Greetings from Bari, on the east coast of Italy. Writing this from an Internet cafe what is painted a warm pumpkin shade. I am happy to discover most of the keyboard is the same–not always true.
On Sunday, we returned from Pompeii to see the archeological mu
seum, but it turned out that they didn’t
take credit cards so we had to walk back to the hotel, down a long, long hill crammed with people who were evidently on their way to Sunday dinner at Nonaàs house or maybe Mama’s. Every person in Napoli must have been in those streets–mothers with strollers and high heels and bountiful cleavage, boys with tight button up shirts, girls walking five abreast in their sexiest clothes, all holding hands and giggling.
Entire families on mopeds–mom, dad, two babies in between–and a river of small cars and mopeds and motorcycles clogging every lane and alley and street, honking, swerving, pushing through. One learns to take a quick look but also just keep moving; astonishingly, we did not see a single fender bender or even any evidence of such, though parking does seem to net a few scrapes. Our hotel was right on the bay, a block or so away from Castel Dell’Ovo, which is castle of the egg. It is a giant, largely empty Norman castle that was practically deserted except for the brides, all dressed in their frothy yards of sequins and tulle and net and satin posing against the keep, at the doorway, on the turrets. We saw a genuinely bizarre number of brides—I am not exaggerating when I put the number at twenty over the course of the day. Maybe it is that way every Saturday, or perhaps it is lucky to marry on the 22 of September. I don’t know.
ay, when we walked back to the museum, the streets were utterly deserted. Me. Neal, a couple of dogs and a few other tourists. By the time we visited the museum (crowded with cruise ship passengers—1000 cruise ships stopped here last year, and they’re well on the way to breaking that number this year) and came back down, people were trickling out again.
was blown out in 79 AD.
ressed in a suit and red tie, thick salt and pepper hair cut perfectly and brushed away from his very Italian face, a big nose and sharp chin and twinkling eyes. We asked about guide. He said over his shoulder. °I know a guy.° I laughed and nudged Neal, because in Pueblo the only way to really get things done is to know a guy, or have your neighbor know a guy who knows a guy. Mike winked at me over his shoulder. °We say here °guido.° he said °guido.°
PS I’m editing some of these blogs a little, to add art and clear up some of the typos from posting in internet cafes. True to the spirit, if not the letter, of blogging.
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I’ve been there! It is incredible.
Did you make it to Herculaneum as well?
We were in Napoli and Sorrento around the Easter season – which we discovered was not the best time to travel in Italy. Between strikes and holidays and just ‘shoulder-shrugging no reason, just becauses’, the trains and buses stranded us a couple times and we spent several days longer than we planned in Sorrento.
You must read, “Falling Palace” I can’t remember the author’s name, but it is a memoir about his time in Naples. The prolouge alone is worth buying the book for. He describes laying in bed and the boisterous noise of the city floating around him and surrounding his dreams.
I lived in Naples for three years. It is a place unto itself. Dirty, beautiful, welcoming, and tricky. It holds a special place in my heart, along with New Orleans, another “complicated” port city.
It has been several decades since I visited Pompeii and nearby Ostia. I have a photo of my Latin teacher sitting on the public toilets in Ostia. One big room stone building with what amounted to a stone slab, with holes cut into it and placed across a stone “box” over a large pit. A communal outhouse where discussions took place while you “did your business”. No privacy at all. That is the most vivid memory of that day’s excursion. I think it disgusted me as I imagined the awful stink of such a place. I would love to see Pompeii again, but from what I’ve heard, it has become more tourist-y. Like I said it has been several decades.
Can’t wait to read more about your trip. Have fun!
Please keep blogging. Italy is my dream destination, but I don’t know when or if I’ll get there. It’s an inexpensive pleasure to get a taste through you. Ciao!
Sounds as if you are getting a chance to visit the Italy of real people, not just tourist sites! It is so much fun to visit it with you, as Cynthia said. Enjoy every moment and bring home pix of the most memorable spots, as I also do not know when or if I will get there! Boy # 2 is fine, BTW, as are the furry kids.
H–not enough time to get to Herculeum, though I think we would both like to come back and explore more deeply. (which is what we said about Normandy, too, and it is still true). I might have to get to Barcelona before a return to Italy, tho.
Jill, what a beautiful way to describe it–welcoming and tricky! It reminds me of New Orleans, too. The landscape, the danger, the architecture, the richness of life.
I picked up Falling Palace before I left and have not yet read it.
R–thanks for the update on the furry folks and the boy. 🙂
I will bring home many, many photos (and I will post a flicker set when I get back, there is just no way to do it right now)
ciao!