I’ve been trekking around southern Italy on a class trip the past several days. We have explored the remains of a Greek settlement from 779 B.C., examined the classic Doric temples of Paestum and ventured through the remains of Pompeii.

But today definitely takes the prize. I think I may refer to today as “the greatest adventure of my life.” That may be an embellishment, but it’s not much of a stretch.

Today started with an early bus trip to the port of Salerno, and then we hopped on a boat for a three-hour journey up the Amalfi coast to the island of Capri.

This western coastal area is incredibly beautiful. The mystical mountains plunge sharply into the deep blue waters of the Tyrrhenian Sea.

It was also the longest boat ride of my life. To top it off, the four of us from Iowa State traveled with 45 Canadian architecture students from the University of Waterloo in Ontario. I’ve met quite a few new people, and I’ve learned a lot about Canadian culture.

Capri is an enchanting island in the Bay of Naples. It is very small and is dominated by the gorgeous rock cliffs that rise sharply out of the water and climb to dizzying heights. The entire place is extremely vertical with steps and climbs everywhere.

The town of Capri is full of intriguing little shops and a huge hoard of tourists. Every nook and cranny is packed with tour groups and postcard vendors.

Three Canadian women and I decided to hike to the end of the island, outside of the town, to look at two famous villas on the cliffs that were supposed to the be architectural highlights of the day.

Little did I know that these girls had an ulterior motivate for the hike.

They were not nearly as excited for the villas as they were for a chance to go swimming.

About an hour out, as we were enjoying a spectacular view of the rocks and the water, we saw the vaguest traces of a path leading off the main trail and apparently descending another thousand feet or so through the brush and down the cliffs to the sea.

The women jumped on it. “We’re going swimming. Are you coming?”

It was an intense climb to the bottom. The path was bad, the cliffs were steep, and if you looked up or down while you’re climbing, you would pee your pants.

At the bottom was not a beach; it was just a bunch of huge boulders that had fallen off the cliffs over the centuries, and now the sea water laps around them.

But the weather was beautiful, the view was spectacular, and the water was good.

Some time later, as people were getting out of the water, the soft sound of the waves was broken by a tremendous rumble of thunder.

Within two minutes, huge menacing storm clouds that were hiding beyond the cliffs behind us moved into view, and a drizzle of rain started.

A moment of fear struck. Any rainfall would turn the vertical dirt path we climbed into a massive mudflow, and we would be in some serious trouble.

Exactly two minutes later, when the torrential downpour starts, we moved on that path.

The girls were ahead of me. We were all climbing for our lives. The mud was flowing, rocks were tumbling down the cliff beside us, we were scraping ourselves across sharp rocks and trees, and there was so much water pouring down my face that I was blinded. I could barely see the next step.

Through the grace of God we made it to the paved trail at the top. It was still a torrential downpour.

Everything on me was 100 percent soaked, I was covered in mud, and I was bleeding in multiple places.

But there was no time to review any of this now, and we started walking.

Eventually we made it to the villa. It was incredible, but we couldn’t take pictures because it was still raining.

By the time we got back to the town, the rain had stopped and the sun was shining.

The tourists had taken shelter inside during the storm, so everybody was completely dry, and they were staring at my ragged group.

I headed to the public restroom, which cost thirty cents to use. I used the hand-dryer to dry my hair.

There wasn’t much I could do about the rest of my wet attire. We hung out and waited for our boat to arrive.

Other people from the big group arrived, and many interesting stories were traded.

Of course the day was far from over, although there was no more cliff climbing.

I almost froze to death on the boat with the cool breeze and my still soaked clothes. After the long trip by boat and bus back to our hotel, a hot shower never felt so good.

The hotel fixes us a real Italian dinner every night, and the rest of the evening was filled with intriguing, compelling and fun conversations with many more crazy Canadian architects.

Finally, late in the night, it was bed time. What a day it had been.

Almost everything in my bag, including my sketchbook and my passport, had suffered serious water damage. I think I ruined a shirt and a pair of shoes.

I was exhausted, wounded, and about to get sick. But I was also alive.

Happy.

Victorious. Ready for tomorrow and the next adventure.

---

Matt Ostanik is a senior in architecture from Washington, Ill.