Lecce 5/31/14 -- I'm sitting in piazza in front of our place while my room is being cleaned. I have been typing away for half an hour. I look up from my ipad as two long legged beautiful women walk by: one with a short skirt and the other in a pair of snug translucent black tights and an equally snug top that barely touches her waist. She is wearing high heels that causes significant movement. One must smile. As I look down again there are two men sitting several feet a way on two chairs. They have been chattering away happily ever since I sat down. All of a sudden they were silent. I look to my left and one says to me as he looks towards the women walking away. (He speaks to me in Italian. So I am translating.) Why didn't you take foto. Such beautiful TA TAs he says. I smile and snap my fingers feigning disappointment. They both roar in approval and resume talking and smiling. Old men from different countries having a moment.
Saturday, May 31, 2014
BULLETIN - Old man Brooks bonds with his Italiano peers
Lecce 5/31/14 -- I'm sitting in piazza in front of our place while my room is being cleaned. I have been typing away for half an hour. I look up from my ipad as two long legged beautiful women walk by: one with a short skirt and the other in a pair of snug translucent black tights and an equally snug top that barely touches her waist. She is wearing high heels that causes significant movement. One must smile. As I look down again there are two men sitting several feet a way on two chairs. They have been chattering away happily ever since I sat down. All of a sudden they were silent. I look to my left and one says to me as he looks towards the women walking away. (He speaks to me in Italian. So I am translating.) Why didn't you take foto. Such beautiful TA TAs he says. I smile and snap my fingers feigning disappointment. They both roar in approval and resume talking and smiling. Old men from different countries having a moment.
Lecce 5/31/14 -- I'm sitting in piazza in front of our place while my room is being cleaned. I have been typing away for half an hour. I look up from my ipad as two long legged beautiful women walk by: one with a short skirt and the other in a pair of snug translucent black tights and an equally snug top that barely touches her waist. She is wearing high heels that causes significant movement. One must smile. As I look down again there are two men sitting several feet a way on two chairs. They have been chattering away happily ever since I sat down. All of a sudden they were silent. I look to my left and one says to me as he looks towards the women walking away. (He speaks to me in Italian. So I am translating.) Why didn't you take foto. Such beautiful TA TAs he says. I smile and snap my fingers feigning disappointment. They both roar in approval and resume talking and smiling. Old men from different countries having a moment.
Kevin: The Colossus of Roads
One of the things I hate most about traveling is, well, traveling. What I mean by that this not that I don't like seeing new and interesting places, wandering around, fantasizing that I live there. What I really don't don't like is the actual mechanics of moving from place to place-- the bus and train schedules, making the connections between them. Packing dirty clothes ( I pretend the luggage is a washing machine...if an article of clothing spends any time crammed in it, it's considered clean)
Thursday was one of those days...leaving Praino on the Sita bus, (bus late and horrifically overcrowded) meeting a ferry in Amalfi for Salerno, (Didn't happen...we had to take the bus,)finding the Hertz office in Salerno, (first evidence of Phil's superpowers) navigating out of Salerno to the Autostrada for Matera. (Second and best evidence of Phil's alter ego), finding the inn in the Sassi district of Matera
(All of this effort was expended in the service of several hours poking around one of the strangest UNESCO heritage sights...a city where the buildings were carved out of rocks and caves. But enough of the travelogue, let's return our story and to the complaining.)
Luckily I and the others actually had to negotiate very little of this journey because a new member of the Phoote family emerged at this juncture of the journey, someone who orchestrated all of the tasks above-- FILIPPO MCGRANAHAN: THE COLOSSUS OF ROADS.
After a few short miles at the wheel of a rented, fire-red Fiat wagon and suddenly Phil now Fillippo was driving with the flagrant disrespect for common courtesy, for the sanctity of human life, and for the need to observe the conventions of civilized human discourse that are the marks of an true and typical Italian driver. Ciao, Phil, Buon giorno , Filippo.
It was awe inspiring to see him battle with the natives for the dominance of a two way, one lane, cobblestone alley with parking on both sides.
Breathtaking to see him swerve around and pass trucks on a rotary for no good reason.
Refreshing to hear him growl "Not today motherfucker" when refusing to cede even a small section of the roadway to a terrified Chinese gentleman on a bike.
He had found a new voice and it sounds like a car horn. We all feel a lot safer and ready to head to Lecce.
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Thursday, May 29, 2014
Kevin: Just a closer walk with thee---and the Phootes
Kate and I headed out not so early this Tuesday morning (my plan, typically ignored, called for a much earlier departure) for the "Sentiero degli Dei," a six kilometer hike at the top of the ridges overlooking a good chunk of the Amalfi Coast. One of the reasons for the later departure is the time it took to fail at convincing Phil and Marj, that a six mile trek 750 m over the ocean was just the ticket for this hot, sunny day. Therefore I will include their alter egos (the Phootes of the title) in this account of this trip on the "Pathway of the Gods."
The trip involves a bus ride to Amalfi and a transfer to a local bus to the top of the ridge and the starting point of the hike, Bomerano. Luckily for them, the Phootes got prime seats in the front. Kate and I sat separately in the steamy rear section of the bus. Unluckily we missed the connection to the bus to Bomerano in Amalfi. Luckily (this tale has as many switchbacks as the trail) I overheard a possibly Teutonic gentleman talking about his similar plans for the hike so I shared the bad news about the missed bus with him and his group. His wife made the suggestion that we all share a taxi to the top rather than wait two hours for the next bus. Most of us agreed (not those thrifty Phootes, though) and the deal was struck with a swarthy Lothario with a deep tan and a van. Either because they were too cheap or maybe because they weren't really there, the Phootes were strapped to the roof and we all enjoyed the twisting turning, sudden braking, horn honking, stomach churning race to the sky. Unluckily, Marj's hairdo didn't survive the breezy climb.
In what tuned out not to be an omen, I flipped over a stone bench, fell, and bloodied my knee in town before we even hit the trail. Typical of Phil to laugh at another's misfortune.
The hike began to the left of the church and soon turned into a visually splendid, well -marked walk on donkey trails. The weather was clear and cool, the sun bright, the hiking easy. This gave Kate the opportunity to grill our new friends (happily sunny Swedish not dour German) about their first 60 years of life. Come to find out Benny is the Scandinavian version of Kate Hanson Professor of Community Leadership and Service at UNH so the bonding was palpable and heartfelt. Phil never fully believed they were not German so kept to his own consul. Marj kept fidgeting with her hair.
As the pictures of the trek now reveal--and you will see if you're ever unfortunate enough to be subjected to a slide show--that it is impossible to capture the incredible beauty of this walk. Certainly my words can't convey it. Therefore I'll comment on the incredible camaraderie as hikers met hikers. It seems that the "pathway of the gods" is a cross between sightseeing and a high school reunion. The Swedes weren't the only friends we made.
Two tour groups stand out. The Vermont Walking Tour group were all clearly middle age academics who were playing hooky from graduation. I won't tell you how I know that. They had all been given two walking sticks which made then look like new skiers trying to go the wrong way on the mountain without remembering to put their skis on. The women looked like they'd rather be reading Jane Austen and their painfully slow picking down the rock showed it. The men acted like they'd rather be screwing graduate students. Both groups wished they were wearing Kate's clothes from Thailand instead of standard issue Eastern Mountain Sports .
On the other hand, was the rowdy group lead whose Aussie leader offered to share his big bag of Ruffles with us and who was racing the group through the hike in order to have time for a Limoncello before the bus left the end point, Nocelle. As the trail got a little more serious, with light rock climbing, we met the young couple we met on the bus from Ravello yesterday carrying their infant up in the opposite direction. Neither had broken a sweat, unlike the very damp Phootes pulling up the rear. The trail ends with a very false dilemma...to take the bus down from the aforementioned Nocelle or take the stairs down to Positano....all 1700 of them. We thought about that for all of a nanosecond. Luckily Marj was outvoted, and we caught the local bus just as a rain cloud let loose. Phil said "I told you it would rain."
The trip involves a bus ride to Amalfi and a transfer to a local bus to the top of the ridge and the starting point of the hike, Bomerano. Luckily for them, the Phootes got prime seats in the front. Kate and I sat separately in the steamy rear section of the bus. Unluckily we missed the connection to the bus to Bomerano in Amalfi. Luckily (this tale has as many switchbacks as the trail) I overheard a possibly Teutonic gentleman talking about his similar plans for the hike so I shared the bad news about the missed bus with him and his group. His wife made the suggestion that we all share a taxi to the top rather than wait two hours for the next bus. Most of us agreed (not those thrifty Phootes, though) and the deal was struck with a swarthy Lothario with a deep tan and a van. Either because they were too cheap or maybe because they weren't really there, the Phootes were strapped to the roof and we all enjoyed the twisting turning, sudden braking, horn honking, stomach churning race to the sky. Unluckily, Marj's hairdo didn't survive the breezy climb.
In what tuned out not to be an omen, I flipped over a stone bench, fell, and bloodied my knee in town before we even hit the trail. Typical of Phil to laugh at another's misfortune.
The hike began to the left of the church and soon turned into a visually splendid, well -marked walk on donkey trails. The weather was clear and cool, the sun bright, the hiking easy. This gave Kate the opportunity to grill our new friends (happily sunny Swedish not dour German) about their first 60 years of life. Come to find out Benny is the Scandinavian version of Kate Hanson Professor of Community Leadership and Service at UNH so the bonding was palpable and heartfelt. Phil never fully believed they were not German so kept to his own consul. Marj kept fidgeting with her hair.
As the pictures of the trek now reveal--and you will see if you're ever unfortunate enough to be subjected to a slide show--that it is impossible to capture the incredible beauty of this walk. Certainly my words can't convey it. Therefore I'll comment on the incredible camaraderie as hikers met hikers. It seems that the "pathway of the gods" is a cross between sightseeing and a high school reunion. The Swedes weren't the only friends we made.
Two tour groups stand out. The Vermont Walking Tour group were all clearly middle age academics who were playing hooky from graduation. I won't tell you how I know that. They had all been given two walking sticks which made then look like new skiers trying to go the wrong way on the mountain without remembering to put their skis on. The women looked like they'd rather be reading Jane Austen and their painfully slow picking down the rock showed it. The men acted like they'd rather be screwing graduate students. Both groups wished they were wearing Kate's clothes from Thailand instead of standard issue Eastern Mountain Sports .
On the other hand, was the rowdy group lead whose Aussie leader offered to share his big bag of Ruffles with us and who was racing the group through the hike in order to have time for a Limoncello before the bus left the end point, Nocelle. As the trail got a little more serious, with light rock climbing, we met the young couple we met on the bus from Ravello yesterday carrying their infant up in the opposite direction. Neither had broken a sweat, unlike the very damp Phootes pulling up the rear. The trail ends with a very false dilemma...to take the bus down from the aforementioned Nocelle or take the stairs down to Positano....all 1700 of them. We thought about that for all of a nanosecond. Luckily Marj was outvoted, and we caught the local bus just as a rain cloud let loose. Phil said "I told you it would rain."
Monday, May 26, 2014
Kate chimes in....finally
Kate: The vacation at the halfway point: I met a couple from Darbyshire England on the train yesterday who told me that Italy is their favorite place in the world. I understand why. Right now I am sitting on our bed in our ocean-view villa overlooking the hills behind Positano with the sun streaming through the clouds. Our door is wide open to our outside decks. Apparently this area is heaven to tourists but does not attract insects. The landscape is straight up from the sea here on the Amalfi coast and what is not stairs is garden--dozens and dozens of them tucked into the sides of the hills, growing all kinds of vegetables with lemon trees punctuating the scenery everywhere we look. Kevin and I hiked up (actually climbed up about1100 steps) to a 14th century monastery today, accessible only by the path we followed, to find a "snack bar" where we were served a glass of unsweetened lemon juice with bowls of local green olives, peanuts and potato chips. (It did not make us any less proud of ourselves to learn that the man who served us commutes on these same stairs every day).
The graciousness of the Italians to tourists puts us to shame. We have had people stop to ask us if we need directions or, when asked, be unfailingly helpful and willing to try to figure out what we're asking. People have guided us onto buses, stayed with us to show us where to get off a train, rescued us when we got on the wrong train (this was apparently a team effort with a few people conferring and the one who spoke English explaining) and advise us about where to go (or what to avoid). Perhaps one of the best examples comes from Naples. Kevin and I, with the help of half of Naples, took the bus up to Capio Monte museum, only to be told as we walked up that it had just closed for the day. It turns out that the person with whom we were speaking was the Director of the museum (very difficult job--no money...which was why the entrance gate was still broken). She asked us if we wanted a ride to our next destination and then offered to show us a more beautiful part of town. So, we hopped in the car with her and off we went, communicating as well as we could with her limited English and our "excusi" Italian for a drive to the other side of Naples. That night at Osteria Donna Theresa, an eponymous restaurant with DT either overlooking her six tables or serving food in the back with her husband and daughter waiting on the tables, we all were amazed at our welcome. After a delicious, old school Napoli meal, her husband ran out of the restaurant to bring us fresh apricots that we think he harvested from a tree at his house...just so we could taste them.
