Erin's Europe

2006-09-29T05:38:00.000-07:00

2006-09-29T05:37:00.000-07:00

As I write this, I am sitting in the comfort of my own room at my home in Costa Mesa. My surroundings look about the same as when I left them, except a good deal cleaner, thanks to my dad’s preparations. (Thanks Dad.) Though all of my objects are familiar, they now possess a strange quality of antiquity as though I am looking at the relics of a past life. I look around and see things that I haven’t thought about in months and some things that I even forgot existed. I go through my closet and dress in clothes that no longer suit my style - I am putting on someone else’s skin as I stand in my own museum.

There were no easy goodbyes when I left Naples. Of course I took pictures and exchanged email addresses with everyone at the hostel and there were plenty of hugs and kisses to go around. It’s strange to think that, right now, life at the hostel is going on as usual. New guests are arriving and perhaps there isn’t a single guest left who remembers that curly-haired girl who served breakfast, just a few days ago. (Is it egocentric of me to think like this?)

It was particularly difficult to say goodbye to my manager who has taken such good care of me for the past four months. He helped me take my luggage (with the addition of a new rolling bag for all the overflow) downstairs, where Renato was waiting to take me to the train station (I flew out of Rome and needed to take a train to the ancient city first).

Our building has two elevators and during the week it costs 5 cents to ride up or down. Before going with my manager, I took one coin from our stash at the receptionist’s desk and headed toward the elevator. Seeing my one coin, my manager handed me a second and said, “For when you return.” I hope I’ll be riding that elevator again soon.

Of course the real heartbreak was in saying goodbye to Renato. The night before I left, we went out to a Spanish restaurant to eat. Letting the owner choose our meal, we enjoyed each dish with glass after glass of sangria and talked about the past few months, as well as the future. The next morning we drove around Naples before returning to the hostel to get my bags. As I went upstairs, he parked the car a few streets away. The area around the hostel was already packed and parking is usually scarce in Naples, anyway. After I returned and gave one last hug to my manager, Renato and I went off to find the car. We had very little time left to make it to the station, which would normally make the unexpected search for his car a stressful matter (and I know it was for him), but I couldn’t help but smile, because it reminded me so much of our first date.

More than 4 months ago we left a pizzeria after a wonderful meal together and spent over thirty minutes wandering the dark streets of the historical center looking for his Ford Fiesta. For some reason I wasn’t stressed that night and I wasn’t stressed my last morning in Naples either, as the time ticked by before the departure of my train. It seemed so fitting that our first day and our last day (oh please don’t let it be the very last) should end so similarly. Really, I couldn’t help smiling at the irony of it.

Once we found his car, Renato raced through traffic towards the station. After parking, we ran, bags in tow and breathless, for the train, which had only moments left before departing. Several of Renato’s friends had arrived earlier at the station and had called to tell us which platform my train would be leaving from. Unfortunately they weren’t able to stay for our arrival, but I was able to say my goodbyes over the phone. They’ve all been fantastic to me and very supportive of my relationship with their friend.

Despite all efforts, I missed my train to Rome and, again, I just didn’t stress out about it. This time I was reminded of the night I missed the train to Sicily. After I returned from the Isle of Capri, I had had most of the day left in the city before leaving for Sicily, so I called Renato and we met up for coffee. This was very early in our relationship, before I decided to stay in Naples and work at the hostel. We spent the rest of that day together and thanks to a tardy metro train, I missed the train to Sicily by two minutes. Of course this meant that I was able to spend more time with Renato. Four months later, after missing the train to Rome, I had to wonder; was I traveling to California or back in time?

I could see that Renato felt bad; the stress showed in his eyes and in his body language. He apologized several times before I finally took his face in my hands and said, “Look at me. Do I look upset?” There was a big smile on my face. Yet again I knew I would share with him an unexpected gift of time. Each moment counted. Seeing my smile, Renato smiled too and let the tension drop from his shoulders. He put his arms around me and said that he was glad I had missed the train, because if I had arrived on time, we would have had only a few seconds to say goodbye on the platform and that would have made everything even sadder.

As it was, we were able to spend another 40 minutes together before the next train to Rome left. We stood together on the platform, surrounded by my bags, talking and kissing (we even managed to laugh a few times despite the sadness of the occasion) until I finally had to board. By this time, I wasn’t laughing anymore. With me standing on the train’s steps, we gave our last kisses (oh please don’t let them be our very last), and tears streamed down my face as I waited for the last whistle and the doors to hiss shut. Even when the tinted glass divided us, we mouthed words of encouragement and love before the train pulled away down the tracks. Afterwards, I sat down, miserable, in an aisle with one seat (I had no real desire to chat with anyone) and cried for half the trip. When two Eurostar employees passed to serve drinks, I politely declined, as I was too shy to look up at them. Before rolling their cart on, one of the women gently placed a napkin at my side to dry my eyes with.

After taking a second train from the station in Rome, I arrived at the airport and it took me all of five minutes to check in. Going through security didn’t take much time either. As I approached the many lines, I scanned the people and their possessions to determine my quickest option. Immediately I spotted one line with four nuns patiently waiting their turns. I joined this line thinking, “Who’s going to bother a nun?” (This option also seemed the most fitting for my exit from the country since my experiences in Italy have been littered with patient nuns.) Of course, the line I entered ended up taking the longest. Each nun set off the alarm, with their crosses, and each, giggling throughout it all, had to be swept by the metal detecting wand of an amused security worker. Go figure.

My flight to Düsseldorf was pretty much uneventful as was my one night stay at a Holiday Inn (my next flight wasn’t until the following day). I did, however, enjoy having a private room and shower for the first time in months. In the morning, I returned to the airport to catch my connecting flight to Los Angeles. On this final flight, I sat next to a very friendly lady from California named Pam, whose daughter also studied film and is now living in Germany. We talked for most of the way, which was great, because it made the time fly by. When we arrived in Los Angeles, we continued to stick together and talk as we waited for our bags and made our way through customs. We were still walking together as we exited the airport and I spotted my dad with a video camera honed in on me. I introduced the two, said yet another goodbye, and then, finally, I got to say one great big hello.

I have many mixed feelings about being home. Of course I am thrilled to see my family and friends again, but there is another family waiting for me in Naples. All the staff at the hostel (Christian, Errico, Atanasio, Marina and Argentina) became brothers and sisters to me. My managers were my surrogate parents. Renato, well Renato is more than just my Scarecrow (“I’ll miss you most of all”) and already I miss my life with him. Together, however, we are making plans for my return shortly after the New Year (I want to study the Italian language this time). With any luck, I will be staying for more than just four months. I need another Pam to make the time fly by!

