Summer on Cape Cod?   Martha’s Vineyard?  It’s Cheaper in Italy!

By Max Hartshorne
GoNOMAD Editor

There’s something about islands that makes us believe we’re escaping. Maybe it’s the ferry ride, the salt air, the way the mainland fades behind us. I’ve spent many summers on Cape Cod and Martha’s Vineyard, but this year I traded clam shacks for calamari and headed to Italy’s Tyrrhenian coast. 

Ischia and Bacoli offered a different kind of island escape – the first, an island steeped in thermal waters, and the second, another town, like Falmouth, right on a Cape.

Let’s start with Ischia. It’s the kind of place that feels like it’s been quietly thriving while the rest of the world is busy Instagramming Amalfi. The ferry from Naples takes an hour and 15 minutes, but the transformation is immediate. Gone is the chaos of Naples; in its place, a volcanic island dotted with lemon trees, pastel villas, and thermal spas that smell faintly of sulfur and eucalyptus. 

Six-Mile Wide Ischia

Ischia is a six-mile-wide island with towns Forio, Ischia, and Lacco Ameno. It packs a lot into such a small size. 

We stayed in Forio, on the island’s western edge. We had a spacious two-bedroom Airbnb called Chez Marie, with balconies, big bedrooms, a full kitchen, and terraces with views that looked like they belonged in a painting. My partner Mary painted one of these lookouts during a colorful sunset. 

Five nights cost us $1,161 – that’s $232 a night for a setup that would’ve easily run double on Cape Cod, if you could even find something with that kind of space and charm. And Mediterranean views!

Ischia is famous for its thermal baths. Negombo, for example, was my favorite: a sprawling garden of pools carved into the hillside, each with a different temperature and mineral composition. After a few hours of alternating between the two pools, I emerged feeling like I’d been rebooted. 

At a separate thermal spring, we walked down hundreds of steps to the famous Serrara Fontana. The beach there had a part where super-hot water emerges from the rocks, creating a bath right in the ocean. It was well worth those long steps.

Getting around Ischia was refreshingly simple. The island’s bus system is a marvel of Mediterranean efficiency – if you don’t mind a little chaos. For just €10 (approximately $11), we purchased five-day unlimited passes that allowed us to hop on and off buses that crisscrossed the island. They go everywhere: beaches, thermal parks, hilltop towns, and ferry ports. They come frequently, sometimes every 10 minutes, sometimes in dramatic clusters like migrating birds. 

Were they crowded? Absolutely. At times, I was wedged between a German tourist with a snorkel and a local grandmother carrying a basket of lemons. Something was charming about it, like being part of a moving village. When the machine broke and could not read our passes, the riders shrugged. Oh well. No worries. 

Across the Bay of Naples

Bacoli, just across the bay, is less known and even less touristy. It’s technically on the mainland, but it has the soul of an island – quiet, self-contained, and surrounded by water. The town sits atop ancient Roman ruins, and you can wander through the remains of villas and bathhouses that once belonged to emperors.

I visited the Piscina Mirabilis, a massive underground cistern that looked like a cathedral built for Poseidon. It was cool and damp and echoey, and I half expected a toga-clad ghost to float by. Our Airbnb in Bacoli was perched above the beach and harbor – so close to the water we could hear the waves clinking against the boats.

Two nights cost $661. No resort fees, no parking meters, no laminated checkout instructions taped to the fridge. The neighbors knew where the Airbnb was, and we followed him to the door around the corner. After we got in and saw the terrace view, we thought, “What a find!”

The food in Bacoli was simple and perfect – grilled octopus, lemony pasta, and wine that tasted like sunshine. Upon arrival on a Sunday, we found an open restaurant, but with no menu. The owner said they had octopus salad and gnocchi, and everyone was happy. We dined with vines above our heads and the late afternoon light filtering in. 

It was a pleasant scene, complete with a large local family dining, sipping the local white wine called Ischia Bianco, and watching the children play.

And here’s the kicker: Italy was cheaper. Yes, even with airfare.

Adding It Up

It sounds improbable, but the math doesn’t lie. In Cape Cod, I paid $275 a night for a modest rental in Eastham – no AC, no view, and a mattress that felt like it had survived the Reagan administration. Add the 11% lodging tax, and suddenly I’m shelling out over $315 a night to listen to my neighbor’s leaf blower at 7 a.m.

Factor in the $900 round-trip flight from Boston to Naples, and I still came out ahead. It’s a strange feeling to realize that flying across the Atlantic, soaking in Roman ruins, and eating grilled octopus under the stars is more affordable than driving two hours to sleep next to a Dunkin’ Donuts.

Another factor that tilted the math in favor of Italy was the taxation on vacation rentals. In Massachusetts, since 2019, there has been a state tax of 5.7%, and each town imposes its own rate on top of that, up to 6%. In some towns, there is even a water tax – bringing the total taxes up to a whopping 14.45%!

This doesn’t exist in Italy, or it’s hidden in the overall costs. 

Comparing Cape Cod to Ischia and Bacoli feels unfair, like pitting clam chowder against linguine alle vongole. They’re both good, but one has a bit more flair.

Ischia and Bacoli offered a kind of travel that felt restorative, not just recreational. There were fewer distractions, fewer people speaking English, and more moments of genuine awe. I didn’t hear a single leaf blower. I didn’t see a single person wearing a Vineyard Vines shirt. There was no Dunkin’ to be found. 

I loved listening to the sounds of people speaking Italian, and the proximity to good food and wine right at the beach.

That said, Cape Cod has one thing Italy can’t replicate: the smell of pine and salt marsh, the sound of a screen door slamming, the feeling of being home in Massachusetts. Not only that, but the Cape remains less than a three-hour drive versus the hassle of an international plane trip. 

There’s a reason I keep going back, even when the traffic gets worse. It’s familiar, it’s easy, and it’s ours.