So far, every day has brought new sites/sights, great experiences, many new friends (if only for a few minutes) and much pizza. Who could ask for more?
Sent from my iPad
The graciousness of the Italians to tourists puts us to shame. We have had people stop to ask us if we need directions or, when asked, be unfailingly helpful and willing to try to figure out what we're asking. People have guided us onto buses, stayed with us to show us where to get off a train, rescued us when we got on the wrong train (this was apparently a team effort with a few people conferring and the one who spoke English explaining) and advise us about where to go (or what to avoid). Perhaps one of the best examples comes from Naples. Kevin and I, with the help of half of Naples, took the bus up to Capio Monte museum, only to be told as we walked up that it had just closed for the day. It turns out that the person with whom we were speaking was the Director of the museum (very difficult job--no money...which was why the entrance gate was still broken). She asked us if we wanted a ride to our next destination and then offered to show us a more beautiful part of town. So, we hopped in the car with her and off we went, communicating as well as we could with her limited English and our "excusi" Italian for a drive to the other side of Naples. That night at Osteria Donna Theresa, an eponymous restaurant with DT either overlooking her six tables or serving food in the back with her husband and daughter waiting on the tables, we all were amazed at our welcome. After a delicious, old school Napoli meal, her husband ran out of the restaurant to bring us fresh apricots that we think he harvested from a tree at his house...just so we could taste them.
So far, every day has brought new sites/sights, great experiences, many new friends (if only for a few minutes) and much pizza. Who could ask for more?
Sent from my iPad
Kevin: Me complain?
Given tHat the history of mankind is mostly the story of wars, one vicious, bloody conflict after another, it's safe to say that there's always a lot we don't like about peoples other than us. Thus, despite the fact that the the Italians, as a whole, are people of enormous talent, charm, warmth, beauty and taste, as one moves among them it's hard , given ones humanity, not to think about all the really strange things about how they live. After being in the country a week, I'd like to discuss a few random observations, issues I'd like the Italians to think about:
1. Pick up the garbage, people.
For a people who obviously value personal hygiene, grooming, and style, you certainly are lax when it comes to the the looks of your streets and parks . Perhaps some percentage of your 40-50 percent unemployed could be conscripted to deal with the mountains of trash that fill the curbs of even the chicest of neighborhoods. The other day I saw a elegantly dressed women in Chiaia delicately scooping her miniature poodle's droppings unmindful that she was standing in her Jimmy Choo's ..almost ankle deep in the overflow from a street side trash bin.
2. Hey kids..enough with the spray paint.
Graffiti is so last millennium...it's amusing to see in Pompeii. Now just stop writing all over everything on the street that doesn't move. Everywhere in Italy ...even in the poorest sections... is architectural splendor the equal of any in the world. However, spray painting your name on it doesn't give you credit for it.
3. Slow down.
Almost half of you aren't late for work anyway...so what's the rush?
4. Turn off that awful music!
Rock and roll is a particularly American art form, one not easily mastered by our friends in other lands (ABBA? Il Divo?) I know that your ubiquitous Euro-pop pounding out of speakers in your tiny cars, piped into subway stations, broadcast in public parks is not meant as an insult to everything Americans hold dear about their indigenous art form, but how would you feel if we drew mustache on the Mona Lisa and called it art? Indulge in this stuff in private.
1. Pick up the garbage, people.
For a people who obviously value personal hygiene, grooming, and style, you certainly are lax when it comes to the the looks of your streets and parks . Perhaps some percentage of your 40-50 percent unemployed could be conscripted to deal with the mountains of trash that fill the curbs of even the chicest of neighborhoods. The other day I saw a elegantly dressed women in Chiaia delicately scooping her miniature poodle's droppings unmindful that she was standing in her Jimmy Choo's ..almost ankle deep in the overflow from a street side trash bin.
2. Hey kids..enough with the spray paint.
Graffiti is so last millennium...it's amusing to see in Pompeii. Now just stop writing all over everything on the street that doesn't move. Everywhere in Italy ...even in the poorest sections... is architectural splendor the equal of any in the world. However, spray painting your name on it doesn't give you credit for it.
3. Slow down.
Almost half of you aren't late for work anyway...so what's the rush?
4. Turn off that awful music!
Rock and roll is a particularly American art form, one not easily mastered by our friends in other lands (ABBA? Il Divo?) I know that your ubiquitous Euro-pop pounding out of speakers in your tiny cars, piped into subway stations, broadcast in public parks is not meant as an insult to everything Americans hold dear about their indigenous art form, but how would you feel if we drew mustache on the Mona Lisa and called it art? Indulge in this stuff in private.
Brooks Carter on the early days in flight, in Rome, and in Napoli
The Trip through the Eyes of VBC volume 1
Let me tell you up front. The veracity of some these comments has already been question
A Ragged Chronology
Day 1 - it begins with an almost empty C&J bus. We stretch out seats to ourselves. Logan - many of us are eating delicious air terminal food. We are obviously anxious for the trip to begin. My seat companion on the plane is a very handsome bearded young man who holds in his lap several comforting animals: a soft floppy dateared white rabbit and an equally beautiful puppy dog. I can sense the snarky comments flying already. Phil appropriately surmised he was afraid of flying. He was wonderful traveling companion. For those of you who want more intimate details you can email me at Godlovesallhis.herchildren@gmail.com.
Day 2 - A brouhaha at airport while waiting for folks to meet at airport. K&K came in via Heathrow. We can't find them. We can't find our driver. We are able text Patrizia the manager of our apartment but not Kevin. Patrizia tells us our driver is on the way. He arrives but still no K&K. Discouraging and disparaging words are spoken. We are tired. Our driver finds us. We wait for another 20-30 minutes and then leave. Where are they? No communication. It turns out Kevin's phone isn't working. We get to Patrizia two different ways. We are happy to see each other. Patrizia says give the driver only 55 euros for three passengers not five. Phil has already given him 80 e. Based on 65 e. for the trip from the airport. The driver is happy and he speeds away.
Patrizia shows us around Trastavere. The area in Roma where we wii be staying. She tells us where we can eat for the next two nights with a discount. On a nearby street we have pizza with Patrizia.
It turns out pizza really is quite ubiquitous in Italy. There are pizza trattorias everywhere. In Roma there are three or four to a block. In smaller towns they are everywhere. The choices are almost overwhelming for those us who usually have to decide between cheese and pepperoni. I think pepperoni may be the only that I haven't seen. The most popular meat pizza is with jambone (ham). There are so many delicious pizzas without tomato sauce. On one menu I think there 15-20 different pizzas. The most unusual pizza from our point of view was covered with French fries. Kate says a church a day. Marj says a pizza a day. There are more pizza trattorias than churches. And that is quite remarkable in a country, where you really don't need a watch in the small towns because the ringing of the church bells every 15 minutes lets you know what time it is. There is a pattern of ringing that indicates which quarter of the hour: one for a quarter after; two on the half hour, etc. there is a brief pause which is followed by hour.
Later on we have our first cafe (espresso) and birre (beer) a Peroni. Then we did a little food shopping at the local stores. We went to a Salumi to got wine, cheese, bread, olives and prosciutto. Marj and Kate went to super store to pick up some sundries. Later that evening there is the first Church visit. I sit on the edge of the fountain in the piazza and catch the last bit of fading sun. Another pattern is forming: Brooks not going into churches.
Day 3 K and K sleep until 8 or 9 pm
Marj and Phil leave early to go to the Vatican. While there they a coin blessed for Michael Warhurst's sister. After a somewhat leisurely rising the rest of us venture out through the warren like streets of Roma. The maps have been taken out - a church a day must be visited. We cross the Tiber River and visit a church. CHECK. Kate tells me this church is not impressive enough to earn a CHECK. We cross over the Tiber again and are soon entering the Jewish Ghetto: yarmulkes are everywhere. All of the stores are labeled Kosher. After going up one street and down another, we take a break for a cafe Americano.
We are quickly learning there is a well structured etiquette around the drinking of coffee. Very large cups of coffee are not to be had. So, the whole Starbucks naming and sizing of their coffee is purely some marketing gambit for Americans who never have been out of the country. A small or vendi is much larger than anything you can obtain in either Italy or Spain. The average cafe (coffee) is at best 1/3 of a cup. Cappuccinos are a morning drink and can almost approach the size of a small cup of American coffee. Cafe (espressos) can be had at anytime with a pastry. Cafés are not served with meals. The cafe Americano in some places approach the size of an old fashioned cup of coffee: a small. Other times the Americano can be an espresso with hot water. Several of us have taken to adding the ubiquitous sugars that come with the cafe: usually two packets and each hold at least a tablespoon. We add one.
They are an after dinner item. Kate asked for a cafe of any kind in this restaurant in Naopli. We were dying for caffeine. The waitperson shook his head and said no decisively. It was not to be done. The delightful Ossteria Theresa eatery, that I will discuss later, did not even serve cafe.
We then go to the Crypt of some body in a round about way. Kevin has a map but it turns out to be useless. While watching Kevin prepare to cross the street, Kate notices the words Museo di Crypt are just above our heads on our right. We catch up with Kevin and tell him laughingly the Museo is right here. We just have to find the entrance. A half hour later we find the entrance after Kate has asked six or seven people for directions to the Crypto. It is very nice. We purchase passes for the Crypto and several other Museos. A deal says the ticket seller. Yes, if we ever get to the other Museos, which we don't. Upon exiting we turn to the right and see the sign for the Museo that we had seen originally when we tried to find the entrance. Ahh. We have a great laugh. If we had turned four feet to the left instead of going to the right we would have found the entrance before venturing forth in the wrong direction. It seems we had all passed the entrance one person at a time looking in the wrong direction.
This would presage many of our orienteering adventures. People have since taken turns accusing each other of being the world's worst map readers. Still, folks cheerfully lay out the maps on the table every morning and plan several excursions. How they agree upon which trip to take is beyond me. I try to excuse myself from many of the adventures. Who knew I was so fragile: bum knee you see; Phil's ticker; Kate's ankles; Kevin's back and Marj may need a new hip replacement. I'm not sure this group received medical clearance to take this trip. That's not true. Phil's doctor gave him the okay and my physical therapist gave me many tips. We are all holding up quite well. Though as I mention on day 11 Marj was quite depleted after her rigorous hike. She was subsequently down graded later from feeling depleted to a near death like experience. A nap and two slices of pizza later and she was revived.
Day 2 - The next evening we go out to one of Patrizia's recommended eateries. We eat at the Merindale which is located no more than 100 feet from our front door. The waitperson, a college grad, wants to be a journalist and Kate encourages her. There is a menu with five courses. We settle on bread, several types of bread sticks, appetizers, pasta/fish, then incredible amounts of rich desserts. The final dessert is a nice piece of chocolate cake, sprinkled with confectionery sugar and a side of ice cream. I devour it after sharing a small forkful with the person to my left.we forgot to ask for Patrizia's discount. I think it will probably turn out to be our first and most expensive at 122 e. We are happy and satiated. Several people comment upon how delicious the food was. Some of the best they had ever eaten. It was OK.
Day 3 Spanish steps - even with the infernal maps we wander around unable to find them. Kate doggedly stops a person every 30 or 40 meters and asks directions. Of course she comes up with several contradictory recommendations. We press on and finally found the beautiful Spanish steps. A church is found at the top but it is in bad shape. While they were visiting one of God's temples on earth, I watched the action out front. There are vendors ever where. One popular gesture is for one of the flower sellers to shove a long stemmed red rose into the face or arms of a woman. Then stare at her male companion expecting him to hand over a euro or two. Most people just ignore or pay a euro. One of the other vendors came out from behind her easel (she would paint your portrait. She had done one of Robin Williams in the past) and started yelling at the rose thruster. Basta. Basta. (Enough. Enough). They went back and forth for several minutes. It was quite the seen. Bastardized. Basta.
