a boat to the market!"

Little Angel giggled at the thought of us crossing the sea to buy milk or eggs.  

Continuing down the steps and heading around the corner we came across a view so perfect, I had to stop for a moment just to take it in.

"Look!  It's another tower like the one we saw in the Baia di Ieranto!" Little Angel declared.  

"It's amazing!" I agreed.  "I see more islands out there, too!"

"Mommy, I think we are getting closer to the beach.  I can see the boats in the water more clearly now. I think that's it, just around the corner!"

Excitedly we pushed forward.
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"Do you see your dad or your brothers down there?" I asked, stopping to fix my shoe.

"Not yet, but I think I can hear them!" Little Angel began to hop on one foot, waiting for me.  
"Look at those old stone buildings down there," I pointed and began to walk again.  "I wonder what they are.  Do people live down there?  I thought Gioia said there was nothing there."

"Let's investigate!"  Little Angel cheered and began to skip down the final steps.  

Happily the first thing we discovered when we arrived at the tiny beach was the rest of our family.  Both of my sons were already in the water splashing and playing, and my husband was just putting on his swimming goggles. 

"Hey there!" he smiled. "Good to see you ladies!  The boys are both fine."

Spreading out a thin purple towel I began to look around.  In addition to the handful of ancient, ruined stone buildings behind us I also admired the steep mountain we'd just climbed down.  That ravine I'd noticed at the top, by the side of the forested path, was even deeper and narrower than I'd imagined!
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"I wonder what this place was," Señor Aventura remarked.  "Whatever it was has been abandoned now."

We later learned that the Marina di Crapolla was once a Roman port that was used actively by fisherman and also to bring supplies to the luxurious Roman villas on the nearby islands of Isca and Le Galli.  The sea level 2,000 years ago was a few meters lower, and the beach at that time was much larger than it is today.  It made a good stopping off point on the Amalfi Coast, so that sailors didn't have to go all the way to Surrentum (Sorrento) for supplies. 

The pebble beach is now actually quite small... and perhaps due to the shadows of the high cliffs, the marina itself felt quite narrow, even for swimming.  Here is what our view to the Mediterranean Sea looked like from the shore of Crapolla beach:
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We'd been sweating profusely in the hot sun just minutes earlier, desperate for a dip in the sea.  Ironically, the tall cliffs provided so much shade to the beach that we soon felt a chilly breeze and I actually covered myself up with another towel while watching the kids swim!

Sadly, the water around the pebble beach on the day when we visited was not super clean.  Perhaps because it is an isolated area, plastic trash and other refuse washes up and is not attended to.  I thought wistfully about the simple, useful garbage bins decorating the isolated yet pristine beach of El Golfet at home on the Costa Brava.  

"Don't swim near all of the floating trash near the sides of the cliffs," we instructed the children.  

"Okay!"  They moved over closer to the sunnier, cleaner side of the marina and continued to play.
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My husband went for a swim to explore the craggy cliffs up close, and perhaps catch a closer glimpse of the island of Isca.  

I waded and contemplated going for a swim, but the water was icy cold and the floating trash nearby was honestly a turn-off.  Finally I settled down to enjoy people-watching and dreaming about the intriguing, abandoned stone buildings sleeping around us.

After a while the entire family came in from the water to eat our picnic.

"This beach is pretty cool," The Scientist said, "But I think I liked the one yesterday at Baia di Ieranto better."  

"Yeah, me too," agreed Soccer Dude.  

"I'm interested in this place," added Señor Aventura.  "I'd like to learn more about it!"

"I'm cold," said Little Angel, snuggling up to my side in her wet bathing suit. "Can we go home soon?"

My husband and I exchanged a glance.  We knew it would be a long walk back up those 700 steps, and our eight year old daughter seemed tired already.  

"Sure.  Let's enjoy this just a bit longer and then we can head back up."
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Despite the relative darkness of the beach, out in the water the sun was shining brightly. Elegant motor boats full of laughing women in bikinis and Italian men wearing speedos and gold chains came into the marina briefly and then departed again, pop music from their radios wafting to shore on the breeze.

"Those smaller boats look like they must be coming from some of the larger yachts anchored out there," I pointed toward white dots in the sea near the islands.  

"Could be!"

"I wonder what those islands are like up close?  It would be fun to check out an island!" exclaimed The Scientist.

"Well, we'll be heading to the island of Capri in a few days.  So that will give us a taste!"

