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.
No comments:
Post a Comment