We next seek out a Park of Renown. I have decided to call this place the
Parco de Medici. It is a very lovely greenway and after awhile we find a place to eat. They also rent Segways or four person self pedaling vehicles next to outdoor cafe. Here we all order pizzas. I order a Margherita pizza Almodovar or something like that. My little personal pizza comes with four glistening orbs of tomatoes. I do not like slices of tomatoes. My companions nickname the kindly waitperson as my boyfriend. The molto gentile person removes the pizza covered with giant slabs of tomatoes from my place setting. He returns with a cheese pizza without the tomatoes. He says what I wanted was just a Margherita. He was being nice to me because he probably thought I was Morgan Freeman. A common occurrence in Roma but never in Napoli.
That evening we went to a family restaurant where everyone took out their glasses so the could read the menu. Our waitperson who was close to us in age took out his reading glasses. We howled with appreciation. I am drawing a blank on the food. This I know for sure. The pasta was very al dente. Most Americans would think it was under cooked. Here it is al dente. It is quite tasty. There is never any salt or pepper on the table. He did gives the 10 percent Patrizia discount.
Day 4 - the trip to colosseum was our average adventure. We now know our way across the Tiber but after that we went in an around about way through a lovely park. We saw a beautiful array of roses that were going to be part of a flower show the next day. We then got to one of the omnipresent piazza/ traffic circles. Marj wanted to go one way but was out voted. She spewed a string of profanities under her breath. As it turns out she was correct this time. Phil and I headed to the colosseum and the others went to the forum. We agreed to meet at 12 noon. No one appeared. After awhile we started receiving coded text messages. There are a lot of progressives in Napoli, maybe we were being monitored by the CIA. We were unable to decipher the text messages. Anyway, at one Marj shows up and explains away all of the mysteries. Phil and I decide to head home. We found our way back without a hitch. That is becoming the norm. Muddle our way there and quickly find the way back easily. Kevin tends to take the lead and feels bad if he takes a wrong turn. Kate his traveling companion of long standing has his back. She is always asking for verbal directions.
I cannot begin to tell you how many devices we'd utilized that evening in an attempt to find the Museo of Roma a Trastavere. I was right in the mix for a change. I won't even speculate on the amount of time that was spent poring over maps, while I believe in Google Earth. Which was no help at all. A half hour later (if that) Phil returns. He has found the Museo and has returned already. It is a mere 7-8 minute walk from our place!!!
That evening, we went to the Museo de Roma in Trastavere. Everyone loved it. A historical look at Italian Red Cross. Many fabulous installations. We were with the in crowd for probably the first and last time on this trip: skinny women in skinny jeans. Skinny men in skinny jeans with forward facing haircuts. (Almost early Clint Eastwood, but with very close cropped hair in the back) A good time was had by all.
Day 5 - We are on our way to Napoli. We crossed a few streets, purchased tickets and got on the correct bus. It is quite crowded. But we all were able to find seats. Kevin leads us to the big Termini where we will catch the train. People are coming out of the woodwork to offer us assistance. As it turns out they want to be compensated For their efforts. Kate negotiates the purchasing of the tren tickets. No mean task. She had previously purchased them online, but now we needed to get them. She is successful and we march forward to find the correct Binario (track). We get on the train and sit in our second class seats: they are comfortable but are lacking in leg room. Marj stretches out with her feet resting in the lap of her honey. I do my best not to make any physical contact with the strange woman sitting across from me. She sits with her legs spread wide. I close my eyes and hope Napoli is not to far off. We arrive. I hate to rush. Everyone was already out of our tren compartment when I was slowly bringing down my traveling case. I turn around and standing in the door way was this woman scowling at me because I was in her place. I got by her and there were hordes of people who had already begun ascending onto the train.
We arrived on a Sunday and ate at the only restaurant in town that we could find open. It was a family restaurant. We weren't family. They stuck us in a corner away from the main dining room near the kitchen. More bread sticks and pasta is all I can remember. A man and his adorable young child passed through. Kate cooed at the child. Somehow it was deduced that the child was a twin. Kate said I'm a twin hoping to gain entry into the family room. Her ploy did not work.
We went to the beach our first night. Everything is down, down, down: long sloping coved streets or switchback steps that seem at times interminable. Of course, what goes down must go up. It is even more challenging on the return trip. At the base of our long winding street after we have conquered the switchback steps on our return is a confluence of cars and motorbikes. There is no such thing as a right of way. You would grow very old waiting for the traffic to abate. We have learned to very bravely step into chaos: cars stop, motorbikes use us to gain an advantage and pass us on either side. We make it to the other side of the street. Kevin pointed out there is not a car or a motorbike that is not marred by scratches or dents. One visiting British woman told me a car she rented was actually caved in and the mirror was dangling loosely. She returned to the rental agent and said "you've got to be kidding!" He threw up his hands. He gave her another less damaged car.
I am just pointing out little things that you don't see when people show you photographs of their trip. I can not emphasize enough how fun everyone is having.
While at the beach, we watched a woman with long thin legs, and a large bosom backed up by an incredibly loud sound track, yell do it, do it, do it. While jumping up and down in tights. Then should jump to the right -1,2,3,4,5 in Italian and then to the left 1,2,3,4,5 -as her adoring crowd of fans jumped along on trampolines. We walked along the promenade watched all the people. Lots of fun.
I can't remember the day in Napoli, but we took a delightful underground tour in a WWII bomb shelter which had originally been constructed as part of the Roman aqueducts or something. This is not one of my areas of interest. Someone else will have to give you the cultural background. I just do people. Live people and their actions. Our guide was this delightful leftist/progressive who had us howling as he took us through the various places which at times were incredibly tight. Let me say that a plus sized male or female would have had great difficulty going thorough some of the openings. It was really a bit much. One German person said you should put up warning signs regarding size limitations and claustrophobia. The skinny guide smiled and pushed through another small orifice. I mention him not for his terrific politics: he derisively mentioned Regan and the Bushes. Ws inability to say nuclear properly. But, he said he loved how American films depicted supposed Italian accents like Al Pacino: hence the Luca reference. He also loved Boston (lots of Italians there he said) and San Francisco.
At the end of the tour we enter a pizza trattoria across the street. We are seated and after staring at the menu for a few minutes, it is obvious that we are in the middle of several bus loads of elementary children who are a school trip. The din of young children's voices even in Italian is becoming unbearable. I take the lead out. As I ascend towards the entryway (there is rarely any flat lands in this beautiful country) I am stopped by the host. She places her hand to her ear. Too loud she say. I nod affirmatively. She gestures not to worry the will be gone soon. I ask my companions to return to their seats the urchins will shortly be departing. We reseat ourselves and within 10 minutes they are all gone. There are huge bunches of fresh tomatoes on a high shelf that separates us from the kitchen area. Marj is sitting across from me and doesn't notice when something drops to the floor. I tell her bends over and comes up with bunches of loose cherry tomatoes. She stands up and passes them to one of the cooks, he says grazi. As a reward when Marj's pizza arrives it has a large ball of fresh mozarella in the center. Marj kindly shares with all so. The pizzas are very large for personal size pizzas but we leave our plates clean. Also a developing pattern. There are no crumbs left on our plates. We order cafes and the host who stopped me at the door said it was on her. Nice.
Forget about the free coffee, we are all in agreement that the people of Napoli have been incredibly helpful, friendly and generous with their time. Roma was terrific and our location was incredible, but I personally liked Napoli better. Kate may share with you this incredible story of being picked up by the director of a Museo they were trying to visit that was closed. The director took the for a drive and deposited the in a place she recommend they visit. I don't know about you, but I have never been picked up by the director of anything and driven anywhere. We love Napoli.
Last night in Napoli
Day 10 - last evening was the best so far. Ossetia Theresa has been operating since 1914. In the middle of an extremely affluent gelato area resides this unassuming family restaurant on a side street. The owner greets us as we approach the entrata. There are maybe eight tables of four. She squishes two together for our five. We have a piccolo - small - white wine and a medium rossa, aqua con gas y pan.
Primers corso - Zappa ( lentil soup), o pasta and potato. Phil has the pasta with potatoes (Kate had pizza with potatoes one day. Very good) and the rest of us lentils. Very good. Secondo corso- sardines o meatball. Two meatballs and three sardines. Everyone very happy. Large tender meatballs in olive oil and boned sardines. We also have a side dish of broccoli, carrots, eggplant. After all of that I was full and just wanted deserta.
I haven't told you about the delightful staff: one man in his fifties (Marj said he was older than her) and three women: thirties, fifties, and seventies. I think the oldest was the cook. The middle woman had been our greeter and the youngest had been our waitperson. The cook would deliver our food and then sit five feet away at another table near the kitchen entry way and watch us eat. Thanks goodness the food was all delicious because all of the food on this trip hasn't been out of this world. I seem to have the most questionable palate. Others have delighted at almost every meal - palates of the plebeians. Though one evening I did find the desserts to be too rich. That is when I ate most of the cake by myself.
Back to our meal. Most of us had eaten enough, so when our waitperson approached, I said deserta. She said finito I said yes. Kate said what is going on. I told her. She said I want the whole experience. If there is another corso, I want it. Our waitperson spoke very little English and we less Italian. Fruta she said. Yes Kate agreed and sàid orange. All of a sudden the man runs out the front door into what looks like New York's fifth avenue to us and disappears.
Four or five minutes later he reappears carrying a bunch of fruit: they are kind of whitish yellow in color and still attached to the vine. He places them on a plate and smiles as he serves them to Kate. She is game but has no idea what they are or how to eat them. He says something to me and I shrug. Kate hands one back to him and he slowly peels it from top to bottom and offers it back to Kate who takes a bite out of it. She smiles effusively and says it is delicious. She has about eight of these stemmed beauties on her plate. She offers one to me. I decline to no one's surprise. I will die a picky eater. She then offers one to Marj and Kevin. They both accept. Kate says to them they are delicious! Yes. They smile in agreement. Would you like another one. They both decline. Kate wonderfully cleans her plate. She leaves behind the stems. It is an overall delightful experience. Kate asks if she can take a photo. They all line up. Kate beams as she takes the photo of the wonderful family. Alas. There was not sufficient light so we will not be able share it with you.
We descend down gelato row and take the "funicular." it is an enclosed mode of transportation something like you might see in a Grace Kelly movie from the fifties if she was being lifted up a ski slope. Except the cars are all connected and they are all at a 20 degree angles built into the side of a hill and it is underground like a subway. You pay a fare to get on. It is much quicker than walking up and down some of these hills.
LEAVING NAPOLI
Day 10/11 was a traveling day:always exhausting and illuminating. I think Kevin was packed and ready to go before the rest of us were out of bed.we leave at 10:15 and make it down the six levels of switchback steps without destroying our luggage. We are seasoned ticket buyers at the Metro window and purchase un ticket to Sorrento for less than 5 Euro. We squeeze onto the intra Naopli tren without too much difficulty. We split up because of our luggage.
We make it to Garibaldi station without much difficulty. We as a group are quite amusing when it comes to deciding which way to go: always there are two contradictory thoughts. Marj decisively turned to the right and we followed. We make it to the correct Binario (track). There were no clear signs that told us when the Sorrento tren arrived. By the time I found it, a decision had been made to board the next train. We all embarked. I made a query and was told this was not the correct train for Sorrento. I tried to get off to no avail. No matter, a gentleman who spoke only Italian gave us directions. Once again we were flying about what to do next: get off next stop, do this, do that. We stayed and followed the gent's original directions. He actually was getting off at the change over stop.
We changed trains and I pulled my luggage into a new car. It was very crowded and I attempted to stuff my bag into the overhead. The folks who sat beneath where I was trying to push in my bag were very nervous and assured me my bag was going to come crashing down upon their heads. They prevailed upon me to place my bag in the adjacent seat where no one could sit anyway, because they had placed their bags where one normally would place your feet. I sat down tiredly and closed my eyes. When I opened them, i realized Kate was across the aisle seated to my right. Opposite her was an Englishman who graciously stuffed her bag precariously in her overhead. The anxious couple in front of me could hardly breathe because they were convinced the bag was going to come crashing down. "It's moving" the woman must have said, five times during the remainder of the trip. "I am sure it has moved." The Englishman laughed and said it will brain me if It falls. Kate chatted up her three seat mates and then started talking to the anxious duo. It was good because it took their minds off the falling suitcase. Kate asked where they were from. The woman answered Colorado for the last six years. They had migrated from New Jersey. (Kate said, "Colorado with that jersey accent. Give me a break.") Kate asked if they missed NJ? The woman answered, only the food. No good Italian food there....
We arrive at Sorrento and must now take the Sita bus Sud to Priano. We purchase tickets and are soon boarding a packed bus to the south and Priano. Kate asked me to check with the driver to make sure it was the correct bus. It seems my Italian is getting better by the minute. I ask if we are going to Priano and he answers with another P word that is similar to Priano. Kate asks me again, "is this the correct bus." I shrug and say I think so which may have been a dangerous assumption. It is and we have placed our bags beneath the bus a la C&J. We stop every few minutes to add more passengers. 15 minutes later the bus driver pulls over and gets off without saying a word. After a few minutes others follow his lead. Someone opens up the luggage area beneath the bus and we remove our bags. Our driver saunters to the other side of the road. I forgot to mention from Sorrento south the road becomes this treacherous two way winding switchback type of road that even motorcycles go slowly on. Not our driver until he had to pull over. As the passengers line the side of the road we realize the bus has broken down. Our driver is a slim, handsome, balding man who has been driving tourists far too long. I fear he thinks sharing information with them is beneath him. He is neither disdainful nor arrogant. He just ignores us. 15 or 20 minutes later another smaller bus shows up. Time is difficult to measure when you are standing cluelessly on the side of a road in a foreign country not sure what is going on. I mention to my companions that I have taken the Fung Wah bus which is famous for breaking down. Kevin goes into his best Asian dialect describing the dangers of taking that bus. Behind him stands this young woman who may have been Chinese. God help us all. As we start to board the new bus Kevin and I attempt to place our bags in the luggage area beneath the bus. We are now standing in the middle do the road. The driver now speaks to us for the first since our break down to tell us we can't place our bags beneath the bus. Our bags are"piccolo" too small. Only larga bags allowed. So we lug our bags onto the bus. There are no seats. I stand with my bag between my feet and two carryons pulling down on my shoulders. My bag is too larga to fit into the overhead. The bus swings from the left side to the right side as we switchback on and on. Only pausing to let on more and more passengers. Finally, someone leaves near me and I can take a seat and keep two of my bags with me. I had taken off one after I feared self decapitation as the bus swung back and forth. I didn't dare leave my seat but I nervously kept my eye on the bag lest I forget it. More people got on. One couple squeezed on and the woman looked at her partner and said unsmiling, this reminds me of India. She was Indian.
Now the last part of adventure began. Where was Priano? Where to get off. A family from England were so supposed to get off at Positano, the town before Priano. They failed miserably. Our driver never speaks to us so we are unable discern where we are without looking out the windows for signage. Ahh said the English man perhaps we should have gotten off here, as the bus whizzed by. Let's get off the next stop intoned someone. A local persona got on and heard all of the chatter. She said you have missed your stop. Turn around and go back. They said okay they will grab a cab. She said no, no, no insistently. The cab very expensive. Take the next bus. Ha ha. Kate or Marj asked about Bar de Sole in Priano. She said, Si. Si. It is coming up. We got off the next stop 40 feet from the Bar.
I purchase a cappuccino even though it was late afternoon and a delightful looking torte for 2.8e. An assistant to the manager arrives and takes Marj and Phil and most of our luggage in her four seater with a trunk. She has no room for the rest of us. This is a potential problem I have been fearing prior to the start of the trip. How are we going to find a car large enough for all of us and our luggage? I finish my delightful snack. Marj and Phil return and we walk perhaps 300m to our villa. Only the last 60 meters is steep. The place is absolutely gorgeous. The view in particular is just spectacular.
I am pooped and have to post this entry before the Internet cafe closes. Okay the villa isn't perfect. All I have to say is I have a room of my own. Grazia.
Day 12 - we all arise early even Kate who has proven to be the most intrepid among us once she gets sufficient rest.
She is a monster on the trails. One day on her relentless effort to visit every church in Italy she visited the church on the hill in Priano. She takes her time and passes crosses marking the spot where less hardy folk have failed and I guess were buried on the spot. Kate finds out later she has been passing stations of the cross. She successfully completed all 14 for you non Catholic readers. K&K press on. An older man (obviously a show off) shares with them he does their trek in a fraction of the time it took them. Kate is a guest in his country so she neither kicks him nor spits on him for his unsolicited bragging.
Today they went off on a rather rigorous hike. I know the views are glorious but I'd rather be regaled by my sweaty comrades as they recount their adventures going up one side and down the other hill/mt.
I on the other hand am resting peacefully in our villa. It took a lot out of me getting on the bus to Positano this a.m. It was my job to scout out one of the local beaches cited in one of the omnipresent guidebooks. I successfully achieved that task without a map. I have received a few slings and arrows because I have approached this adventure sans Rick Stevens or Fodor. They still say prego. That is they still welcome me to break bread with them in the evenings.
The trip to the beach was successful. The motto for the bus drivers here "there is always room for one more." I got on the completely full bus and the driver encouraged people to move closer together in the aisles. One particularly boorish English speaking person told his wife to switch places with him because he'd "bloody well could make more room. They might well be snug as a bug, but they were positioned incorrectly." I think they must have been married a long time. She ignored his entreaties. Then four more people attempted to get on. He said no to the last two. They begged him and he relented. He stopped after permitting one more smiling youth to board.
After switching back and forth and back and forth for the next 10 km, the driver announced Positano. The boorish English speaker just stood there. I looked him in the eye and said "Positano." He finally moved to let me pass. As I crossed the street dodging cars, motorbikes and scooters, I could see the beach in the distance.
(Has anyone discussed crossing the streets in Italy. I think Phil said it best the first day "he who hesitates capitulates." You have to charge out into the moving traffic. The first time it is little nerve wracking to be in the middle of the road with the scooters flying by you. They stop for no one. They do go around you. None of us has come close to being struck by a car.)
****BULLETIN BULLETIN ***
Marj has just returned from rigorous walk/hike/penance. It doesn't look like god is on her side. It was quite warm today. She looks depleted. An hour or so later I run into the other troopers who have consumed pizza and alcohol and seem quite refreshed. As soon as they return home they head for the mattresses. Luca is no where to be found.
*********************BULLETIN OVER*******
An aside ...While in Napoli, we took a delightful underground tour in a WWII bomb shelter which had originally been constructed as part of the Roman aqueducts or something. This is not one of my areas of interest. Someone else will have to give you the cultural background. I just do people. Live people and their actions. Our guide was this delightful leftist/progressive who had us howling as he took us through the various places which at times were incredibly tight. Let me say that a plus sized male or female would have had great difficulty going thorough some of the openings. It was really a bit much. One German person said you should put up warning signs regarding size limitations and claustrophobia. The skinny guide smiled and pushed through another small orifice. I mention him not for his terrific politics: he derisively mentioned Regan and the Bushes. Ws inability to say nuclear properly. But, he said he loved how American films depicted supposed Italian accents like Al Pacino: hence the Luca reference. He also loved Boston (lots of Italians there he said) and San Francisco.
I made it across the street and head downhill as my villa mates were still trudging uphill somewhere away from the cool ocean breeze. They don't envy me and I am happy for them. At the end of a long 30 degree sloping path (30 degrees is pretty much the norm around here) that seems to empty into a rush hour crowd of people getting off the T in a hurry to make their next connection. I am able to dive into this pool of humanity without injuring myself. I am swept away (not Lina Wertmuller style) through a gauntlet of high end shops. The crowd is eventually going to the beach thought it thins out as we get loser to sand and water. People are picked off by high couture clothing shops and cafés that seek to quench that early morning thirst for mimosas, daiquiris, and other alcoholic beverages.
The setting is exquisite: houses and villas built on top of each other have been carved out of the hillsides. It some what resembles a wedding cake but real people live there. How real are they! I take off my shoes and walk half way to the water and sit on the warm black sand. I wear a dashing straw hat that Kevin assured me does not look foolish on my head. There are several dozen folks in front of me: mostly Italians and Europeans. The men wear the delightfully tiny bathing suits and the women wear what ever they want. A large expanse of bosom is not frowned upon. People changing their bathing suits on the beach with towels around themselves is quite common: a glimpse of a well turned or flaccid breast or a shriveled penis is quite the norm. I stretch out my legs and I am quite glad I have my hat as the sun starts to heat up my arms. I look at the sea which is mainly empty and think better of going In with my shorts. I rest my eyes for a few minutes and am jolted into an alert state by the sound of a growing cacophony of young female voices: mostly American. During the next 20 minutes I am engulfed not only by their sounds but also their bodies. By the time I leave only a few inches of sand separate me from them: it is old orchard beach, Hampton Beach, Salisbury Beach. It is too much. I had planned on only staying for two hours anyway. I have a half hour to go to experience their smells and their chatter. The sight of their post nubile bodies does not compensate for the latter. The clock ticks slowly. "I love your hat. Where did you get it. No. Your top looks great on you. I have one just like it. Target," her friend replies. "Me too." "Shiela got so drunk last night. I think she blacked out. Did you hear the things she was saying to those boys. It is creepier here when they surround you. One of them slapped my ass. In Milan it was different. Yes and there were more of us. Two daiquiris coming up. I couldn't drink a thing after last night. Oh come on. They slurp simultaneously as I get up to leave.
The sand is very hot now and I only have 20 minutes to get back up the hill to catch my return bus at 12:30. "Can you take our picture," ask two young women. I smile, click and continue up the hill. At the apex of the street there is a crowd. This is the bus stop. I chat convivially with two Brits. The return bus to Priano arrives we all crowd around it. I can climb in the back door but I decide to go for the front door. To the driver I say "pree-ano?" "Pri - ano," he replies. No amalfi. Si I agree and climb on the bus. No Amalfi he repeats several times to the passengers on the bus. Priano. No Amalfi. Priano. Half of the bus gets off. "When is the Amalfi bus?" "Soon. The next bus." Ahhh. It is a pleasurable ride back to Priano.
Let me tell you up front. The veracity of some these comments has already been question
A Ragged Chronology
Day 1 - it begins with an almost empty C&J bus. We stretch out seats to ourselves. Logan - many of us are eating delicious air terminal food. We are obviously anxious for the trip to begin. My seat companion on the plane is a very handsome bearded young man who holds in his lap several comforting animals: a soft floppy dateared white rabbit and an equally beautiful puppy dog. I can sense the snarky comments flying already. Phil appropriately surmised he was afraid of flying. He was wonderful traveling companion. For those of you who want more intimate details you can email me at Godlovesallhis.herchildren@gmail.com.
Day 2 - A brouhaha at airport while waiting for folks to meet at airport. K&K came in via Heathrow. We can't find them. We can't find our driver. We are able text Patrizia the manager of our apartment but not Kevin. Patrizia tells us our driver is on the way. He arrives but still no K&K. Discouraging and disparaging words are spoken. We are tired. Our driver finds us. We wait for another 20-30 minutes and then leave. Where are they? No communication. It turns out Kevin's phone isn't working. We get to Patrizia two different ways. We are happy to see each other. Patrizia says give the driver only 55 euros for three passengers not five. Phil has already given him 80 e. Based on 65 e. for the trip from the airport. The driver is happy and he speeds away.
Patrizia shows us around Trastavere. The area in Roma where we wii be staying. She tells us where we can eat for the next two nights with a discount. On a nearby street we have pizza with Patrizia.
It turns out pizza really is quite ubiquitous in Italy. There are pizza trattorias everywhere. In Roma there are three or four to a block. In smaller towns they are everywhere. The choices are almost overwhelming for those us who usually have to decide between cheese and pepperoni. I think pepperoni may be the only that I haven't seen. The most popular meat pizza is with jambone (ham). There are so many delicious pizzas without tomato sauce. On one menu I think there 15-20 different pizzas. The most unusual pizza from our point of view was covered with French fries. Kate says a church a day. Marj says a pizza a day. There are more pizza trattorias than churches. And that is quite remarkable in a country, where you really don't need a watch in the small towns because the ringing of the church bells every 15 minutes lets you know what time it is. There is a pattern of ringing that indicates which quarter of the hour: one for a quarter after; two on the half hour, etc. there is a brief pause which is followed by hour.
Later on we have our first cafe (espresso) and birre (beer) a Peroni. Then we did a little food shopping at the local stores. We went to a Salumi to got wine, cheese, bread, olives and prosciutto. Marj and Kate went to super store to pick up some sundries. Later that evening there is the first Church visit. I sit on the edge of the fountain in the piazza and catch the last bit of fading sun. Another pattern is forming: Brooks not going into churches.
Day 3 K and K sleep until 8 or 9 pm
Marj and Phil leave early to go to the Vatican. While there they a coin blessed for Michael Warhurst's sister. After a somewhat leisurely rising the rest of us venture out through the warren like streets of Roma. The maps have been taken out - a church a day must be visited. We cross the Tiber River and visit a church. CHECK. Kate tells me this church is not impressive enough to earn a CHECK. We cross over the Tiber again and are soon entering the Jewish Ghetto: yarmulkes are everywhere. All of the stores are labeled Kosher. After going up one street and down another, we take a break for a cafe Americano.