After about an hour spent playing frisbee and searching for water creatures with the nets, we packed up all of our towels and drank more water before beginning the long climb back to the car.  Our load felt significantly lighter, since we'd eaten up our lunch and finished off at least half of our fresh water.
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Slowly but surely, Little Angel and I made the ascent... again falling far behind the rest of our menfolk who had scampered right up the steps like agile mountain goats. 

She and I found ourselves once again hiking in the full heat of the Sun, and paused every so often for another sip of water or simply to catch our breath.  
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We marked our progress with the tiles placed every 100 steps, letting us know how much further we had to go to make it back to step number one.

Little Angel had caught a second wind. "Even though that beach was a little small and cold, Mommy," she chattered away, "I am really glad we went there.  It's so pretty out today, don't you think?  These steps are really big and I'm proud that I am climbing them all by myself!  This is hard work!"

Wiping sweat from my forehead I smiled at my lovely, determined daughter and turned to take one last look at the island of Isca, just to the right of Marina di Crapolla.  Its lush vegetation adorned the Amalfi Coast like an emerald jewel.  
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Little Angel was right.  What a magnificent view, well worth the effort!
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For me riding along the winding, treacherous cliff-side road to Positano along the Amalfi Coast is a lot like flying in an airplane.  I spend almost the entire time praying and gripping the car's passenger seat so hard that my knuckles turn white... every once in awhile forcing myself to look out the window, gasp at the view, and say - "Oh wow, it's SO beautiful down there!" 

I've been to Positano three times as an adult.  It's like this every time. 

Yet despite my deep-seated fears I force myself to journey the narrow roads and to fly anyway because I cannot stand the idea of staying home and NOT seeing Positano, of staying in my safe little house and NOT seeing the world.

(Have I mentioned its stunning limestone cliffs yet?  Did I mention that they rise literally thousands of feet above sea level?  Did I tell you already that the only thing between your car and hurtling to an instant death is a thin metal railing?)  
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Good thing my husband, Señor Aventura, is a rockstar superhuman driver.  Seriously, the guy has skills!  He can turn on a dime, drive through the fiercest of storms without batting an eyelash, and still be telling cheerful jokes as he maneuvers us safely through the hairiest of situations.  The man is tough as nails. He could have driven for NASCAR, in my book.  I would drive with him anywhere.

Which includes, it turns out, Positano!

"Why don't you take some photos," Señor Aventura suggested as we began the one hour drive from Sant'Agata Sui Due Golfi.  "It might take your mind off of the drive."

This was a good suggestion. He knows that my love of beauty is even stronger than my fear of heights.

​Here for your viewing pleasure, then, I give to you the fruit of an hour's worth of "Oh my goodness, I can't look!" moments - some of which were pretty hard to breathe through for a person with vertigo. The photos aren't bad considering they were snapped from a moving car by a lady fighting against a panic attack!

As you'll see, the vistas from the road are absolutely spectacular.  What a way to start the day!
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Taking photos was a good idea! It truly was a positive distraction. Almost before I knew it, an hour had passed and Señor Aventura had deftly pulled our car over to park along the side of a verrrrrrrrrrrry narrow road overlooking the mountainside town.  

"Mommy, I'm really hungry!" announced Little Angel, unbuckling her seat belt.

"Me too," chimed in Soccer Dude.

"Me three," agreed The Scientist.

"I could eat," nodded my husband.

So, off we went in search of lunch!  The air outside of the car was very hot and as we descended staircase after staircase toward the sea, we found ourselves sweating.

Positano is a lovely, unique Italian town that may once have been a fishing village but thrives now thanks mainly to tourism, so there are no shortage of good restaurants for travelers there to choose from.  I felt confident that we would probably be fine eating just about anywhere.

On our way down the main path, we encountered a wedding at the beautifully restored church.  "What a good omen!" I murmured quietly. "Congratulations!"
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We continued to descend the stairs and a sign caught my eye for a restaurant called 'Le Tre Sorelle,' or 'The Three Sisters.'  This name sounded promising, and we later learned that the name does indeed come from an original Neapolitan pizza restaurant at this location run by a family of older sisters. 

The current restaurant is run by a gentleman named Luigi and his seasoned staff. It's very popular with travelers and locals alike.  

"Let's try it, Mom!" the kids cheered, and encouraged me to ask for a table.  