For now, I will treasure each moment with my family and friends. They are truly the best part about being home and there is so much to say and do with them before I leave again.

I suppose I have learned a lot from my time abroad, most of all, a lot about myself. After graduating from Berkeley, when suddenly there was no greater system planning my days by the hour, months in advance, I felt a bit lost. I craved some kind of order, some kind of authority to tell me what to do. Now, when I see my life as a blank page, I don’t feel the fear I once felt before, but rather I sense the possibility of a great adventure. I want to be in charge of those blank pages. They are for my hands to fill now and thanks to my time in Italy, I know I could be dropped anywhere in the world and have the knowledge and confidence to face anything waiting for me.

So, until next time, whenever that may be, ciao ragazzi!

2006-09-29T05:35:00.000-07:00

2006-09-22T09:41:00.000-07:00

With less than a week to go before I return home, there doesn't seem to be a moment of rest for me. Luckily I have recovered from last weeks ailments (the white spots sent up the white flag and I didn't have to face a single needle), so I have been able to keep up with my busy schedule without becoming too exhausted.

Early in the week I attended yet another soccer match- this time, it was Renato and his team of friends (Dino, Gaetano, Remigio, and Peppe) versus five other boys from Acerra. When I arrived to watch the game, Renato's team was still in need of one more player, so a small search began. He, Peppe, and I drove around town calling upon friends to come to the rescue before arriving at Remigio's home. Having been turned down up until this point we all hoped Remigio would come through. He was not an easy sell at first, but finally he consented and saved the team from playing one man down for the entire match. The game was held at a pitch rented by the hour. A buzzer sounds the start, half time, and the end of the game. Players act as their own refs and there are two benches along the sideline for players and spectators. This was the first time I ever played the role of the girlfriend watching her guy from the sidelines and I have to admit that it was pretty fun. Each player took a turn as goalie and it was, as a former water polo goalie, fun to watch their different styles. Dino was the most fun to watch in this position. He possessed a quiet and sure confidence as a goalie, while seemingly putting out little effort. As a player approached with the ball, Dino would stand upright with one hand on a post as if he were watching a slightly interesting curiosity before tapping the ball away with one foot. Remigio was certainly the loudest and most enthusiastic player. He's as funny on the field as he is off and trust me, he is hilarious off the field, but he managed to score two goals during the game and that is no laughing matter. Peppe also scored and really proved himself to be a strong forward, and Gaetano, quiet as always, seemed ever ready on defense and even made an amazing slide save. Of course I watched with pride as Renato, using lots of fancy footwork, stole the ball time and again.

By half time, Renato and crew were down by two goals, but my guy scored a beautiful goal (an unassisted shot, straight into the cage), that seemed to inspire his fellow teammates. They came back with a vengeance and won the game by two goals. Now I have watched Italy win the world cup, Napoli beat Ascoli in the stadium, and Renato score and win on his own turf. If all goes as planned, I will get to see him play one last time before I leave, but either way, I feel as though I have had the complete Italian soccer experience.

Wednesday, of this week, also happened to be my birthday. To celebrate, Renato and I went out to eat at a Mexican restaurant- yes, there are actually a handful of Mexican restaurants in Napoli! Why is it that I only discovered this in my final week? I have been longing for tacos and burritos for nearly 6 months (despite a disappointing enchilada at a Mexican restaurant in Rome) and I could have had them for the past 4 months. This was Renato's first taste of Mexican food, (I love that I have been able to expose him to other cuisines); though I think he'd have to come home with me to enjoy the real deal. The restaurant we ate at didn't even have rice on the menu!

Being away from your family on your birthday can be tough, and really I didn't even tell anyone at the hostel that my birthday was approaching, until the day before and even then, I only told three guests. I really didn't expect much beyond a night out with Renato, but on the morning of the 20th, which also happened to be my morning off, as I was eating my breakfast in the common room, I heard people coming down the hall singing happy birthday. Since I hadn't really told anyone, my first, yet brief thought, was that it was also a guest's birthday. Of course I realized my mistake as my manager and Christian, from the front desk rounded the corner carrying a birthday cake and a bottle of champagne. Guests seated at the tables eating breakfast joined in on the song and afterward we all enjoyed a slice of the sweet and a plastic cup of the bubbly. (I've never had champagne for breakfast!) I was quite touched and truly surprised by this gesture and I can only guess that my manager knew it was my birthday from the information I put down when I registered with the hostel. I have really been well cared for here and it will be difficult to leave my new little family.

Also present, at my birthday breakfast, were two Daily Pilot readers. Jen and Jim contacted me in August and we have been chatting back and forth ever since. They booked a room at my hostel and arrived on Tuesday with a copy of the Daily Pilot in tow. That same day, posing proudly with the paper, Jen, Jim, Renato, and I smiled as my manager took a photo of us in the hostel's common room. Afterward we all sat down and had a wonderful chat. It was great to again meet people from home (who also knew so many of my friends, or at least their families) and I think Renato enjoyed stretching his English skills and seeing, for the first time, my article in print. Really, it was the first time for me, too! Thank you Jen and Jim for such a wonderful visit. It was a pleasure to meet you and I must admit that I had been dying to show Renato off to someone from my hometown!

It's amazing how fast the time seems to have gone and I am trying not to kick myself for putting off doing and seeing so many things, which will now be put off until I return (including a trip to the Archaeological Museum, which I recommend, nearly everyday, to guests). Of course my days have been full, but I still wish I’d found the time to see Positano and Sorrento, somewhere along the way.

I did meet my replacement, Annie, who will be taking over my job, starting in October. And I already knew her! I met Annie for the first time, over a month ago, while I was staying in Ischia. She worked at a hostel there, over the summer and, since things slow down on the island in the fall and winter, she is moving to Napoli to work. I am glad to say that she is a delightful and friendly person and I know I am leaving my hostel in good hands.

I have yet to face the terrible task of packing. I already know that, with all the stuff I have amassed over the months, I will have to by another bag.

By this time next week I will be home again. What will happen in the days between then and now, I cannot say, though they will probably be a bit stressful, more than a bit chaotic, and I expect to shed many tears. I look forward to seeing my family and friends and, of course, though I have technically been on vacation all this time, I am also looking forward to some rest. However, once I return from a week in Cancun, I will begin planning my return to Italy.

So, until next week, ciao ragazzi!

2006-09-15T09:10:00.000-07:00

Everyone wants to finish their great vacations with a bang; with something that can last them for a week or two after they've returned home and gone back to work; something to keep that vacation/travel spirit alive, even after the jet lag has faded.

Let me just throw this one out here now. How do tonsillitis and two trips to the hospital (and possibly a blood test and injections to follow) stand as the perfect souvenir? Hmmm, what to get, what to get. The "I heart Napoli" shirt or the futile standoff with my fear of needles? Tough choice, but I think I'll take the t-shirt.

I haven't actually had the shots yet, but don't let me get ahead of myself. It all started last Thursday when I started to feel the beginnings of a sore throat. Since I've already been sick three times this summer (don't you just love living with a few hundred people for four months) and each time involved a sore throat, I figured it was the usual M.O. and pulled out the remaining cold pills and throat spray from the last bout. I imagined a few uncomfortable days and nothing more. Flash-forward to Saturday when my throat was so swollen I could barely swallow and white spots on my tonsils spelled out; "Hi there, neighbor". I got up that morning, made breakfast and, when my manager arrived, he took one glance with a flashlight and said he'd take me to the emergency room. Normally I would do anything to avoid such a trip, but even I knew that this wasn't going to get better on its own.

One very sweet thing did happen before we left, however. That morning my manager had brought his son with him to work and as I was getting ready to leave, this little boy came up to me and asked where I was going. I told him that I needed to go to the hospital. (It's always interesting to talk with children here, because, when you don't speak the language very well they don't always understand why you don't understand them, or why you might speak strangely and give an answer for a question they never asked. Sometimes this earns you a strange look, but they generally move past these moments, in that special way only kids can. I have to admit though, that I am more nervous speaking to a child than an adult. Maybe it's because the kids are my language peers.)
When my manager's son heard that I was going to the hospital, he told me about his own trip to the emergency room, earlier that summer, and even showed me the medicine the doctor had given him for his allergies. As he reached into his little satchel, he described how he had gotten very hungry while waiting for his doctor. With that, he produced a little packet of crackers, which he gave to me, in case I got hungry waiting for the doctor, too. It just about melted my heart!

The three of us arrived at the hospital shortly after and I was quite surprised by how short a wait I had to endure before seeing the doctor- 15 minutes tops. Of course my manager did all the translating. As surprised as I was by the short wait, I was even more surprised by how quickly the exam was given. The doctor used a tongue depressor and a flashlight to get a good view and a few seconds later she turned away to write down her diagnosis and my prescriptions. Of course I was pretty much lost at this point (most of my knowledge of Italian went on hiatus the moment I entered the hospital) and the brief exam left me hopeful. Maybe it was nothing after all.

That's how I felt until I heard the diagnosis and prescribed treatment: tonsillitis, pills and shots. Really, I only needed to hear that last word, “shots”, to come apart. But thankfully, they don't give you the shots right there and then, that must be another visit. My manager, instead, took me across the street to the local pharmacy to fill my prescriptions and talk the pharmacist into looking for a pill alternative to the shots. Thankfully he found one!

Three days later, after a short but appreciated period of illusion, my sore throat had ceased to be sore, but the white spots had multiplied and changed their message to "hell no, we won't go". Hence, trip #2 to the hospital.

This time Renato accompanied me and my new doctor manhandled my neck before going with the tongue depressor. New diagnosis: tonsillitis or possibly mononucleosis. Prescribed treatment: blood test (to rule out mono), a shot everyday for a week, and more antibiotics. Thank goodness I had Renato with me! He acted as my new translator and my pillar of strength. Of course the mono aspect meant we were in this together, though I was certain I hadn't caught anything from him and despite the fact that mono is often referred to as "the kissing disease", these lips have been loyal.

After a gentle pep talk from Renato and a growing sense of solidarity, we decided to go to a clinic the next day to have our blood tested. (This was on my day off. Some people like to go to the beach, but not me...) So, early the next morning, I got up to catch a train to meet Renato in his hometown. This small part of my day was very educational, because I had to run 5 blocks in order to get to the station on time. What did I learn you might ask? If I can run five blocks, then I don't have mono.

Regardless of my early morning lesson (if it's not mono, it might still help to know what I have), I met up with Renato and we rode a borrowed vespa to a nearby clinic. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately for my nerves), this clinic was closed and we drove on to another in a neighboring town. In our second attempt, we were met with two roadblocks. The first being two traffic officers monitoring the road into town. Since we only had one helmet between us, Renato and I had to do a little scheming. I got off the vespa and walked past the two officers while Renato, wearing the helmet, rode by. We regrouped a short distance down the road and, at an even shorter distance, arrived at the second clinic.

Road block #2: though the clinic was open, they stop taking blood by 10 o'clock and we arrived at 10:10. I guess I dodged another bullet.

The whole day wasn't a loss however. Not only did I have a lot of fun riding around on the vespa with Renato (I can't remember that last time I was outside that early in the morning - the cool air was so refreshing), but we also took a trip to Pompeii later that afternoon and reminisced about the day we met. All and all (the threat of facing a childhood trauma aside), it was a pretty romantic day.

Everyone at the hostel has been very supportive about my health, too. Of course my manager is a complete superstar, but all of the staff, including the building's handy man, have been asking me how I feel and if I have eaten recently (my antibiotics have to be taken with food). Should I need a little extra rest, I am free to take a nap in the common room, but both Errico and Atanasio have found me other beds in private rooms to steal a few winks in during the day.

As far as the blood test goes, Renato and I are prepared for another trip to the clinic in two days unless the white spots finally send up a white flag. I remain hopeful. Perhaps I should just be thankful that I don't have a truly awful malady, for which an injection would be a sweet relief. Whatever I've got, I'm sure it will be gone by the time I get home and my Napoli shirt will prove to be the lasting souvenir. Again, I remain hopeful. Of course I should have a better idea come next week, so until then, ciao ragazzi!

2006-09-08T07:47:00.000-07:00

Even with summer coming to a close, I'm still as busy as ever. I feel the time flying by now and the thought of leaving Naples is a sad one for many reasons. Of course, I'm excited to see my friends and family again, but so much has happened since I left for Europe, in March, that I feel like a completely different person and, certainly, I have begun a completely different life.

If I had followed the plan I started with, then today I would have gotten on a plane at Heathrow and flown home. Instead, I am staying in Naples for almost another 3 weeks and, today, Renato and I celebrated our 4-month anniversary. Oh how plans change!

Of course airlines don't like it when you change your mind and, as an incentive to smother all spontaneity in passengers, they do everything they can to prevent you from being able to alter your plans, after purchasing your ticket. Originally, my return flight was with British Airways, but when I tried to change my ticket (knowing full well that I would have to pay plenty, for any and every deviation), I was told that, though I could change the date of my flight, I could not re-route it. Of course, this isn't mentioned anywhere in the contract. Rather than scramble to find a way to get to London today or on a later date (which, with the recent terrorist activity, was not an option I favored), I decided to purchase a new ticket with a different carrier for a flight leaving from Rome. After discovering that this would cost me about €1400, it was not an option I favored all that much either. Thankfully, while I was on the phone with my dad, Errico, at the front desk, overheard my dilemma and began to search the net for cheaper alternatives. Before I had even hung up the phone, Errico had found a way to save me nearly €1000! He's a prince among men! Thanks to Errico, I now have a ticket (purchased on-line) for home. Though I may need to spend a night in Rome and then definitely a night in Düsseldorf while I wait for the second leg of my return trip (my European phrasebook will finally come in handy), I'd be willing to spend a night just about anywhere to save €1000. When all is said and done, I will be back in Costa Mesa on the 27th of September. Three days later I fly to Cancun for a weeklong reunion with some of my college friends!

The brief panic I experienced while searching for a new flight was not to be my last ticket-related dilemma for this week. Before I get to the heart of my story, let me explain a few things about riding the bus in Naples. Most days they're packed with people and you always keep a hand on your valuables. It also doesn't hurt to grow eyes on the back of your head. Since riding the bus is such a popular mode of transportation in this traffic jammed city, it's often difficult to get on and off the bus, plus it's no easy feat to move around once you're onboard. Because of this, there are multiple entrances on each bus. You don't have to buy a ticket at the door or even show one. In fact, passengers must buy their tickets at Tabacchis (almost like little convenience stores) before they even board. Once they're on, they must stick one end of their ticket into one of two, yellow validation machines, which print the date and time the ticket was used. To make sure that people aren't riding the bus for free, controllers often board the bus and check everyone's ticket, issuing a fine of €34 (payable on the spot) to anyone without a valid ticket. Of course, everyone seems to know that the controllers don't ride the buses late at night or on Sundays. Some people even know which stops controllers are most likely to board at. All of this means, that I, like a great portion of Naples, have been riding the bus for free these many months. However, I always keep a blank ticket on hand to validate in a pinch if I spot the blue uniform of a controller shuffling down the aisle.

Just two days ago, as I was making my way to the train station to meet Renato, I failed to notice that blue uniform and when I was asked to show my ticket, I could do nothing but produce my blank one. Though Renato claims that I am becoming more and more like a Neapolitan, I must confess that I fell back on my roots as a tourist to save my hide.

After showing my blank ticket (with as much naïve confidence as I could muster), the controller asked for identification and €34. I handed him my California driver's license (I keep my passport locked in the safe at the hostel), but pretended not to understand anything else he had said. I kept this up even as the bus came to its final stop (right next to the train station) and I found myself on the street with a lot of other cornered freeloaders. Most paid their fines and left, others argued, but found their attempts to be futile. I, on the other hand, stuck to my guns and played dumb. It was all I had. Really. I knew arguing was going to get me nowhere, especially if I argued in Italian. All I had to my advantage was my California driver's license and the fact that I had only €10 on me. I even opened my wallet and showed the stern, white haired, fast-talking controller demanding my money that I lacked the amount he was after. A few times I almost blew my cover by answering his questions (all in Italian of course) in English. If he had stopped to think about my responses, he would have realized I understood him just fine. I also threw out a few Italian words that the usual phrase book toting tourist shouldn't know, but he never seemed to blink. Finally, my controller asked if I was leaving Naples soon, which got my heart racing since I was already beginning to wonder what they did with offenders who couldn't pay. Was he going to haul me in to some police department and make sure I left sooner than planned? I answered "subito", which means soon. It was both a lie and one of those words I shouldn't know. He asked me where I was going and without hesitating (I figured that would give my lies away), I answered back, "Sicilia". Really, I should have said Sicily like a gringa and maybe a southern accent would have helped me now that I think about it. At this point, a second controller (who was much younger and didn't exactly keep his eyes glued to his clipboard they way the other guy did) entered the scene and looked at my license. The first controller started to point to an address on one of his forms and I understood that he wanted me to mail the money once I got to Sicily. (Fat chance.) The second controller began to speak with the first after I indicated to him that I was going to be late for my train. (I pointed to the station, frowned and said, in English, "There is a train".) This was true since I was meeting Renato outside of Naples and my train was leaving in less than 10 minutes. Luckily this second controller took over my case and with a merciful smile (I really did appreciate that) he handed me back my license and said, "Tutto posto" (everything's okay). Continuing to play dumb, I stood in a feigned stupor and attempted to give him my now marked ticket, but he waved me on, said, "Tutto posto" once more, and gave me a thumbs up before walking away.

I must admit that I do feel a bit guilty for taking advantage of his kindness and even a bit dirty l since I don't think I would have gotten the same treatment if I wasn't young and wearing a skirt at the time. I did play all of my advantages by turning to the second controller for pity by telling him about my train. I was like a woman who hitchhikes by showing a little leg and once someone stops for her she waves to her boyfriend to come out of his hiding place in the bushes. Of course I learned my lesson and I have used a valid ticket ever since, which is good, because controllers have checked my tickets two more times in the last two days. I have gone four months without so much as seeing a controller from a distance and suddenly, they're everywhere!

Before I sign off, I want to share one last adventure for this week. On Monday I met two Daily Pilot readers who have been keeping up with my articles! It was such a pleasure meeting Martha and Randy, who contacted me in August for information on Naples and some of the surrounding areas. When they arrived this week, they invited me out for drinks and I met them at the Galleria, where there are some quiet little cafes. I thoroughly enjoyed my visit with them. It was so nice to talk with someone from home - someone who knows what Ruby's is and how bad the traffic can get on the PCH, in Corona del Mar. Of course we talked about more than just fast food and highways. We shared travel stories and Martha asked me to describe Renato to her. I can't help but enjoy that. So thank you Martha and Randy for such a nice evening! I hope you have a great time in Italy and that you return home safely!

Until next week, ciao ragazzi!

2006-09-01T09:54:00.000-07:00

It has been an amazing week, with the highlight event occurring on Wednesday when Renato and I attended the Napoli vs. Ascoli football (soccer) game at the stadium.

We arrived early to get in line to buy tickets. Remember that I mentioned, in an earlier column, that lines in Italy don't grow in length, but width? Well this line was no different. A relatively new protocol for thwarting scalpers, tested the patience of thousands. When you buy a ticket, you must present some form of legal identification so that your name can be typed onto the ticket. Each ticket must have a different name verified by each attending person's I.D. At the gate, attendants request to see your ticket and I.D. again before you enter. Of course, both names must match.

In line, people stood skin-to-skin peering over each other's shoulders toward the low window of the ticket booth. Men bent to look inside, but the barred window was murky and half obscured by graffiti - too dirty to see anything of the slow-to-move cashier. Renato kept a protective hand on me at all times and carried my backpack containing my camera and two lenses. When people complained or commented out loud, he would nod in agreement before translating for me.

When we finally had our tickets in hand, we emerged from the line and I felt the relief of open space again. There was still plenty of time before the start of the match so Renato and I walked around the stadium looking for a T-shirt for me. I'm glad I waited to buy one at the game, because they had a wide variety and I eventually chose one that cost 10 euro. As we walked, Renato and I passed lots of other fans, showing their love for Naples, with t-shirts, scarves (I was wearing the one I bought from Bruno, of course) and hats, but there was one who took the cake - a little old woman, walking alone, dressed head to toe in fan-wear. A light blue skirt and shoes, a Napoli shirt, scarf and flag, and, topping it all off, a Napoli hat set on top of her gray curly hair. Somewhere, a souvenir shop exploded and all of its’ remains had landed on her! She strode proudly past us, toward one of the gates, before disappearing from sight.

After everything we went through in line, it was quite amusing to watch a number of young men hop the fence into the stadium, while several police officers, milling about nearby, simply watched. It seemed that the only trouble these people were going to get, was going to come from the fence! Renato told me that his father and brother had once gotten into a game, without any tickets, along with nearly a thousand other people, thanks to a police officer holding a gate open and waving people in.

I was again surprised when Renato and I entered the stadium and presented our tickets and ID’s and the attendant didn't even glance at them. Nor did he search my backpack. I was beginning to wonder how the system to stop scalpers was doing anything, but creating a hassle at the ticket booth!

Once inside, Renato and I sat down in Curve B, located behind one of the goals. It's the most popular cheering section in the stadium. In this section, men arrive with bullhorns and giant flags to lead the fans in cheers and dances, which means that most of the curve remains standing for the whole game. When the match started, I was a bit surprised to learn from Renato that some of the cheers (more like jeers) were directed at Ascoli's goalie and involved some less than polite remarks about his mother. Every time the Ascoli goalie released the ball, the crowd would slowly build up its voice, until the kick or toss, when they would finally shout, in unison, "Bastardo!” I wonder how good my stats would have been when I played, as a water polo goalie, if I had such a ferocious crowd surrounding me! Then again, this is Naples and, as Renato has informed me, its one of the biggest soccer fan cities in all of Europe. And boy do I believe it! Perhaps this intensity is unique.

Just shortly after the game started, I began scanning the stadium for a scoreboard to see how much time had passed. Renato pointed to a dark strip along a lower, center tier and explained that the scoreboard hadn't worked in a long time and, when it had worked, it only worked for one season! This, to me, is soccer (or any sport) at it's best. Here, it's not about the sponsorships or the technology or even the tickets. It's about the fans, the players, and the game. And these fans were great. Throughout the match they lit flares and waved them around before throwing them down towards the field. Just after Renato and I took our seats, I noticed that firefighters were hosing down the areas behind the goals. Renato explained that this was to keep a fire from spreading. Now there's an ounce of prevention!

Bottles of water were also hurled at the sidelines, where ball boys and security guards lined the field. More than one strong arm, with a good aim, had these same people ducking out of the way. There was a small portion of seats allocated for Ascoli fans. Most of these seats were protected by netting, to spare them from the same showering as the guards on the ground.

The different sections of seats were divided by glass partitions and, just like the fence around the stadium, fans faced no opposition in climbing them. In fact, they lined up in droves to climb and the rest of the crowd cheered as various people, who experienced particular difficulty in reaching their summit, finally crested the top and jumped down to the other side. This is definitely a place where the fans rule.

Despite how it may sound, it was not a chaotic scene, but rather an event pulsing with enthusiasm and pride and active spectatorship.

Of course, there was more going on at the stadium than just cheering and bottle throwing. There was the game, too! At first, it seemed that Ascoli could do no wrong, or at least that's how the refs saw it, and the Napoli fans responded accordingly with lots of bottles and exclamations punctuated by Italian hand gestures. (Really, I don't know what I enjoyed watching more, the game or the fans. Plus it was pretty fun watching Renato in his element, too.) We went through 90 intense minutes without a single goal from either side before Napoli scored in the first 15 minutes of overtime. Napoli went home the victor, after Ascoli, whose uniforms look like those worn by American referees, failed to score in the second 15 minutes. The crowd loved it and they let the world know!

Renato and I waited in our seats as people flooded out of the stadium after the game. When all of the fans had gone and only a few attendants were still wandering around the field, we got up to go. However, we found all the exits locked. It was just like the beach in Serapo, only on a larger scale, and there was no way we were going to climb these gates (despite all the successful efforts we had witnessed earlier). Luckily we found an attendant and he directed us to an exit being used by the police and fire departments. We followed a bus out and the gates were shut behind us. Yet another successful escape!

Watching the Napoli vs. Ascoli game will definitely go down as one of the highlights of my stay in Naples. It gave me a taste of the life here that I had yet to experience and I'd love another plate. Maybe next time I'll know more of the words to the cheers/jeers.

On Sunday, Napoli faced one of its biggest rivals, Juventus, and tickets sold out quickly. People searched all over for tickets, thousands waited outside the stadium, hoping to get a chance to go to the game. Come playing time, there was nothing left to buy - well, nothing legal. Only the scalpers had anything to offer (at a higher price of course, and with no guarantee that any buyer would be able to get in). I didn't get to see the game, but at midnight, as the match went to penalty shots, I hung halfway out a window, at the hostel, to listen to a car radio, down on the street, reporting on all the action at the stadium. Unfortunately, I couldn't hear much or understand what I did hear, but the body language of the small gathering around the car was easy to read. Napoli won the game by one goal.

I hope to get the opportunity to see another match, but I'm going to have to wait awhile on that one. As far as next week goes, I have no plans beyond the usual and since the usual has been pretty great, I'm looking forward to every minute. So until next time, ciao ragazzi!

2006-08-22T14:18:00.000-07:00

It's been a hectic week at the hostel and, oddly enough, there have been a lot of familiar faces inhabiting the rooms.

Two Australian guys have returned to the hostel three times, as they bounce back and forth between Naples and the islands. Just the other morning, as I was sitting at one of the hostel computers, I felt a hand on my shoulder and heard a voice say, "Buon giorno”. When I turned around I found the French tour guide, who had stayed with us a few weeks earlier, smiling down on me. Of course he brought with him a sort of French invasion in the form of several tourists he was accompanying around Naples before taking them onto Stromboli. Thankfully they were a friendly bunch and, despite showing up at breakfast a bit early and in unison, they made for pleasant guests. (Unfortunately, the Australians were less than pleasant, suddenly deciding on their third visit to make my job harder at every turn.). Several other familiar faces have been wandering the hall as well, making the hostel feel a little more like home – well; at least in the way a college dorm can start to feel like home.

Of course, in my free time, I try to get away from the hostel and enjoy the day.

On August 15, Italy celebrated Ferragosto, which, as Renato explained to me, is the last big holiday of the summer (and thus the last big hoorah for children as they face the imminent approach of the new school year). This means that for most of the week the city has been dead, even quieter than on Sundays. This is also the time of the year when many of the locals leave for vacation, so options for entertainment have been limited. One of my favorite locations, however, is a constant source of comfort and I often escape there on hot days. The garden at the Biblioteca Nazionale is a quiet and secluded area, perfect for sitting in the shade and reading. It is also a part of the Royal Palace, which among its many sections, houses a museum. On Monday, when the city (or what was left of it) was preparing for the holiday, I made my way to the park with my new book; The Historian, by Elizabeth Kostova, which, I must say, is the perfect book to read while traveling through Europe - it takes place in several different European countries, including Italy.

On this day the weather was fairly cool and, after reading in the grass for a while, I decided to look for the entrance to the library and try reading indoors. I have never been inside the library before so I was a bit curious to see how it looks. I began to wander around the building and the various courtyards looking for some sign indicating the entrance to the library. There were many open halls that led to several different sections, but I was hoping to find the main entrance. During my search I came across the exit of the museum, but turned away since it wasn't what I was after. Not far from this exit I found an elevator and a sign that I thought indicated the way to the history department. By this time I was ready to settle for just about any part of the library and what better place to settle down with a book called The Historian than in the history department? I also saw a man leave from this same elevator and since he didn't appear to be anything more than a sightseer, like myself, I felt fairly secure in entering. I got on the elevator and pushed the button for the first floor. When the doors opened I wasn't staring at a stack of books, but rather a large hall wrapped around the courtyard I had just come from, with doors leading into several rooms with many attendants seated outside. Through one open door I could see elaborate pieces of antique furniture and beautiful paintings hanging on the walls. I didn't need a sign to know that I had inadvertently entered the Palace's museum, free of charge.

I took one step back and quickly glanced at the nearest attendant thinking that, at any second, my error would be recognized and I would be escorted out, or at least to the ticket booth. However, no angry force of guards descended upon me and, not being one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I decided a stroll through the museum wasn't such a bad idea after all. Doing my best to wear an "of course I'm supposed to be here" look, I began touring the rooms.

Once, many years ago, my mother served salmon in many forms over many days until, finally, I thought I’d grow gills and pink flesh. (I love you, Mom and don't worry; I think you're a great cook.) It was a case of salmon O.D. and I haven't eaten cooked salmon since. Well, I’m in about the same place with museums; over-dosed! Wandering through the palace's rooms, I realized I’ve yet to recover.

That's not to say that it's not a beautiful museum with many wonderful things to see. In fact, I enjoyed a good deal of it; I just didn't have the heart to become absorbed. This made coming across the palace's theater, with it's a row upon row of seats, a refreshing discovery. It's not that I'm a theater expert (though I do enjoy the chance to see a play when I can). My joy in finding this room stemmed from the fact that the theater, with its solemn atmosphere, most afforded, out of all the rooms, the peace and quiet for which I had been searching. So, strolling down the aisles, I picked one of the comfy, red velvet seats and sat down to read for a good hour. No one bothered me, though I wondered if any of the attendants thought it was strange for a person to come to a theatre, just to read. Later, I finished my tour of the rooms and felt I had more than gotten my money's worth.

My final escape of the week came on Ferragosto, which landed on my day off. Renato, now interested in sampling more foreign foods after our night at the Chinese restaurant, had learned of a Spanish restaurant in a little town outside of Naples and we started off with thoughts of sangria dancing in our heads. Unfortunately, due to the holiday, we found the restaurant was closed for the night, but not ready to let this ruin our evening, we took off for Caserta. (Here there is another palace - much bigger than the one in Naples- with a massive garden and a fountain located so far in its depths that there are taxis and carriages on hand to aid a weary walker). After a beautiful sunset drive to Caserta, we found a pizzeria where we shared two pizzas before topping off our appetites with gelato from a nearby shop. It was a beautiful night- the weather was clear and rather cool (I even wore a jacket), and this outing was certainly what I needed after a long week at the hostel.

Next week I will start my time off a day later than usual, because Argentina (who makes breakfast on my free day) cannot cover this coming Wednesday. I have no solid plans, so this is really no problem. Right now I am beginning to feel time ticking and the days seem to be going by faster than I want, as I approach my return home. I cannot think about this yet without feeling a sense of dread in my stomach. It's not that I don't miss my family, friends, and home, but rather that I will miss the life I am living here (and of course Renato). I am already planning my return with lots of hope - mostly hope that my plans will work out.

So, from Hopeful In Naples, ciao ragazzi!

2006-08-05T16:03:00.000-07:00

2006-08-05T06:10:00.000-07:00

The heat in Naples has finally eased back from the unbearable, but that doesn't mean I haven't longed for the beach every afternoon. Unfortunately, for many days, swimming wasn't an option for me because of my lingering cold. Unfortunately for Renato, every time we spent the day together, swimming wasn't an option for him either. To escape the heat we hid in the shade at the park, drank cool drinks at a bar, and soaked up the air conditioning at the cinema.

For any readers who might be wondering, no, I haven't met his parents yet, but one hot day before I could venture to the beach, I took the train to his hometown and met two of his friends. I have to admit that it felt pretty romantic, going by train to see my guy. Maybe it was just a little thing, but it was so nice stepping off that train to find him waiting there for me. (Perhaps I should thank Hollywood for romanticizing train travel.)

In our relationship, Renato and I have had two minor heroes. For a while we kept our relationship a secret from his family (a long story in itself) and it was not always easy to maneuver around this situation. Gaetano was our first hero for several reasons. When I left for Sicily (and missed the train from Napoli), Renato stayed at the station with me for as long as he could as I waited for the next train. This caused him to miss all the buses and trains heading back to his hometown, essentially leaving him stranded in Napoli. Enter Gaetano. He saved the day by driving to the station and picking up Renato. Afterward, Gaetano was not only Renato's cover story on several occasions, but also his first confidant. Our second hero was Dino. I won't elaborate on why he was our hero (hey some things have to stay private), but he was our hero nonetheless. When I went to visit Renato in his hometown, I met our two accomplices for the first time face to face.

Together, Renato and I went from the train station to meet Gaetano at his home. I was quite nervous, since this was the first of Renato's friends that I was meeting and I am still very self-conscious about my Italian. However, I quickly discovered that there was nothing to be nervous about. Gaetano is a total sweetheart and really seemed pleased to have the opportunity to speak English. (Another reason why he is my hero: like me, Gaetano is trying to get Renato to quit smoking.) The three of us sat for a while and talked before taking a walk through the town. (It's the kind of small town where everyone seems to know everyone else. We could barely walk two blocks without running into a friend of Renato's. We even stopped and had a cold drink with Gaetano's uncle after meeting him on the street. All of this was a new and rather charming experience for me.) Finally we walked to a church and inside we stopped to enjoy a small wedding taking place. It was the kind of Italian day you only expect to see in the movies.

After saying goodbye to Gaetano, Renato and I took refuge from the heat at a local park and ate apples right off a nearby tree. In the evening, we returned to the train station and as we were waiting for my train, Dino arrived on his moped. Since we had plenty of time, Dino let us take his moped for a spin around the block. Before going, I asked him if he wouldn't mind holding my purse. He said yes, took it in one hand, smiled coyly and said something in Italian that I couldn't understand. Laughing, Renato explained before we sped off that standing alone at a station with a purse in his hand made Dino feel like a prostitute, but Dino, who was also laughing as we rode away, really didn't seem to mind my unintentional emasculating request. When we returned, he was sitting on a bench, sans suitor, so he must have faired well in our absence. Gaetano and Dino were lots of fun and both suggested we all go out again soon. This has given me more confidence in meeting Renato's other friends (though I am still nervous about meeting Renato's parents). Tomorrow I will be returning to his hometown to attend the birthday party of yet another friend, which will no doubt mean that I'll be meeting many new people. In addition, Renato informed me that this friend knows many American soldiers stationed in Italy and, in preparation for my arrival, he has purchased a lot of American style food for his party. It will be interesting to see what Italians think of American cuisine.

Since I have started the habit of writing about my day off, I will give a quick review of this weeks adventure. I stayed at the hostel again this week and thankfully, there was a bed available in one of the dorms, which meant I was able to sleep late rather than get up early to allow the common room to be set up for breakfast. Also, my manager gave me two free tickets to see Madame Butterfly at the Arena Flagrea. Renato and I had planned to go out to dinner before the show and make a real night of it. I have always wanted to see this opera and was very excited to attend. Unfortunately, at the last minute, Renato was unable to go and I ended up taking three other women from the hostel, who had been given free tickets as well. We rode the bus for most of the way, but, after many well-intentioned misdirection’s by friendly locals, we found ourselves, just minutes before the start of the opera, wandering around looking for the arena! I was quite on edge, not only because I was the tour guide of sorts, but also, because I really wanted to see this production and I felt the possibility slipping away. At last, we found a taxi and rode the rest of the way, arriving 15 minutes after the start - thanks to the slowest taxi driver in Naples, who seemed more interested in flirting with the girl in the front seat than in getting us to our location on time. The production was beautiful, but by the time we were really settled in, I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open. Afterward, two of the ladies I went with refused to walk any further and I had to call the hostel to get Errico to send a taxi for us. Despite being a pain for most of the night, these same two women ended up giving me a good laugh. When the opera ended and we were comparing notes, it was clear that these women had mistaken Madame Butterfly for M. Butterfly, a story with some similarities to the opera, but in which the Japanese lover is actually a man who disguises himself as a woman in order to get information from a love struck American man. I can only imagine my companions' attempts to make this story fit into what they were seeing on the stage! Though my romantic evening with Renato mutated into a wild goose chase that ended in exhaustion and general frustration, I must say that I learned a lot (most importantly: how to get to Arena Flagrea) and I even managed to laugh a little on the way.

With any luck, I will be spending next week's night off with (as one hostel-guest-turned-friend put it) my Italian stallion. Right about now, I am imagining us at a quiet beach with cold drinks enjoying cool water and a long nap under an umbrella! Tomorrow will certainly bring its own excitement, but I'm sure all will go well. So, until next time, ciao raggazzi!

2006-07-29T08:51:00.000-07:00

2006-07-29T08:32:00.000-07:00

For most of the week I've been dealing with 2 things; the possibility of meeting Renato's parents and recovering from a monster cold that has left me fairly winded.

Two weeks ago, Renato mentioned that he felt it was time for me to meet his family and, in anticipation of this eventual meeting I began my search for an outfit that would send the right kind of message. The message I'm shooting for: Don't worry, I'm a good girl and I'm good for your son even if I have relatively small birthing hips. I found a modest, yet feminine brown skirt with a beige and light lime green design throughout the middle. My next task was to find a top and I really wanted something that would bring out the green in the skirt. (Is this putting the male portion of the readers to sleep?) Unfortunately, Naples is pretty much divided into two main shopping districts. One is moderate to expensive, but it caters to more individual and sophisticated tastes. The other is cheaper and when I say cheaper, I mean Julia Roberts in the first half hour of "Pretty Woman" cheaper. Not all of the stores in this second shopping district are that bad, but walking down the street, a lot of windows display identical or nearly identical clothes and color selections, with price tags as low as 5 euros. I searched every shop in both districts for nearly a week before finding a top that matched my skirt yet didn't make me cringe. It's not too showy, which is perfect for my good-girl image, but it's not so conservative that I feel plucked from an episode of "Little House on the Prairie." I don't want Renato to look at me and wonder where his girlfriend went.

As tough as finding the top was, finding suitable shoes was almost as difficult. There are lots of shoe stores in Naples. The street markets sell loads of shoes as well. Unfortunately, most of them are very flashy (again in the sense that they would be perfect for working a street corner), and have heels that are far too high for me to walk in comfortably. I have never really mastered the fine art of walking in heels and my idea of a good first impression doesn't involve me falling on my face, two steps in from the door. All of this made finding the right pair of shoes an odyssey in itself, until, I at last found the perfect pair at (what I thought was) the eleventh hour.

In fact, the eleventh hour has come and gone several times. I first expected to meet Renato's family last weekend, but I developed a cold the Friday before and couldn't go. I thought this cold would pass easily, like the one I had when I first started working at the hostel. Unfortunately it didn't and, as my symptoms got worse, so did the weather in Naples. It is hotter and more humid here than it has been all summer (of course I've been keeping up with the news on the heat wave in California, so maybe I shouldn't complain) and I couldn't tell if I was sweating from my cold or from the heat. Either way, my recovery was stalled and I did my last minute shoe shopping in the mid-day sun, with a runny nose and congestion. Luckily, the next meeting fell through, which was a relief for many reasons, not the least of which was the idea of meeting the family with a gnarled version of Marlene Dietrich's voice. For right now, I think the pressure is off until I feel completely well again, but should the occasion suddenly arise, I'm armed and ready with my carefully selected ensemble.

Due to my cold, I also didn't venture far from the hostel during my time off. In fact, the highlight of my free day and night was the viewing of an Italian film at a cinema just outside of Naples. Renato and I watched the Italian made "La Notte Prima Gli Esami" (The Night Before the Exams), a basic teen flick, which was perfect for me since there were no subtitles and the content was easy to follow. On a few occasions, Renato would whisper a translation to me, but generally I got the gist of the boy meets girl, boy loses girl, boy is simultaneously under the pressure of an exam plot. (It seems some things don't change from culture to culture.) One of the best parts of watching this film was basking in the air-conditioned bliss of a darkened cinema when the rest of the world was sweltering outside. Even if this enjoyment was relatively shorted lived, it was greatly needed and much appreciated.

With a possible meeting with the parents looming, I'm sure I'll remain slightly on edge until the axe finally falls. I have yet to recover one hundred percent from my cold, but I'm hoping I will soon, so that I can once again return to the beach and escape the heat. With any luck, I will soon be healthy, happy (in knowing that I am parent approved), and staying cool. Of course I'll keep my readers updated on my progress, but until then, ciao raggazzi!

2006-07-22T10:24:00.000-07:00

2006-07-22T08:45:00.000-07:00

2006-07-22T08:32:00.000-07:00

2006-07-22T08:21:00.000-07:00

Once again I spent my day off away from Naples. It came down to going to Procida (another island in the gulf and the only island I have yet to visit) and the Amalfi Coast, which is just two hours south by ferry. It was my manager who sealed the deal for the Amalfi Coast, since he has a friend with a hostel who can put me up for the night at no charge. (Damn, it's good to have connections.) "I have no friends on Procida," he said, so off to Amalfi I went!

The ferry ride down the coast was a treat. Along the way, we cruised by Capri and stopped in Sorrento and Positano. I chose to sit up on the open top deck where many other eager sightseers gathered at the rails to snap photos. The views were gorgeous! Buildings were stacked one on top of another up steep, green hills and every bit of available sand was dotted with sunbathers and brightly colored umbrellas. Plus, the water changed from the murky green found in Naples' Porto Beverello, to a clean, clear cobalt blue.

When I arrived in Amalfi, I was greeted with a similar view, but with more umbrellas and more sunbathers! It was a short walk to the hostel (where I ran into 3 girls who had stayed at the hostel in Naples just the night before) and I was warmly welcomed by Fillipo, the friendly manager. I was so proud of myself! I spoke only in Italian and, except for a few words, I felt very comfortable with my effort. He showed me to a little cubby of a room where an employee of the hostel might sleep. For me it was perfect! It provided the privacy I've been craving for so long (no one to knock on "my door" at some ungodly hour to get something out of the fridge) as well as one of the softest beds I've slept on since I arrived in Italy.

After checking in, I wandered around Amalfi and enjoyed it's quaint small streets and boutiques before treating myself to a complete meal (I even had a plate of mixed cheeses) in a restaurant near the beach.

The real treat of the evening, however, was an impromptu soccer match on the sand played by some young local boys. For the goal posts, they used trashcans and one donated flip-flop. Along the sidelines, which seemed to be unmarked but universally understood by all, sat a line of boys, heads in hands, eagerly watching each turn of the game. Also gathered along the perimeter (and perhaps this is no real surprise) was a group of girls, who at first watched with interest, but eventually got bored and formed a circle to discuss more important affairs. (One possibility: the boys without a soccer ball). In this group there was one boy (perhaps the smartest boy on the beach), who gave the girls the attention that was being stolen away by the match. He played along in their games and appeared to be a welcomed part of the gathering. (I would have loved to have seen a girl infiltrate the "boys' club" and smash the ball around the sand with the best of them!) The boys playing in the soccer game pretended to be unaware of anything beyond the ball, but I suspect, due to the way they rolled around on the ground when injured in the fashion of many a professional player, they knew that they were the entertainment for the evening.

After dinner, I spoiled myself even more by hitting the sack before 10 o'clock! What can I say? Sleep is a luxury for me. In the morning I enjoyed a complimentary breakfast and headed for the water. The weather couldn't have been nicer; bright blue sky and sunny, sunny, sunny! Believe it or not (I still have trouble myself), I am actually developing a tan. Granted, it leans more towards the trucker version than the beach babe kind, but beggars can't be choosers.

After the beach, I showered, changed, and thanked my gracious host before leaving for the port to catch the next ferry back to Napoli. As I was wandering around waiting for my ride, I heard someone call out to me and found Eve, a girl from Belgium who had stayed at my hostel nearly two weeks ago, approaching me. I was surprised to see her in Amalfi since I knew, from past conversations, that she was supposed to be in Turkey by now. Over iced tea at a nearby cafe, Eve explained how, on the night that Italy had won the World Cup, her purse was stolen. She lost everything. Her passport, money, iPod, camera and all her vacation photos. (I want to add now that she told me her whole story with a genuine smile on her face.). After this stunning loss, she discovered the kindness of strangers. A day after her purse was stole, and thus a day since she was able to buy something to eat, a local man bought her a sandwich and has given her a bite to eat nearly every time he has seen her since (even if all he has on hand are some potato chips). With no money for accommodations, the owner of the hostel she was staying at when she was robbed gave her a job advertising for and essentially running the hostel while he is away in England and she is waiting for money to arrive from home. (Personally, from the description of her duties, I think he's getting the better end of the deal.) One way or another, she has managed to survive and even as we sat drinking, she excused herself momentarily to recruit two wide-eyed and lost looking tourists as guests for her hostel. Eve is one of a handful of guests who I connected with right from the beginning. