It has been more than three months since I last contributed to the Writer’s Workshop, run by John Holton. My efforts there have been tolerably successful so I thought I’d give it another go. John’s post outlining this week’s prompts can be found here, and I’m going with #3: “Write about a trip you have taken. If you have ever traveled outside your native country, write about that journey: What stuck with you?”

I responded to a similar prompt on this around two and a half years ago, and thought that it would be worth sharing that again, but with some updates and edits so as not to leave anyone feeling ripped off who might remember the first one!

The trip I wrote about wasn’t my first time on foreign soil, as I had previously spent a student summer working as a steward on the cross-channel ferries, going to Calais in France on the day shifts and Ostend in Belgium in the nights. On the day crossings – we went there and back twice in the twelve hour shift – one of the little perks was to help passengers off the ship with their luggage, and as most of them had already converted their currency into French money – francs, in those days – we only had one place we could spend their tips, unless we exchanged the cash back on board at the extortionate rates the company charged. So we did what any self-respecting seaman would do: we spent it in the bar at Calais Maritime station. I think that counts as being on foreign soil, doesn’t it?

But that’s not the trip I am writing about. This one was much more fun: my first proper overseas holiday, and my first time in an airplane. This wasn’t my first time in a flying machine, as I had previously enjoyed several helicopter rides at the annual village fair where I grew up. This was a big event, and one year the special attraction was helicopter rides over the Kent countryside, taking off from the neighbouring field. My Dad was one of the organisers, and quite by chance (!) a small boy was needed as weight balance if any parent was accompanied by just one child. I had to help, didn’t I! I was probably about 9 or 10, and the enjoyment of that afternoon has been etched in my mind ever since.

My first trip in an airplane came many years later – I was a late starter. My (now ex-) wife and I took our first holiday overseas in 1979. We knew little of overseas travel at that time, but we took the plunge and booked ourselves a package holiday. The excitement grew over the summer, as we were taking it late – early September, so that I could celebrate my birthday in a foreign land. How adventurous we were! The big day came, and my dear father-in-law drove us to Luton Airport (famed from the Campari ads, for those of a certain generation) in plenty of time for our flight, which was around 10am, I think. We had to find something to do, so we went to one of the restaurants for a hearty breakfast, not knowing where our next meal would be coming from, or when. Suitably replete, we took our seats on the plane, and I made the mistake of being caught gazing at one of the beautiful stewardesses. Fortunately, it was by her and not my wife, and following a wink of thanks from her I then enjoyed lovely smiles for the rest of the flight.

The first of these came shortly after we had taken off. Following the pre-flight ritual arm waving and pointing – another excuse to train my eyes on that beauty – we were then advised that breakfast would be served. Oh. Should we decline it, saying we had already eaten? But hey, we were paying for this so we might as well get our money’s worth, so we went for it. Guess which stewardess was serving our part of the plane? I managed to consume the meal, which was better than I was expecting, and all went well for the rest of the flight. We even managed to get some duty free booze to enjoy during the holiday in our hotel room – litre bottles, no less, none of that 750ml stuff we got in shops back home.

Where were we going, I think I hear you asking. Well, it was here:

We were enjoying two weeks in Sorrento, on the Bay of Naples. It is a beautiful location, and even in early September it was much hotter than temperatures we were used to back in Blighty. We enjoyed days of sunbathing at the beach – which was on special decks, as the sand was an unpleasant grey colour, having been thrown down a few years before by the nearby Mount Vesuvius. We took several excursions during our stay, one of which was to Pompeii and Vesuvius. It felt incredible to see such an historical sight, and we were able to walk up the volcano and peer into the crater – clearly they weren’t expecting another eruption. Pompeii was amazing, though we humble tourists weren’t allowed to see the more adult parts – those who had been caught in flagrante back in 79AD. We also went on the long day trip, which involved a 7.30 am start for a journey all the way to Rome, arriving back at our hotel around midnight. It was worth it though, as they packed a lot of sightseeing into the day. I still remember our stop at the Catacombs, on the outskirts of Rome, when my wife – oblivious to what we were seeing – said in her best Essex Girl way “they could get a lot more in here, couldn’t they?”

One of the other things we just had to do while we were in Italy involved more food. Two of my favourites are pasta and pizza: we were well served for pasta in the hotel dinners, but pizza was never on the menu. One evening when we were out for a stroll into town we decided that we had to try the real thing, so at around 11pm we found ourselves in a pizzeria knocking back our second meal of the night. That Luton Airport breakfast training was standing us in good stead! We mentioned where we had been to the hotel receptionist when we got back and he told us that we had made a good choice: we had picked his favourite pizzeria in town, and we were happy to confirm that it was indeed very good. Dominos eat your heart out!

John asks us what has stuck with us from the trip. There are so many things apart from Pompeii and that wonderful day in Rome. There was the evening when we went for a walk into town and found huge queues of traffic on both of the roads near our hotel leading to the Amalfi Coast. This being Italy, driving was something of a lottery, and one guy started off a kind of car riot by ignoring the traffic control policeman and driving up onto the pavement, to be followed by loads of others, spreading chaos among the roadside cafe tables and leaving the policeman in the middle of the road screaming instructions that were being ignored, jumping up an down impotently and waving his gun in the air. A scene that Mel Brooks would have had difficulty doing better. But the real lasting impression was the people. Italians were so incredibly friendly, happy to help me out with my faltering attempts at their language (two terms of evening classes!), and above all the way they doted on their kids. One Sunday morning we went for a walk into town, and it was full of families in their Sunday best, with their children dressed up to the nines: little boys in suits and little girls in beautiful dresses with adorable black boot-like shoes. Even nearly fifty years on I can still recall our joy at being there with them.

I always like to include some music in my posts, and today is no exception. But my first clip is an advert: for anyone who didn’t get the Campari reference earlier, here is a London Girl, Lorraine Chase, at her finest:

The obvious song to include is the one from which I borrowed the title of the original piece. Last time I went with Peter, Paul and Mary but this time I’m playing a much more recent version, by Lake Street Dive and Tiny Habits, as I think it is gorgeous:

And I thought I’d also play you my favourite song about Italy:

The wonderful Mary Chapin Carpenter who, as you may have noted, takes her Campari the traditional way, with soda rather than lemonade!

My thanks to John for the prompt, and I promise to try not to leave it so long next time!