Oranges to Apples: Naples to New York

I was sitting on a train from Naples to Sorrento this afternoon, hot, muggy, and without water. Speeding past small beach towns -- scenes of laundry hanging out windows and children parading around in bathing suits flashed before my eyes -- I couldn't help but think about the utter opposite of all this Italian "summerness:" autumn in New York. Urban as it is, the city still gets its golden leaves on the sidewalk, its cool winds, and even a farmers' market. Rarely do I anticipate summer's end, but sitting on that train, I couldn't shake the autumn bug from my mind. And perhaps after seven weeks away, I admittedly feel my Northeastern roots are stirring. I thought, "All I want is to go apple picking. And then I want to come home and make apple pie." How American, but oh well. 

Arriving in Sorrento, I made my way to the hostel, which was curiously located on Via degli Aranci (street of the oranges). "How ironic," I thought. "Oranges aren't apples but they're better than nothing." But in all honesty, I didn't expect to actually reap the fruits of my words -- how many times do you see fruit-laden trees in an urban center, even if it is a beach town? Walking down the busy street that evening, I found that one side was in fact lined with orange trees, half of which had fallen to the ground, the rest of which were intact on their branches. Supermarket closed, hunger calling, and autumn apple-picking inclinations stronger than ever, I hopped over the fence and began picking away at the plump fruits. I came away with four, wrapped them in my towel, and retreated across the street to savor my spoils. It wasn't exactly apple pie, but I think, for Italy, I did pretty well.