We are quickly learning there is a well structured etiquette around the drinking of coffee. Very large cups of coffee are not to be had. So, the whole Starbucks naming and sizing of their coffee is purely some marketing gambit for Americans who never have been out of the country. A small or vendi is much larger than anything you can obtain in either Italy or Spain. The average cafe (coffee) is at best 1/3 of a cup. Cappuccinos are a morning drink and can almost approach the size of a small cup of American coffee. Cafe (espressos) can be had at anytime with a pastry. Cafés are not served with meals. The cafe Americano in some places approach the size of an old fashioned cup of coffee: a small. Other times the Americano can be an espresso with hot water. Several of us have taken to adding the ubiquitous sugars that come with the cafe: usually two packets and each hold at least a tablespoon. We add one.
They are an after dinner item. Kate asked for a cafe of any kind in this restaurant in Naopli. We were dying for caffeine. The waitperson shook his head and said no decisively. It was not to be done. The delightful Ossteria Theresa eatery, that I will discuss later, did not even serve cafe.
We then go to the Crypt of some body in a round about way. Kevin has a map but it turns out to be useless. While watching Kevin prepare to cross the street, Kate notices the words Museo di Crypt are just above our heads on our right. We catch up with Kevin and tell him laughingly the Museo is right here. We just have to find the entrance. A half hour later we find the entrance after Kate has asked six or seven people for directions to the Crypto. It is very nice. We purchase passes for the Crypto and several other Museos. A deal says the ticket seller. Yes, if we ever get to the other Museos, which we don't. Upon exiting we turn to the right and see the sign for the Museo that we had seen originally when we tried to find the entrance. Ahh. We have a great laugh. If we had turned four feet to the left instead of going to the right we would have found the entrance before venturing forth in the wrong direction. It seems we had all passed the entrance one person at a time looking in the wrong direction.
This would presage many of our orienteering adventures. People have since taken turns accusing each other of being the world's worst map readers. Still, folks cheerfully lay out the maps on the table every morning and plan several excursions. How they agree upon which trip to take is beyond me. I try to excuse myself from many of the adventures. Who knew I was so fragile: bum knee you see; Phil's ticker; Kate's ankles; Kevin's back and Marj may need a new hip replacement. I'm not sure this group received medical clearance to take this trip. That's not true. Phil's doctor gave him the okay and my physical therapist gave me many tips. We are all holding up quite well. Though as I mention on day 11 Marj was quite depleted after her rigorous hike. She was subsequently down graded later from feeling depleted to a near death like experience. A nap and two slices of pizza later and she was revived.
Day 2 - The next evening we go out to one of Patrizia's recommended eateries. We eat at the Merindale which is located no more than 100 feet from our front door. The waitperson, a college grad, wants to be a journalist and Kate encourages her. There is a menu with five courses. We settle on bread, several types of bread sticks, appetizers, pasta/fish, then incredible amounts of rich desserts. The final dessert is a nice piece of chocolate cake, sprinkled with confectionery sugar and a side of ice cream. I devour it after sharing a small forkful with the person to my left.we forgot to ask for Patrizia's discount. I think it will probably turn out to be our first and most expensive at 122 e. We are happy and satiated. Several people comment upon how delicious the food was. Some of the best they had ever eaten. It was OK.
Day 3 Spanish steps - even with the infernal maps we wander around unable to find them. Kate doggedly stops a person every 30 or 40 meters and asks directions. Of course she comes up with several contradictory recommendations. We press on and finally found the beautiful Spanish steps. A church is found at the top but it is in bad shape. While they were visiting one of God's temples on earth, I watched the action out front. There are vendors ever where. One popular gesture is for one of the flower sellers to shove a long stemmed red rose into the face or arms of a woman. Then stare at her male companion expecting him to hand over a euro or two. Most people just ignore or pay a euro. One of the other vendors came out from behind her easel (she would paint your portrait. She had done one of Robin Williams in the past) and started yelling at the rose thruster. Basta. Basta. (Enough. Enough). They went back and forth for several minutes. It was quite the seen. Bastardized. Basta.
We next seek out a Park of Renown. I have decided to call this place the
Parco de Medici. It is a very lovely greenway and after awhile we find a place to eat. They also rent Segways or four person self pedaling vehicles next to outdoor cafe. Here we all order pizzas. I order a Margherita pizza Almodovar or something like that. My little personal pizza comes with four glistening orbs of tomatoes. I do not like slices of tomatoes. My companions nickname the kindly waitperson as my boyfriend. The molto gentile person removes the pizza covered with giant slabs of tomatoes from my place setting. He returns with a cheese pizza without the tomatoes. He says what I wanted was just a Margherita. He was being nice to me because he probably thought I was Morgan Freeman. A common occurrence in Roma but never in Napoli.
That evening we went to a family restaurant where everyone took out their glasses so the could read the menu. Our waitperson who was close to us in age took out his reading glasses. We howled with appreciation. I am drawing a blank on the food. This I know for sure. The pasta was very al dente. Most Americans would think it was under cooked. Here it is al dente. It is quite tasty. There is never any salt or pepper on the table. He did gives the 10 percent Patrizia discount.
Day 4 - the trip to colosseum was our average adventure. We now know our way across the Tiber but after that we went in an around about way through a lovely park. We saw a beautiful array of roses that were going to be part of a flower show the next day. We then got to one of the omnipresent piazza/ traffic circles. Marj wanted to go one way but was out voted. She spewed a string of profanities under her breath. As it turns out she was correct this time. Phil and I headed to the colosseum and the others went to the forum. We agreed to meet at 12 noon. No one appeared. After awhile we started receiving coded text messages. There are a lot of progressives in Napoli, maybe we were being monitored by the CIA. We were unable to decipher the text messages. Anyway, at one Marj shows up and explains away all of the mysteries. Phil and I decide to head home. We found our way back without a hitch. That is becoming the norm. Muddle our way there and quickly find the way back easily. Kevin tends to take the lead and feels bad if he takes a wrong turn. Kate his traveling companion of long standing has his back. She is always asking for verbal directions.
I cannot begin to tell you how many devices we'd utilized that evening in an attempt to find the Museo of Roma a Trastavere. I was right in the mix for a change. I won't even speculate on the amount of time that was spent poring over maps, while I believe in Google Earth. Which was no help at all. A half hour later (if that) Phil returns. He has found the Museo and has returned already. It is a mere 7-8 minute walk from our place!!!
That evening, we went to the Museo de Roma in Trastavere. Everyone loved it. A historical look at Italian Red Cross. Many fabulous installations. We were with the in crowd for probably the first and last time on this trip: skinny women in skinny jeans. Skinny men in skinny jeans with forward facing haircuts. (Almost early Clint Eastwood, but with very close cropped hair in the back) A good time was had by all.
Day 5 - We are on our way to Napoli. We crossed a few streets, purchased tickets and got on the correct bus. It is quite crowded. But we all were able to find seats. Kevin leads us to the big Termini where we will catch the train. People are coming out of the woodwork to offer us assistance. As it turns out they want to be compensated For their efforts. Kate negotiates the purchasing of the tren tickets. No mean task. She had previously purchased them online, but now we needed to get them. She is successful and we march forward to find the correct Binario (track). We get on the train and sit in our second class seats: they are comfortable but are lacking in leg room. Marj stretches out with her feet resting in the lap of her honey. I do my best not to make any physical contact with the strange woman sitting across from me. She sits with her legs spread wide. I close my eyes and hope Napoli is not to far off. We arrive. I hate to rush. Everyone was already out of our tren compartment when I was slowly bringing down my traveling case. I turn around and standing in the door way was this woman scowling at me because I was in her place. I got by her and there were hordes of people who had already begun ascending onto the train.
We arrived on a Sunday and ate at the only restaurant in town that we could find open. It was a family restaurant. We weren't family. They stuck us in a corner away from the main dining room near the kitchen. More bread sticks and pasta is all I can remember. A man and his adorable young child passed through. Kate cooed at the child. Somehow it was deduced that the child was a twin. Kate said I'm a twin hoping to gain entry into the family room. Her ploy did not work.
We went to the beach our first night. Everything is down, down, down: long sloping coved streets or switchback steps that seem at times interminable. Of course, what goes down must go up. It is even more challenging on the return trip. At the base of our long winding street after we have conquered the switchback steps on our return is a confluence of cars and motorbikes. There is no such thing as a right of way. You would grow very old waiting for the traffic to abate. We have learned to very bravely step into chaos: cars stop, motorbikes use us to gain an advantage and pass us on either side. We make it to the other side of the street. Kevin pointed out there is not a car or a motorbike that is not marred by scratches or dents. One visiting British woman told me a car she rented was actually caved in and the mirror was dangling loosely. She returned to the rental agent and said "you've got to be kidding!" He threw up his hands. He gave her another less damaged car.
I am just pointing out little things that you don't see when people show you photographs of their trip. I can not emphasize enough how fun everyone is having.
While at the beach, we watched a woman with long thin legs, and a large bosom backed up by an incredibly loud sound track, yell do it, do it, do it. While jumping up and down in tights. Then should jump to the right -1,2,3,4,5 in Italian and then to the left 1,2,3,4,5 -as her adoring crowd of fans jumped along on trampolines. We walked along the promenade watched all the people. Lots of fun.
I can't remember the day in Napoli, but we took a delightful underground tour in a WWII bomb shelter which had originally been constructed as part of the Roman aqueducts or something. This is not one of my areas of interest. Someone else will have to give you the cultural background. I just do people. Live people and their actions. Our guide was this delightful leftist/progressive who had us howling as he took us through the various places which at times were incredibly tight. Let me say that a plus sized male or female would have had great difficulty going thorough some of the openings. It was really a bit much. One German person said you should put up warning signs regarding size limitations and claustrophobia. The skinny guide smiled and pushed through another small orifice. I mention him not for his terrific politics: he derisively mentioned Regan and the Bushes. Ws inability to say nuclear properly. But, he said he loved how American films depicted supposed Italian accents like Al Pacino: hence the Luca reference. He also loved Boston (lots of Italians there he said) and San Francisco.
At the end of the tour we enter a pizza trattoria across the street. We are seated and after staring at the menu for a few minutes, it is obvious that we are in the middle of several bus loads of elementary children who are a school trip. The din of young children's voices even in Italian is becoming unbearable. I take the lead out. As I ascend towards the entryway (there is rarely any flat lands in this beautiful country) I am stopped by the host. She places her hand to her ear. Too loud she say. I nod affirmatively. She gestures not to worry the will be gone soon. I ask my companions to return to their seats the urchins will shortly be departing. We reseat ourselves and within 10 minutes they are all gone. There are huge bunches of fresh tomatoes on a high shelf that separates us from the kitchen area. Marj is sitting across from me and doesn't notice when something drops to the floor. I tell her bends over and comes up with bunches of loose cherry tomatoes. She stands up and passes them to one of the cooks, he says grazi. As a reward when Marj's pizza arrives it has a large ball of fresh mozarella in the center. Marj kindly shares with all so. The pizzas are very large for personal size pizzas but we leave our plates clean. Also a developing pattern. There are no crumbs left on our plates. We order cafes and the host who stopped me at the door said it was on her. Nice.
Forget about the free coffee, we are all in agreement that the people of Napoli have been incredibly helpful, friendly and generous with their time. Roma was terrific and our location was incredible, but I personally liked Napoli better. Kate may share with you this incredible story of being picked up by the director of a Museo they were trying to visit that was closed. The director took the for a drive and deposited the in a place she recommend they visit. I don't know about you, but I have never been picked up by the director of anything and driven anywhere. We love Napoli.
Last night in Napoli
Day 10 - last evening was the best so far. Ossetia Theresa has been operating since 1914. In the middle of an extremely affluent gelato area resides this unassuming family restaurant on a side street. The owner greets us as we approach the entrata. There are maybe eight tables of four. She squishes two together for our five. We have a piccolo - small - white wine and a medium rossa, aqua con gas y pan.
Primers corso - Zappa ( lentil soup), o pasta and potato. Phil has the pasta with potatoes (Kate had pizza with potatoes one day. Very good) and the rest of us lentils. Very good. Secondo corso- sardines o meatball. Two meatballs and three sardines. Everyone very happy. Large tender meatballs in olive oil and boned sardines. We also have a side dish of broccoli, carrots, eggplant. After all of that I was full and just wanted deserta.