​We had a good experience ordering, using our broken Italian and big smiles.  The waiter who took our order was extremely warm, friendly and patient with us.  Thankfully our linguistic gymnastics paid off!  Our food arrived quickly and it was delicious.  
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After lunch we decided to digest by taking a walk along the shoreline and going for a swim.  The hot weather left us aching to dive into the brilliant, sparkling Mediterranean just a few yards away.  

That said, the main beach was so crowded!  Wall-to-wall people lined the shorefront directly opposite our restaurant. 

"Let's find somewhere a little more remote to swim," suggested my husband.  We all agreed with this plan and began to follow him as he led confidently toward the path on the right. 

Señor Aventura walks very quickly (at all times he has only one speed: GO GO GO!) so within what felt like seconds we'd traversed what felt like half of the town and found ourselves facing a very elegant hotel beach club.  

Hotel Pupetto has a remarkable location! Its beach club, filled with cheery orange umbrellas, unfolds across Positano's pebbly shores toward the bright horizon.  Lovely!

Señor Aventura purchased some beverages at the hotel beach club and then maneuvered us a bit to the right of the organized area, into an open zone with no beach chairs or umbrellas.  The Aventura children ducked into their bathing suits behind a group of rocks and hurried straight into the water with their dad, who was eager for a swim.

I lingered for a while on the pebble beach, observing an Eastern European mother and her two little sons playing in the water next to us.  Watching mothers parent in other languages and cultural traditions never ceases to intrigue me.  In this case, her sons were throwing large large rocks right at each other and she was scolding them in something that sounded a bit like Russian.  I smiled quietly to myself, thinking that raising kids around the world is not all that different.

After a few minutes though, I was more than ready to join Little Angel in the water.  The temperature was so high outside, I felt a great need to drink water and swim in it.  Luckily, the translucent water around Positano did not disappoint!  It was extremely clean and absolutely clear.  You could see straight down to the sea floor with ease.
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The water felt wonderfully cool and delicious against our skin.  We were bathed in the type of heat that dries your hair, bathing suit and towels within minutes of leaving the water... so over the next hour or two we varied our routine between swimming and drying out, and then swimming some more.

The Scientist and Soccer Dude went adventuring with their dad out to the side of the rocky cliff in the distance, investigating.  They found and entered a cave along the side of the cliff and saw that it had a door in it, likely to reach the house above set into the side of the mountain. Amazing!

Little Angel built towers and castles of stones, skipped tiny pebbles into the water and swam like a fish with her pink net, looking for underwater treasure.  

I pretended to read and finally dropped the pretense, closing my eyes and listening to the soothing sound of the surf.  It reminded me of my childhood on Sunset Cliffs in San Diego.  I felt at home.

Without warning though, the weather began to change.  A large, dark cloud floated across the sky and hovered over where we'd been swimming and sleeping.  It actually had a nefarious feel to it; much like Voldemort or his Death Eaters suddenly descending upon a previously sunny and vibrant day and sucking out all of the joy.  One side of the beach remained bright and warm; but our half turned gray and dark.  In a cool and interesting way, it was a little creepy.
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"We should probably head back to the car," Señor Aventura decided, and so we began to pack up.  As much fun as we'd been having, we knew it would be uphill (literally) all the way back to where we'd started.

It didn't take much walking though to get away from the dark cloud and re-emerge into the glorious sunshine.  Our hike back to the base of the village was actually quite breathtaking!
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Along our journey back up to the car we made one last stop; a pilgrimage of sorts.  

You see, over thirteen years ago handsome Señor Aventura and I had spent a little time in Positano.  We had taken a trip to the Amalfi Coast right before we got engaged, and it was a special time for us... young and in love, so excited for the future.

One night in particular we´d sat at the base of a set of stone steps, and despite the chilly March air, we´d played chess there under the moonlight for hours.  Listening to the waves crash on the beach nearby and laughing with my favorite guy as we honed our strategy with rooks and knights, I knew we were experiencing a special moment I would never forget.

Sure enough, the memory of that night has nestled sweetly in our brains ever since. We wanted to share this unique spot with our children, returning with them to the steps where perhaps our destiny was once sealed with a kiss.

We don't have any photos of that first night so long ago, alone on the stairs in the dark evening... just the memory of it. This time however, we'd brought along not one but three amateur photographers!  

Despite the hordes of tourists descending the steps around us, it meant the world to have our now seventh-grader take our picture flanked by his brother and sister.

