In May 2019, I had the opportunity to travel to Italy through my university. Below is a feature story I produced when looking back on my experiences.
Italy is known by most for its big cities and famous postcard destinations like the Trevi Fountain, the river “streets” of Venice or the Spanish Steps. However, so much more beauty and culture is hidden in smaller, less-talked about towns throughout the country. And trust me, these towns belong on postcards too.
I had always wanted to study abroad, but I love my university. And honestly, I didn’t want to miss out on any of the eight semesters I had here.
But then, I had heard about an opportunity called a “Maymester.” This program organizes classroom material and assignments around a certain aspect of a certain culture, and then when the semester ends in May, students travel to that destination in order to learn and participate.
This was the best of both worlds. I would get to conduct my semester like normal, and I would get to travel to Italy, the country of my ancestors. It was the perfect situation.
Illness had hit me hard during that fall semester, so hard that I was forced to go home. It remained in doubt whether I would recover in time to return to school for the spring semester. And it left the Maymester in serious jeopardy.
After being offered an extension for the enrollment deadline, and partaking in serious conversation with my parents, I decided to take the chance. I was scheduled to spend the last two weeks of May in Italy with 11 other students I barely knew.
There were countless things that could have been off-putting about the course and the trip. The 11-hour non-stop flight. The fact that I knew absolutely no one in the class. The fact that the course was technically a strategic communications class, which is far from my area of expertise as a sports journalist. Not to mention, my health was still in question.
I didn’t take the decision to go lightly. Enrolling in the class would cost my parents upwards of $6,000, on top of a significant amount being spent on my healthcare in the previous months. But boy am I glad I went.
We began our trip in Rome, staying in a converted religious hostel. During our two days in Rome, we did all the touristy things: Visiting the Pantheon, the Trevi Fountain and other landmarks. We also spent a day walking the Vatican with an officially licensed tour guide. It was a Wednesday, the day the Pope speaks over his balcony. It was shoulder-to-shoulder crowded, and while it was beautiful, it was less-than-enjoyable.
Rome was like any busy, bustling American city. Most people spoke English (No one in our group spoke Italian). Despite the difference in architecture, food and culture, it didn’t really seem “different” than the United States.
Then, on the third day, we took a three and a half hour bus ride to the east coast of Italy. We drove through the Italian countryside, full of dipping valleys and piercing hills. Our tour guide for the duration of the trip, Massimo, ensured us we had the best bus driver in the whole of the country. We were thankful, but skeptical.
We arrived in Termoli, an old fisherman’s town on the Adriatic Sea. This was to be our home for the next five days.
We checked into Residenza Sveva, a small business that turned old fisherman flats into a “hotel” for tourists. These small but beautiful flats were nestled inside the walls of the “old city,” inside which the streets were too narrow for cars to drive. The old city of Termoli is home to “the narrowest road in the world,” or so they claim.
Massimo had set us up here because he knew the couple who ran the business. Since it was a strategic communications class, we were interested in how they conducted and marketed their business.
The business owners, Dominic and Maria Laura, took it upon themselves to give us a tour of the town and introduce us to locals. The idea of a “hotel diffuso” allows—or forces—residents to become neighbors with regular community members.
The first night, Maria Laura took us to a local restaurant within a minute walk from our rooms in the walled city. Our group of 12 students, our professor, our other faculty advisor and Maria Laura were the only patrons in the small dining room. She introduced us to head-chef and owner Ferdenando, and translated for us, as he spoke no English.
Halfway through the meal, Ferdenando’s wife appeared. She was originally from New York, and, speaking in English with an Italian accent, explained how he swept her off of her feet. It was a true love story.
The food and drink are most definitely part of the novelty. Ferdenando produced an amazing seafood dinner for us, and we all laughed over grappa and lemoncello, sweet dessert wines. The fun transcended the language barrier.
In the following days, Maria Laura took us to the local beach club to speak to the owner. Termoli sits right on the beach. As you look over the walls of the city, or from the top of the antique lighthouse, you see beach for miles. We enjoyed going to the local store and drinking wine on the beach. It was too cold to get in the water, but the May weather was pleasant.
The walled city, despite how small it was, had three churches. Maria Laura gave us the tour, showing us the bones of saints that lie there and walking us through the mysterious catacombs.
Day trips to a winery and a pasta factory gave us more insight into local businesses and entrepreneurship. It also gave us more respect for the country’s natural beauty.
On our last night in Termoli, Ferdenando, his wife and their son invited us to their other restaurant for an “American pizza party.” This included as much pizza as we could eat and as much beer as we could drink.
And the pizza was to-die for. Fredenando and his wife cooked it in a traditional brick oven, providing the perfect combination of crispy crust and melt-in-your-mouth soft dough. Brick ovens cook pizza in 90 seconds at an intense temperature of 800 degrees, which allows for this beautiful paradox of flavor and crisp.
We spent the entire night drinking, laughing and getting to know each other. And all the while, we watched some European musical talent show on the lone television. We were so sad to leave this hidden gem of a town.
We spent the final week of the trip on a mountain-top utopia.
Massimo took us up the winding mountain roads, barely wide enough for two cars. We would reside in an old noble’s castle at the very top of the mountain. He had converted it into a tourist residence and cooking school.
The castle, dubbed Abruzzo Cibus, overlooked the entire town of 600 people. Nobles lived on high ground so they could “look over” their people. We shared the top of the mountain with the village church.
I’ll never forget that view. You could see countless miles into the distance, while houses from other mountain towns speckling the canvas of the sky.
The town of Carunchio was so traditional it was almost unbelievable. One school. One drug store. One bar at the bottom of the hill. Cats and dogs roaming the town freely. Old ladies tending their gardens; the average age of the town was so high that I’m confident the majority would struggle to walk up the town’s steep mountain roads. I loved simply roaming the streets with my fellow travelers and getting to know them.
Massimo was an interesting fellow. He studied in the United States, where he met his wife. He adopted American sarcasm as his primary form of humor, something very different from many Italians. He lived with his family in nearby Vasto, and lived in the castle when he had guests.
He bought the castle, which was built in 1732, with his father when it was collapsing. He rebuilt it himself with the goal of housing people there.
The business had a handful of employees: Dino the chef, who taught the cooking lessons, Sarah, the cheerful utility woman who lived in town and did whatever was needed, Tony, Massimo’s second in command—a brutally honest silver fox. All the girls were head over heals in love with him.
The hospitality of the staff was unprecedented. I have never experienced anything like that. They were so happy, all the time. Always smiling. Always cracking jokes. By the end of the week, they felt like family.
It was so hard to leave. This trip was definitely therapeutic for me. Coming off the back of such a brutal illness, I needed something to lighten my spirits. On top of that, though, it put things into perspective. It reminded me how much my family means to me. And it has lit a fire under me to travel more and explore the world for more of these under-recognized and unknown paradises.
In these small towns like Termoli and Carunchio, you are immersed in traditional, unfiltered culture.
Yeah, there might not be as many tourist landmarks, but I would assert that this is an alternate vacation that many people would enjoy. The Molise region—of which Termoli and Carunchio are a part—has recently gained more spotlight as a tourist destination.
And if for no other reason, visit for the people. You can feel the importance of family. It’s tangible. And they love to accept you into their family.