I haven't told you about the delightful staff: one man in his fifties (Marj said he was older than her) and three women: thirties, fifties, and seventies. I think the oldest was the cook. The middle woman had been our greeter and the youngest had been our waitperson. The cook would deliver our food and then sit five feet away at another table near the kitchen entry way and watch us eat. Thanks goodness the food was all delicious because all of the food on this trip hasn't been out of this world. I seem to have the most questionable palate. Others have delighted at almost every meal - palates of the plebeians. Though one evening I did find the desserts to be too rich. That is when I ate most of the cake by myself.
Back to our meal. Most of us had eaten enough, so when our waitperson approached, I said deserta. She said finito I said yes. Kate said what is going on. I told her. She said I want the whole experience. If there is another corso, I want it. Our waitperson spoke very little English and we less Italian. Fruta she said. Yes Kate agreed and sàid orange. All of a sudden the man runs out the front door into what looks like New York's fifth avenue to us and disappears.
Four or five minutes later he reappears carrying a bunch of fruit: they are kind of whitish yellow in color and still attached to the vine. He places them on a plate and smiles as he serves them to Kate. She is game but has no idea what they are or how to eat them. He says something to me and I shrug. Kate hands one back to him and he slowly peels it from top to bottom and offers it back to Kate who takes a bite out of it. She smiles effusively and says it is delicious. She has about eight of these stemmed beauties on her plate. She offers one to me. I decline to no one's surprise. I will die a picky eater. She then offers one to Marj and Kevin. They both accept. Kate says to them they are delicious! Yes. They smile in agreement. Would you like another one. They both decline. Kate wonderfully cleans her plate. She leaves behind the stems. It is an overall delightful experience. Kate asks if she can take a photo. They all line up. Kate beams as she takes the photo of the wonderful family. Alas. There was not sufficient light so we will not be able share it with you.
We descend down gelato row and take the "funicular." it is an enclosed mode of transportation something like you might see in a Grace Kelly movie from the fifties if she was being lifted up a ski slope. Except the cars are all connected and they are all at a 20 degree angles built into the side of a hill and it is underground like a subway. You pay a fare to get on. It is much quicker than walking up and down some of these hills.
LEAVING NAPOLI
Day 10/11 was a traveling day:always exhausting and illuminating. I think Kevin was packed and ready to go before the rest of us were out of bed.we leave at 10:15 and make it down the six levels of switchback steps without destroying our luggage. We are seasoned ticket buyers at the Metro window and purchase un ticket to Sorrento for less than 5 Euro. We squeeze onto the intra Naopli tren without too much difficulty. We split up because of our luggage.
We make it to Garibaldi station without much difficulty. We as a group are quite amusing when it comes to deciding which way to go: always there are two contradictory thoughts. Marj decisively turned to the right and we followed. We make it to the correct Binario (track). There were no clear signs that told us when the Sorrento tren arrived. By the time I found it, a decision had been made to board the next train. We all embarked. I made a query and was told this was not the correct train for Sorrento. I tried to get off to no avail. No matter, a gentleman who spoke only Italian gave us directions. Once again we were flying about what to do next: get off next stop, do this, do that. We stayed and followed the gent's original directions. He actually was getting off at the change over stop.
We changed trains and I pulled my luggage into a new car. It was very crowded and I attempted to stuff my bag into the overhead. The folks who sat beneath where I was trying to push in my bag were very nervous and assured me my bag was going to come crashing down upon their heads. They prevailed upon me to place my bag in the adjacent seat where no one could sit anyway, because they had placed their bags where one normally would place your feet. I sat down tiredly and closed my eyes. When I opened them, i realized Kate was across the aisle seated to my right. Opposite her was an Englishman who graciously stuffed her bag precariously in her overhead. The anxious couple in front of me could hardly breathe because they were convinced the bag was going to come crashing down. "It's moving" the woman must have said, five times during the remainder of the trip. "I am sure it has moved." The Englishman laughed and said it will brain me if It falls. Kate chatted up her three seat mates and then started talking to the anxious duo. It was good because it took their minds off the falling suitcase. Kate asked where they were from. The woman answered Colorado for the last six years. They had migrated from New Jersey. (Kate said, "Colorado with that jersey accent. Give me a break.") Kate asked if they missed NJ? The woman answered, only the food. No good Italian food there....
We arrive at Sorrento and must now take the Sita bus Sud to Priano. We purchase tickets and are soon boarding a packed bus to the south and Priano. Kate asked me to check with the driver to make sure it was the correct bus. It seems my Italian is getting better by the minute. I ask if we are going to Priano and he answers with another P word that is similar to Priano. Kate asks me again, "is this the correct bus." I shrug and say I think so which may have been a dangerous assumption. It is and we have placed our bags beneath the bus a la C&J. We stop every few minutes to add more passengers. 15 minutes later the bus driver pulls over and gets off without saying a word. After a few minutes others follow his lead. Someone opens up the luggage area beneath the bus and we remove our bags. Our driver saunters to the other side of the road. I forgot to mention from Sorrento south the road becomes this treacherous two way winding switchback type of road that even motorcycles go slowly on. Not our driver until he had to pull over. As the passengers line the side of the road we realize the bus has broken down. Our driver is a slim, handsome, balding man who has been driving tourists far too long. I fear he thinks sharing information with them is beneath him. He is neither disdainful nor arrogant. He just ignores us. 15 or 20 minutes later another smaller bus shows up. Time is difficult to measure when you are standing cluelessly on the side of a road in a foreign country not sure what is going on. I mention to my companions that I have taken the Fung Wah bus which is famous for breaking down. Kevin goes into his best Asian dialect describing the dangers of taking that bus. Behind him stands this young woman who may have been Chinese. God help us all. As we start to board the new bus Kevin and I attempt to place our bags in the luggage area beneath the bus. We are now standing in the middle do the road. The driver now speaks to us for the first since our break down to tell us we can't place our bags beneath the bus. Our bags are"piccolo" too small. Only larga bags allowed. So we lug our bags onto the bus. There are no seats. I stand with my bag between my feet and two carryons pulling down on my shoulders. My bag is too larga to fit into the overhead. The bus swings from the left side to the right side as we switchback on and on. Only pausing to let on more and more passengers. Finally, someone leaves near me and I can take a seat and keep two of my bags with me. I had taken off one after I feared self decapitation as the bus swung back and forth. I didn't dare leave my seat but I nervously kept my eye on the bag lest I forget it. More people got on. One couple squeezed on and the woman looked at her partner and said unsmiling, this reminds me of India. She was Indian.
Now the last part of adventure began. Where was Priano? Where to get off. A family from England were so supposed to get off at Positano, the town before Priano. They failed miserably. Our driver never speaks to us so we are unable discern where we are without looking out the windows for signage. Ahh said the English man perhaps we should have gotten off here, as the bus whizzed by. Let's get off the next stop intoned someone. A local persona got on and heard all of the chatter. She said you have missed your stop. Turn around and go back. They said okay they will grab a cab. She said no, no, no insistently. The cab very expensive. Take the next bus. Ha ha. Kate or Marj asked about Bar de Sole in Priano. She said, Si. Si. It is coming up. We got off the next stop 40 feet from the Bar.
I purchase a cappuccino even though it was late afternoon and a delightful looking torte for 2.8e. An assistant to the manager arrives and takes Marj and Phil and most of our luggage in her four seater with a trunk. She has no room for the rest of us. This is a potential problem I have been fearing prior to the start of the trip. How are we going to find a car large enough for all of us and our luggage? I finish my delightful snack. Marj and Phil return and we walk perhaps 300m to our villa. Only the last 60 meters is steep. The place is absolutely gorgeous. The view in particular is just spectacular.
I am pooped and have to post this entry before the Internet cafe closes. Okay the villa isn't perfect. All I have to say is I have a room of my own. Grazia.
Day 12 - we all arise early even Kate who has proven to be the most intrepid among us once she gets sufficient rest.
She is a monster on the trails. One day on her relentless effort to visit every church in Italy she visited the church on the hill in Priano. She takes her time and passes crosses marking the spot where less hardy folk have failed and I guess were buried on the spot. Kate finds out later she has been passing stations of the cross. She successfully completed all 14 for you non Catholic readers. K&K press on. An older man (obviously a show off) shares with them he does their trek in a fraction of the time it took them. Kate is a guest in his country so she neither kicks him nor spits on him for his unsolicited bragging.
Today they went off on a rather rigorous hike. I know the views are glorious but I'd rather be regaled by my sweaty comrades as they recount their adventures going up one side and down the other hill/mt.
I on the other hand am resting peacefully in our villa. It took a lot out of me getting on the bus to Positano this a.m. It was my job to scout out one of the local beaches cited in one of the omnipresent guidebooks. I successfully achieved that task without a map. I have received a few slings and arrows because I have approached this adventure sans Rick Stevens or Fodor. They still say prego. That is they still welcome me to break bread with them in the evenings.
The trip to the beach was successful. The motto for the bus drivers here "there is always room for one more." I got on the completely full bus and the driver encouraged people to move closer together in the aisles. One particularly boorish English speaking person told his wife to switch places with him because he'd "bloody well could make more room. They might well be snug as a bug, but they were positioned incorrectly." I think they must have been married a long time. She ignored his entreaties. Then four more people attempted to get on. He said no to the last two. They begged him and he relented. He stopped after permitting one more smiling youth to board.
After switching back and forth and back and forth for the next 10 km, the driver announced Positano. The boorish English speaker just stood there. I looked him in the eye and said "Positano." He finally moved to let me pass. As I crossed the street dodging cars, motorbikes and scooters, I could see the beach in the distance.
(Has anyone discussed crossing the streets in Italy. I think Phil said it best the first day "he who hesitates capitulates." You have to charge out into the moving traffic. The first time it is little nerve wracking to be in the middle of the road with the scooters flying by you. They stop for no one. They do go around you. None of us has come close to being struck by a car.)
****BULLETIN BULLETIN ***
Marj has just returned from rigorous walk/hike/penance. It doesn't look like god is on her side. It was quite warm today. She looks depleted. An hour or so later I run into the other troopers who have consumed pizza and alcohol and seem quite refreshed. As soon as they return home they head for the mattresses. Luca is no where to be found.
*********************BULLETIN OVER*******
An aside ...While in Napoli, we took a delightful underground tour in a WWII bomb shelter which had originally been constructed as part of the Roman aqueducts or something. This is not one of my areas of interest. Someone else will have to give you the cultural background. I just do people. Live people and their actions. Our guide was this delightful leftist/progressive who had us howling as he took us through the various places which at times were incredibly tight. Let me say that a plus sized male or female would have had great difficulty going thorough some of the openings. It was really a bit much. One German person said you should put up warning signs regarding size limitations and claustrophobia. The skinny guide smiled and pushed through another small orifice. I mention him not for his terrific politics: he derisively mentioned Regan and the Bushes. Ws inability to say nuclear properly. But, he said he loved how American films depicted supposed Italian accents like Al Pacino: hence the Luca reference. He also loved Boston (lots of Italians there he said) and San Francisco.
I made it across the street and head downhill as my villa mates were still trudging uphill somewhere away from the cool ocean breeze. They don't envy me and I am happy for them. At the end of a long 30 degree sloping path (30 degrees is pretty much the norm around here) that seems to empty into a rush hour crowd of people getting off the T in a hurry to make their next connection. I am able to dive into this pool of humanity without injuring myself. I am swept away (not Lina Wertmuller style) through a gauntlet of high end shops. The crowd is eventually going to the beach thought it thins out as we get loser to sand and water. People are picked off by high couture clothing shops and cafés that seek to quench that early morning thirst for mimosas, daiquiris, and other alcoholic beverages.
The setting is exquisite: houses and villas built on top of each other have been carved out of the hillsides. It some what resembles a wedding cake but real people live there. How real are they! I take off my shoes and walk half way to the water and sit on the warm black sand. I wear a dashing straw hat that Kevin assured me does not look foolish on my head. There are several dozen folks in front of me: mostly Italians and Europeans. The men wear the delightfully tiny bathing suits and the women wear what ever they want. A large expanse of bosom is not frowned upon. People changing their bathing suits on the beach with towels around themselves is quite common: a glimpse of a well turned or flaccid breast or a shriveled penis is quite the norm. I stretch out my legs and I am quite glad I have my hat as the sun starts to heat up my arms. I look at the sea which is mainly empty and think better of going In with my shorts. I rest my eyes for a few minutes and am jolted into an alert state by the sound of a growing cacophony of young female voices: mostly American. During the next 20 minutes I am engulfed not only by their sounds but also their bodies. By the time I leave only a few inches of sand separate me from them: it is old orchard beach, Hampton Beach, Salisbury Beach. It is too much. I had planned on only staying for two hours anyway. I have a half hour to go to experience their smells and their chatter. The sight of their post nubile bodies does not compensate for the latter. The clock ticks slowly. "I love your hat. Where did you get it. No. Your top looks great on you. I have one just like it. Target," her friend replies. "Me too." "Shiela got so drunk last night. I think she blacked out. Did you hear the things she was saying to those boys. It is creepier here when they surround you. One of them slapped my ass. In Milan it was different. Yes and there were more of us. Two daiquiris coming up. I couldn't drink a thing after last night. Oh come on. They slurp simultaneously as I get up to leave.
