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Friday, 28 December 2007

It's not the getting there that matters

Written by  Renee Frojo
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As with all trips in my experience, the journey is just as eventful as the trip itself. I believe this is because I have a tendency of just going with the flow. However, the “flow” is never just a forward-flowing river in my case—it’s more like several little winding streams that always take me in unexpected directions.


As with all trips in my experience, the journey is just as eventful as the trip itself. I believe this is because I have a tendency of just going with the flow. However, for me the “flow” is never just a forward-flowing river—it’s more like several little winding streams that always take me in unexpected directions.

On a long weekend during my college study abroad in Rome; my friend Jen invited me to the Amalfi coast of Italy. Her aunt and uncle were vacationing there and offered us their couch in a villa they rented in the picturesque, mountainside town of Positano. Without a second thought, I accepted the invitation and prepared for the weekend.

Positano

 

Our trip began at the crack of dawn on a Friday morning. We intended to leave early so that we could have the entire day to explore the town. After all, it was only supposed to be about a 4 hour trip.

I stayed at Jen’s house the night before to make it easier for us to catch the 6:30 a.m. train. Since we had to get up so early, we thought that the most logical thing to do would be to stay up all night and drink tons of coffee the next day—typical college-student mentality.

When 5:30 a.m. rolled around, we were off to the train station in the dark carrying stuffed backpacks slung over one shoulder and bags under our eyes.

jen at trainTo make sure we made the train on time, we hailed a taxi. As it turned out, the taxi driver was from Naples and spoke no English—the first hint of bad luck in our series of unfortunate events. After about 20 minutes of driving in circles and exchanging insults in every language we knew, we made it to the station with a few minutes to spare.

Of course, it was not until after arriving at the station that Jen and I realized both of us had forgotten the directions. I reassuring told her not to sweat it, as I had a photographic memory and a keen sense of direction.

But the truth was that I only vaguely remembered something about having to take a train to Naples, then switching to another train for Sorrento, where we would then hop on a bus to Positano. We were either too excited or too exhausted to think clearly, so we decided to trust my gut instincts.

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Last modified on Sunday, 16 December 2012

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