​We'd come full circle in Positano; an unspoken promise made years ago now kept with a swim and a smile.

The red bricks of the balcony feel warm beneath my feet, even though the air around my shoulders is growing cool.  These bricks soaked up the full heat of the day and are now transferring just a bit of its magic now into my bare skin.  Tiny mosquitoes are starting to swarm around me.  I am very popular with mosquitoes, it seems.  I must smell like one delicious dinner!  Still, despite the whirring onslaught I’ll stay out just a bit longer to enjoy the eventide. 

In front of me, an ancient ruined fortress rises strikingly from the lake not far from the seaside town of Cannero Rivera.  Tonight its ruins host a thin crane rising like a toothpick from their midst. (Are the Borromeo's remodeling after all this time?) That modern mechanical innovation appears fragile and delicate standing next to the thick, roughly hewn stone walls.  ​
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So that is a lucky thing. 

Our little Aventura family of five is here together and at time of writing we are all healthy and reasonably contented.  That is a blessing too!
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Rushing... rushing... always rushing.
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​Over the past six weeks we've traveled by car from Catalunya to the south of Italy (I still have AT LEAST nine blog posts to make about our visits to Pompeii, Herculaneum, Positano and all of the special beaches on the Amalfi coast... along with three nights in Tuscany outside of San Gimignano, two evenings in Cannes and more. I'll be rolling those out over the coming weeks and months.)  

Then like a flash, we were back to Barcelona where The Scientist's closest friend came to visit with his fantastic family and we bonded with all of them instantly.  The reunion of these two special guys deserves a poignant (future) retelling of its very own. 

Over the course of six days we showed them the highlights of Catalunya, including Montserrat and the Costa Brava.  Their visit flew by too quickly!  

Now we are back by the lake, our favorite lake in the world... for a relaxing and inexpensive stay.  Today we have no plans.

We have no plans!  WE HAVE NO PLANS! What an amazing thing to say and mean.  

For the next few days we will revel in the emptiness, the blank space in the family calendar.  We can do anything or nothing.  We can take a boat, swim or sleep.  We bought about twelve books while in Milan and if we feel like it, we can spend all day on the shore reading.  (I picked up "Big Magic" by Elizabeth Gilbert, while The Scientist snagged "Freakonomics".) What bliss!  We can eat when we are hungry and play games when we are bored.  We.Can.Do.Anything!!!
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The rest of us will hike and swim, play frisbee and smashball and eat homemade Italian food.  Have I mentioned I've gained at least five pounds since we started our travels in Italy a month ago?  I've definitely been enjoying time with three of my 'closest' friends (heehee!) - Pasta, Gelato and Vino. ​
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In about ten days the whirlwind will begin again... more travels, more beloved friends from home visiting Spain, a quick trans-Atlantic flight to NYC, and more non-stop excitement. (We may or may not be allowed to leave Spain in August for our upcoming trip to Athens... you need special permission to travel during a visa renewal process.)

What a blessed life we are living, especially during the summer when we can hop into the car and drive to France, Italy, and really anywhere we'd like.  I look into the mirror each day and see ever-more white hair and deeper lines in my forehead; but also a big broad smile and eyes that are fully alive. 
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We later realized that Gioia had confided in us some of the most lovely, 'off the beaten path' locations in the area... places tourists rarely see.  The most sacred of them all though, was this very first one we trekked to... the Baia di Ieranto (also known as Baia di Jeranto).  

Baia di Ieranto is a place of legend... really famous legend, in fact!  It was here, according to Homer's epic poem "The Odyssey" that Odysseus (Ulysses) and his crew were tempted by the infamous Sirens who called out to them with a sultry song and lured them toward the treacherous rocks jutting from its crystal blue waters.

According to legend no sailor could resist the Siren's song... which led inevitably to shipwreck and death. Crafty Odysseus had himself tied to the mast of his boat and instructed his crew to fill their own ears with wax. When he begged them to release him, they simply tied him tighter.  Soon they were free of the Sirens and Odysseus was the first human ever to hear their song and survive!

​Now, so would we!

