Hot Spings, Cold Rain

A ferry across the Tyrrhenian Sea left Cecile & I in the midst of a downpour at a port city. There was one public bus that circled the island and we hopped on, no idea what direction we were going, in search of the last remaining natural hot springs on the island of Ischia. All other hot springs had been built upon with tiled pools which makes them rather boring but at least heat efficient. After questioning locals (who spoke more German than Italian), we made our way down a residential street that seemed to drop off directly into the sea. We had to climb down a steep embankment to a rock-lined cove with steam rising into the air.



It was worth it: the natural hot springs were a fantastic place, right on the edge of the sea, with rocks circling the hot spots to retain the heat as the waves balanced the temperature with the ebb and flow of colder water.



The rain continued to fall, which was refreshing. It was like sitting in a warm, rocky bathtub with cool little droplets gathering on your face.



We stayed soaking in the hot/cold water, watching the steam rise around us and sailboats silently sail past for several hours, until dusk. I remember thinking about how alive I felt, every single second. Except for when some weird German senior citizens were trying to hit on us.