The sand is very hot now and I only have 20 minutes to get back up the hill to catch my return bus at 12:30. "Can you take our picture," ask two young women. I smile, click and continue up the hill. At the apex of the street there is a crowd. This is the bus stop. I chat convivially with two Brits. The return bus to Priano arrives we all crowd around it. I can climb in the back door but I decide to go for the front door. To the driver I say "pree-ano?" "Pri - ano," he replies. No amalfi. Si I agree and climb on the bus. No Amalfi he repeats several times to the passengers on the bus. Priano. No Amalfi. Priano. Half of the bus gets off. "When is the Amalfi bus?" "Soon. The next bus." Ahhh. It is a pleasurable ride back to Priano.
Wednesday, May 21, 2014
Kevin: Driving Napoli-style
Driving in Naples: Some Initial Impressions
The style of driving in Naples is a lot like that in Bangkok...a dodge'em-like affair that makes driving in American cities look like a minuet at the Versailles palace. However here are some differences and particular qualities to their driving style:
1 The almost religious-like devotion to the power of the horn to avert certain tragedy. Exactly how the Italian drivers know which blast is directed at them--and their next move--is not clear. More on the use of horns below.
2 The ample evidence that the Italian drivers are, well, not very accomplished. A cars in the city, no matter how expensive and new, are riddled with the bruises of multiple collisions. Any ornamentation or mechanical that sticks out an inch is probably knocked off during the car's maiden voyage. A line of traffic looks like a collection of giant balls of aluminum foil tumbling and bouncing up and down the steep inclines.
3 Like the Thai, the Italians missed the memo that explains that motorcycles and scooters are two person sport vehicles. They take the whole family out for a spin on them in rush hour traffic without a helmet in sight. What better place to breast feed the bambino than a crowded, twisting cobblestone road at a 35 degree angle? Anyone want something to eat?
4. Here's the odd part: unlike the Thais who plow through a sidewalk full of pedestrians like a bowling ball heading for a split eagle, the Napolitano driver will actually make way for a pedestrian waiting beside the road....but only if that person shows the courage and confidence to step directly in the path of the tiny, battered vehicle whose driver signals his attention and intention to let you pass with a screeching blare of his or her horn while he or she uses the pause to light up a butt.
The style of driving in Naples is a lot like that in Bangkok...a dodge'em-like affair that makes driving in American cities look like a minuet at the Versailles palace. However here are some differences and particular qualities to their driving style:
1 The almost religious-like devotion to the power of the horn to avert certain tragedy. Exactly how the Italian drivers know which blast is directed at them--and their next move--is not clear. More on the use of horns below.
2 The ample evidence that the Italian drivers are, well, not very accomplished. A cars in the city, no matter how expensive and new, are riddled with the bruises of multiple collisions. Any ornamentation or mechanical that sticks out an inch is probably knocked off during the car's maiden voyage. A line of traffic looks like a collection of giant balls of aluminum foil tumbling and bouncing up and down the steep inclines.
3 Like the Thai, the Italians missed the memo that explains that motorcycles and scooters are two person sport vehicles. They take the whole family out for a spin on them in rush hour traffic without a helmet in sight. What better place to breast feed the bambino than a crowded, twisting cobblestone road at a 35 degree angle? Anyone want something to eat?
4. Here's the odd part: unlike the Thais who plow through a sidewalk full of pedestrians like a bowling ball heading for a split eagle, the Napolitano driver will actually make way for a pedestrian waiting beside the road....but only if that person shows the courage and confidence to step directly in the path of the tiny, battered vehicle whose driver signals his attention and intention to let you pass with a screeching blare of his or her horn while he or she uses the pause to light up a butt.
Kevin: Traveling with Friends: what we have learned thus far.
Traveling with five people....First five random thoughts.
Making the decision to travel with others, even very old friends is the vacation equivalent of visiting a dog park in the dark. Sooner or later you'll be stepping in shit unless you're careful. Every day of the trip is a new learning experience so midway through the trip, here are a few thoughts about this dubious enterprise.
1. Each person in the group always has an agenda....When you ask " Well, what would you like to do today?" and the answer is "I'm open to anything!" keep digging because that.person will bring up his/her real answer later once the logistics have been laid out and you're heading out the door. "Maybe we should....."
2. Standards will be lowered and before you know it someone is peeing while you're showering in a very small Italian-style bathroom. Honest.
3. Get several keys to wherever you're staying and bring them on full group jaunts. Someone always poops out especially if the situation described in number one above has been part of the planning process.
4. Group think becomes a perilous eventuality. Like, sooner or later fatigue will set in and everyone will agree that the luncheon spot called "Little Paradise" two feet from the exit of the Pompeii ruins would be a great place for authentic Italian cuisine....and at least one time during the meal each member will say, despite ample and obvious evidence, "you know this is really good!" All believe what they are saying for only the briefest of seconds.
5. Borrowing soon becomes rampant. As the group travels from place to place, individual members contribute to a bread crumb trail of forgotten items, adaptor , shirts and jackets, bus tickets. This leads to a series of statements that all begin "Can I use your.......? (The question mark is mere etiquette : the statement is a demand.)
Making the decision to travel with others, even very old friends is the vacation equivalent of visiting a dog park in the dark. Sooner or later you'll be stepping in shit unless you're careful. Every day of the trip is a new learning experience so midway through the trip, here are a few thoughts about this dubious enterprise.
1. Each person in the group always has an agenda....When you ask " Well, what would you like to do today?" and the answer is "I'm open to anything!" keep digging because that.person will bring up his/her real answer later once the logistics have been laid out and you're heading out the door. "Maybe we should....."
2. Standards will be lowered and before you know it someone is peeing while you're showering in a very small Italian-style bathroom. Honest.
3. Get several keys to wherever you're staying and bring them on full group jaunts. Someone always poops out especially if the situation described in number one above has been part of the planning process.
4. Group think becomes a perilous eventuality. Like, sooner or later fatigue will set in and everyone will agree that the luncheon spot called "Little Paradise" two feet from the exit of the Pompeii ruins would be a great place for authentic Italian cuisine....and at least one time during the meal each member will say, despite ample and obvious evidence, "you know this is really good!" All believe what they are saying for only the briefest of seconds.
5. Borrowing soon becomes rampant. As the group travels from place to place, individual members contribute to a bread crumb trail of forgotten items, adaptor , shirts and jackets, bus tickets. This leads to a series of statements that all begin "Can I use your.......? (The question mark is mere etiquette : the statement is a demand.)
Tuesday, May 20, 2014
Monday, May 19, 2014
Marj:Tyranneus's Third Maxim
On our last lovely evening in Trastavere we decided to visit the nearby Museo di Roma in Trastavere, two minutes away from our little dwelling place, just on the other side of the piazza. And so we did, 4 iPads, and a GPS positioning later, thus proving Tyrannous's third maxim: the complexity of any plan is in inverse proportion to the simplicity of the goal.
Kevin: In, around and under Naples.
The travelogue shorts that used to come between the features in a double bill at the Strand Theater often started with narrator intoning the cliche " (insert name of country, city, continent) is a study in contrasts. " so begins our posting here with "Naples" in between the parentheses.
I recognize that a day and a half is probably too soon to be making generalizations but I have been to few places with such a large and vivid personality than Naples. Since randomness is a sub theme here are some telling details that may help convey the flavor of this city.
1 Pietro, our first cabbie who took his attention off the demolition derby/suicidal death march that is Napolitarian traffic to show us the tattoo of Vesuvius on his bicep. (Flexing simulated the eruption and subsequent lava flow. Marj has pictures.
2. The Sunday afternoon "paggiata" a gathering of all levels of Napoli society on the promenade of the bay. Essentially, all levels of the social strata congregate in front of the spectacular harbor vista to eat trashy Italian treats, totter on high heels, smoke, flirt, make out, and drive all manner of odd rented vehicles --bicycles built for four, go- carts, and radio controlled cars for infants.
3.A day walking through Spaccanapoli, the old town...tiny, narrow, cobbled streets flanked with four and five story stucco buildings with balconies overflowing with plants, flowers, and laundry. In between the daily lives of residents are the spectacular array of baroque, medieval and Greek churches and ruins. Views into the kitchens of folks on the ground floors. A street devoted to crèche scene supplies. Imagine the opportunity to add Barak Obama and Kate and Will Windsor to your nativity scene!
4. A couple of hours 35 kms under the city, crawling through "Napoli soutterranea"
the ancient caverns that have served as the source of building materials , water system, and air raid shelters during WWII. Happy to make the cut when those to fat to squeeze through the narrowest passages had to stay behind. Celebrated by ordering full pizzas for all for lunch.
4. A evening stroll up the hills to where the rich live in mansions hanging off the sides of hills overlooking the teeming steamy, moldy city below. Coming across a breathtaking scenic vista of the city , the bay and the shore with the Sorrento coast glittering behind both. Noticing that I was sharing the vista with a super sized memorial to Mother Teresa...a bigger than live sized bust. Too lost in the most beautiful city and sea panorama to mind sharing it with that lying bitch.
I recognize that a day and a half is probably too soon to be making generalizations but I have been to few places with such a large and vivid personality than Naples. Since randomness is a sub theme here are some telling details that may help convey the flavor of this city.
1 Pietro, our first cabbie who took his attention off the demolition derby/suicidal death march that is Napolitarian traffic to show us the tattoo of Vesuvius on his bicep. (Flexing simulated the eruption and subsequent lava flow. Marj has pictures.
2. The Sunday afternoon "paggiata" a gathering of all levels of Napoli society on the promenade of the bay. Essentially, all levels of the social strata congregate in front of the spectacular harbor vista to eat trashy Italian treats, totter on high heels, smoke, flirt, make out, and drive all manner of odd rented vehicles --bicycles built for four, go- carts, and radio controlled cars for infants.
3.A day walking through Spaccanapoli, the old town...tiny, narrow, cobbled streets flanked with four and five story stucco buildings with balconies overflowing with plants, flowers, and laundry. In between the daily lives of residents are the spectacular array of baroque, medieval and Greek churches and ruins. Views into the kitchens of folks on the ground floors. A street devoted to crèche scene supplies. Imagine the opportunity to add Barak Obama and Kate and Will Windsor to your nativity scene!
4. A couple of hours 35 kms under the city, crawling through "Napoli soutterranea"
the ancient caverns that have served as the source of building materials , water system, and air raid shelters during WWII. Happy to make the cut when those to fat to squeeze through the narrowest passages had to stay behind. Celebrated by ordering full pizzas for all for lunch.
4. A evening stroll up the hills to where the rich live in mansions hanging off the sides of hills overlooking the teeming steamy, moldy city below. Coming across a breathtaking scenic vista of the city , the bay and the shore with the Sorrento coast glittering behind both. Noticing that I was sharing the vista with a super sized memorial to Mother Teresa...a bigger than live sized bust. Too lost in the most beautiful city and sea panorama to mind sharing it with that lying bitch.
Sunday, May 18, 2014
The first post by Brooks
The first post by Brooks
Day 1 - it begins with an almost empty C&J bus. We stretch out seats to ourselves. Logan - many of us are eating delicious air terminal food. We are obviously anxious for the trip to begin. My seat companion on the plane is a very handsome bearded young man who holds in his lap several comforting animals: a soft floppy eared white rabbit and an equally beautiful puppy dog. I can sense the snarky comments flying already. Phil appropriately surmised he was afraid of flying. He was a wonderful traveling companion. For those of you who want more intimate details you can email me at Godlovesallhischildren@gmail.com. Be careful sinners - it is a real site
Day 2 - Phil has informed be that there is something called the 14 stations of the cross. Little did I know I would be traveling that route. Daniel Brown would be proud of me. I have been near and in more churches in 24 hours than I had previously been in a life time. As a lad I used to go the Immaculate Concepcion on Gun Hill Road in the Bronx and be mesmerized by the Latin Masses. I always missed taking communion and confession. My second wish was granted when a lay priest took my confession. I trembled with delight as my traveling companion purchased some holy water for one Euro.
Day 1 - it begins with an almost empty C&J bus. We stretch out seats to ourselves. Logan - many of us are eating delicious air terminal food. We are obviously anxious for the trip to begin. My seat companion on the plane is a very handsome bearded young man who holds in his lap several comforting animals: a soft floppy eared white rabbit and an equally beautiful puppy dog. I can sense the snarky comments flying already. Phil appropriately surmised he was afraid of flying. He was a wonderful traveling companion. For those of you who want more intimate details you can email me at Godlovesallhischildren@gmail.com. Be careful sinners - it is a real site
Day 2 - Phil has informed be that there is something called the 14 stations of the cross. Little did I know I would be traveling that route. Daniel Brown would be proud of me. I have been near and in more churches in 24 hours than I had previously been in a life time. As a lad I used to go the Immaculate Concepcion on Gun Hill Road in the Bronx and be mesmerized by the Latin Masses. I always missed taking communion and confession. My second wish was granted when a lay priest took my confession. I trembled with delight as my traveling companion purchased some holy water for one Euro.
Saturday, May 17, 2014
Kevin: Last Night in Trastavere
Saturday, last night in Trastevere .....more randomness.
One of the things I like least about traveling is that once you have the hellish parts of a leg of your journey done--finding where you are going, which way is north, where there are public toilets for Kate--one has to pack up and start all over again.
This is especially hard when one has answered positively the essential question about the place--could I live here? To be truthful , the only place I ever concluded I couldn't live was Detroit in February , but the answer for Trastevere is a resounding yes...especially after experiencing a Saturday night in the Piazza Santa Maria. Apparently no one is home on a Saturday night in Rome--they all knot a scarf around their neck, slip into tiny black jeans and uncomfortable shoes, and head out to mill about, watch street performers (clowns!) chatter, smoke, and,of course, eat five course meals in the open air. I'm wondering if the alfresco part of their eating habits is responsible for the miraculous lack of avoirdupois on this demographic, Where do the pasta calories go... To the thighs of German tourists?
Anyway just when I have imagined every aspect of my life as a Trastaverian, (how thin I get!) it's time to forget important personal items and roll the luggage away to the next stop. Lost some sleep last night worrying about getting the horde to the train station needlessly early
One of the things I like least about traveling is that once you have the hellish parts of a leg of your journey done--finding where you are going, which way is north, where there are public toilets for Kate--one has to pack up and start all over again.
This is especially hard when one has answered positively the essential question about the place--could I live here? To be truthful , the only place I ever concluded I couldn't live was Detroit in February , but the answer for Trastevere is a resounding yes...especially after experiencing a Saturday night in the Piazza Santa Maria. Apparently no one is home on a Saturday night in Rome--they all knot a scarf around their neck, slip into tiny black jeans and uncomfortable shoes, and head out to mill about, watch street performers (clowns!) chatter, smoke, and,of course, eat five course meals in the open air. I'm wondering if the alfresco part of their eating habits is responsible for the miraculous lack of avoirdupois on this demographic, Where do the pasta calories go... To the thighs of German tourists?
Anyway just when I have imagined every aspect of my life as a Trastaverian, (how thin I get!) it's time to forget important personal items and roll the luggage away to the next stop. Lost some sleep last night worrying about getting the horde to the train station needlessly early
Kevin: Random events from Friday and Saturday in Roma
The chronology of these posts makes no sense. Sorry. so much map reading to do, it,s hard to keep on a writing schedule. Since we can't get a handle on it, I think we'll just include the word "random" in all the titles.
Spent the beautiful day on Saturday with several hundred thousand of our fellow ancient history buffs--and minus two of out favorites--doing the Palantine hill and Roman forum which we missed last time. Luckily the ruins are spacious and commodious especially since Phil and Brooks decide watching tourists mill about the Colosseum beats wandering through the debris of the ancient civilization and bailed out on the excursion early.
Phil is pondering a career dressing up as a centurion and posing with tourists for a small fee. He's concerned about why he would he put under "occupation" on forms, however. Faux Roman?
Brooks continues to spend all his time avoiding museums and churches which is odd for someone traveling in a country where both are as common as Starbucks in Seattle.
In what is something of a tradition, Kevin takes time out of all this culture to force the group (minus Brooks, of course, to see an comprehensive retrospective of Andy Warhol and an exhibit of the 70's celebrity photos of Terry O'Neill. The last time I was in Rome I saw an exhibit of Grace Kelly's belongings so this counts and a step up or a further slide down the taste scale depending on your opinion whether a photo of Audrey Hepburn sunning herself in a bathing cap counts as culture.
I know what side I come down on.
Kate isn't writing much this trip..she's too busy making first name basis friends with the locals. as Marj and write we hear we hear a joyous reunion between she and our waitress of two nights ago. I think tears were being shed..of joy, of course.
Spent the beautiful day on Saturday with several hundred thousand of our fellow ancient history buffs--and minus two of out favorites--doing the Palantine hill and Roman forum which we missed last time. Luckily the ruins are spacious and commodious especially since Phil and Brooks decide watching tourists mill about the Colosseum beats wandering through the debris of the ancient civilization and bailed out on the excursion early.
Phil is pondering a career dressing up as a centurion and posing with tourists for a small fee. He's concerned about why he would he put under "occupation" on forms, however. Faux Roman?
Brooks continues to spend all his time avoiding museums and churches which is odd for someone traveling in a country where both are as common as Starbucks in Seattle.
In what is something of a tradition, Kevin takes time out of all this culture to force the group (minus Brooks, of course, to see an comprehensive retrospective of Andy Warhol and an exhibit of the 70's celebrity photos of Terry O'Neill. The last time I was in Rome I saw an exhibit of Grace Kelly's belongings so this counts and a step up or a further slide down the taste scale depending on your opinion whether a photo of Audrey Hepburn sunning herself in a bathing cap counts as culture.
I know what side I come down on.
Kate isn't writing much this trip..she's too busy making first name basis friends with the locals. as Marj and write we hear we hear a joyous reunion between she and our waitress of two nights ago. I think tears were being shed..of joy, of course.
Kevin: Getting our feet wet, setting the travel guidelines
Trusting that Marj will make good on her previous promise to describe our first big meal at "Medionale" a tiny eatery fifty feet from out front (automated!) gate, I'll skip to our second day in the "Eternal City." I am currently very relieved to hear Marj and Phil stirring from their late day nap after enduring their first day of the forced march Kate and I like to call "seeing the sites." (We lost Brooks three quarters of the way through when he bailed and went home, violating the rule of visiting at least one museum a day.
He'll pay for that tomorrow.
He'll pay for that tomorrow.
Friday, May 16, 2014
First Day Thoughts (Group Post)
Kevin here
Group splits to pursue individual needs.
Phil and Marjorie have an early morning date with the Pope. Kevin and Kate sleep until 11:00, having a long-standing aversion to aging Argentinian cross dressers. (Is it the age, the nationality, or the drag outfits? Perhaps a combination of all three. I hope Marj's post will help us answer the question.)
Brooks ventures out for an early morning neighbor stroll. Actually returns.
Kevin, Kate and Brooks walk Trastavere, the Jewish ghetto, and assorted ruins. Not actually together...Kevin sees all sites 100 yards ahead of Kate and Brooks who stroll and chat and make fun of Kevin's directional handicap.
Marj adding my two cents - our day differed from the above. I don't have a clue about the cross dressers. Fellini reference (?)
Why would anyone have to suffer from insomnia the night after an overnight flight? Virtually no sleep and what is fair about that?
So Phil and Marj are up at 5 and off to the Vatican. Actually the Pope makes a favorable first impression, introducing himself - like we didn't know (!) - and chatting about how much he likes and admires Elizabeth Warren. I liked him immediately (I think it was reciprocated) and was okay with the 17 million acres of gilding, it's for a good cause.
A magnificent dinner later on. Needs a post unto itself.
After dinner a stroll to the neighborhood gathering spot, the Piazza Santa Maria, where musicians play in the afternoon ( see photo from previous post showing musicians, also one from inside the church). Last night a young woman was performing with flaming baton-like torches, dancing beautifully encircled by her own whirling arms wielding fire.
Thursday, May 15, 2014
Kevin: Random thoughts on modern travel
Belated Posting: travel in the new millennium .
I think we are all aware that aside from genital mutilation, 9/11 and the kidnapping of Nigerian schoolgirls, the worst horrors visited on civilization by The Nation of Islam the total removal of the glamour and sophistication from air travel.
However, the airlines themselves, in the effort to squeeze every last dime from their commodity, bear some of the blame. British airways offered the opportunity to choose our seats slightly earlier than the rest of the cattle here in steerage.
Some random thoughts as we taxi down the runway:
Why does checking a bag feel for all the world like you're saying farewell to the clothes you love most in the world?
Why don't airlines rethink the boarding procedure in light of the new seats in first class?Boarding the rich first means that they now must lie in their aviation Barcoloungers under microfiber blankets while the less fortunate lumber by with their carry-ons . They look for all the world like they are giving blood , not reaping the benefits of income inequality.
Boarding procedures are an interesting part of the flight experience . What's
interesting is that while we know they do this procedure multiple times a day, every day of the year, it looks like they are test driving a new procedure every time a plane is boarded.
O
I think we are all aware that aside from genital mutilation, 9/11 and the kidnapping of Nigerian schoolgirls, the worst horrors visited on civilization by The Nation of Islam the total removal of the glamour and sophistication from air travel.
However, the airlines themselves, in the effort to squeeze every last dime from their commodity, bear some of the blame. British airways offered the opportunity to choose our seats slightly earlier than the rest of the cattle here in steerage.
Some random thoughts as we taxi down the runway:
Why does checking a bag feel for all the world like you're saying farewell to the clothes you love most in the world?
Why don't airlines rethink the boarding procedure in light of the new seats in first class?Boarding the rich first means that they now must lie in their aviation Barcoloungers under microfiber blankets while the less fortunate lumber by with their carry-ons . They look for all the world like they are giving blood , not reaping the benefits of income inequality.
Boarding procedures are an interesting part of the flight experience . What's
interesting is that while we know they do this procedure multiple times a day, every day of the year, it looks like they are test driving a new procedure every time a plane is boarded.
O
Thursday, May 8, 2014
: THE "INNOCENTS ABROAD IN SOUTHERN ITALY "
PLACEMENT TEST
Multiple Choice
Why another travel blog ?
a.What better way is there to share one's happy adventures with loved ones back home.?.
b. What's the use of a spending all this fucking money on a vacation if it doesn't make others envious?
c. We're afraid we'll have a great time and forget all the fun we had.
d. What was the question?.
Matching
Who are these intrepid travelers? Draw a line between the name of the person and the description that best suits him/her.
Marjorie cranky, stressed, bitter over real or imagined slights, fun to be around
Phil cranky, stressed, bitter over real or imagined slights, fun to be around
Brooks cranky, stressed, bitter over real or imagined slights, fun to be around
Kate cranky, stressed, bitter over real or imagined slights, fun to be around
Kevin cranky, stressed, bitter over real and imagined slights, fun to be around
True or False?
____There is no better was to kill a decades old friendship than to plan and execute a three week trip.
____Execute is a good word to use when describing this endeavor.
Short Essay:
In a well organized paragraph of no fewer than 200 words, describe all the bad things that could happen when five people with deeply ingrained and inevitably annoying personal habits, a wide variety of physical ailments, and a smattering of non-human body parts,decide that three weeks in close quarters, on public transportation, and in each others way is just what's needed to "get way from it all."
PLACEMENT TEST
Multiple Choice
Why another travel blog ?
a.What better way is there to share one's happy adventures with loved ones back home.?.
b. What's the use of a spending all this fucking money on a vacation if it doesn't make others envious?
c. We're afraid we'll have a great time and forget all the fun we had.
d. What was the question?.
Matching
Who are these intrepid travelers? Draw a line between the name of the person and the description that best suits him/her.
Marjorie cranky, stressed, bitter over real or imagined slights, fun to be around
Phil cranky, stressed, bitter over real or imagined slights, fun to be around
Brooks cranky, stressed, bitter over real or imagined slights, fun to be around
Kate cranky, stressed, bitter over real or imagined slights, fun to be around
Kevin cranky, stressed, bitter over real and imagined slights, fun to be around
True or False?
____There is no better was to kill a decades old friendship than to plan and execute a three week trip.
____Execute is a good word to use when describing this endeavor.
Short Essay:
In a well organized paragraph of no fewer than 200 words, describe all the bad things that could happen when five people with deeply ingrained and inevitably annoying personal habits, a wide variety of physical ailments, and a smattering of non-human body parts,decide that three weeks in close quarters, on public transportation, and in each others way is just what's needed to "get way from it all."
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