Sirens or not, the lure of the bay is obvious.  This famous, gorgeous Baia de Ieranto extends from the Sorrento coast all the way to the island of Capri and I Farglioni. Its shoreline is peppered with caves, beaches, coves and glorious cliffs.
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Until 1952 the bay was used as limestone quarry. Its stone was sent to Naples for use in the steel factories. At last, the operating company (ILVA) gave all of this territory to the FAI (Fondo Ambiente Italiano) which is a local environmental organization.
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Gioia explained to me that the Baia di Ieranto is now part of a marine protected area called Punta Campanella, run by the FAI.  Unfortunately last August there was a fire in this area started by arson that greatly affected the slopes of Mount San Costanzo... so the mountain path leading to the bay was officially closed off to visitors.  

It is just now re-opening to foot traffic though, so she encouraged us to try it.  

"I've been there myself, recently, and it is fine now," she explained.  "You will love it."

"Why not?" we agreed.  Really, what Humanities teacher in her right mind could pass by the opportunity to view the bay of the Sirens?  
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To get to the Baia di Ieranto from the town of Sant'Agata you must first drive to nearby Nerano where you can park and then walk for an hour along a trail from the top of Mount San Costanzo to the bottom of the shore.  

Nerano was once a village of fisherman and farmers... now it's mainly full of small hotels and takes most of its income from the tourist trade.  It still has the authenticity of older Italian men sitting at tables along the street drinking a coffee, though, and Italian women run the tiny markets and stores.  Its special dish... Pasta Alla Nerano combines zucchini, pasta and cheese (and was reportedly cooked first in 1951 for Prince Pupetto Sirignano at the local restaurant "Maria Grazia"!).  ​

We breathed easy though, far away from chaos and delighted by one breathtaking view after the next of the tip of the Sorrento peninsula and the bright blue Mediterranean waters surrounding us.  

Soon we arrived at an impressive entrance gate (seemingly a bit out of place on the remote dirt walking path).  It turned out to belong to a cliffside home once owned by the British author Norman Douglas who wrote about this region of Italy in his 1911 classic non-fiction travel book, "Siren Land".  ​

Despite the challenges though, the hiking experience was magnificent!  Magical vistas sprang up everywhere... from the tiny shrine on our right to jawdropping terraced cliffs.  ​
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Above all we were dazzled by the intense, blinding blue extending toward the horizon. With a hot sun overhead and sweat pouring down our backs, we longed to dive into that azure Mediterranean water.
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"You can do it, Mama!" she sang to me as we made our way slowly down the massive cliff face.  

​Little Angel and Señor Aventura coached me down the hill, and then down the hundreds of ancient ruined stone steps leading to the little pebble beach at its base.  I was definitely not wearing great hiking shoes.

When we finally made it to the bottom of the steps, The Scientist and Soccer Dude jumped up from where they'd been sitting.  
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The five of us wasted no time, jumping right into the warm Mediterranean water.  It felt so refreshing after the hot, dusty hike.  ​
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Laying on the pebble beach watching my children swim, I soon realized that all of the people around us were speaking in Italian.  We appeared to be the only foreigners on the small beach! It must have been obvious to everyone that we did not belong... as we called out to each other in Spanish and English... but they kindly left us alone to swim and splash.​

The boys embarked on a big swim adventure with their father and ended it by jumping off a huge ledge with him into the sea!  (I held my breath and took photos from afar when I realized what they were about to do.  Yikes!  Good thing I didn't know that was going to happen in advance. Proud of their courage though!)  They emerged from the sea beaming and thrilled by their own bravery.
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We spent a few blissed out hours at Campanella Beach, eating a picnic lunch of sandwiches and fruit we'd brought from home, playing frisbee in the water and collecting interesting stones and beach glass.  Food tastes better on a hot day at the beach somehow, especially after a long hike and swim.  ​
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Señor Aventura went out to explore the rock formations and neighboring cove, which he reported was completely isolated and extremely beautiful.  ​
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​"Poor puppy," Little Angel said mournfully.  "I hope someone will feed her."

On the ascent we said our final goodbye to the Torre di Montalto, one of many ancient coastal towers along the Bay of Naples first built to help protect and defend the area.
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Before we knew it we'd made it back to the trail head.  The first raindrop hit our car as we were driving home.

"Amazing timing!" we cheered.  We drove home in sleep late-afternoon silence, reflecting on the big day we'd had.

Later that evening we celebrated our hike to the Baia di Ieranto over dinner at a new favorite restaurant in Sant'Agata Sui Due Golfi, "Lo Stuzzichino".  We highly recommend it! 
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"Salute!" Señor Aventura toasted us.  "To a great first adventure in Campania!"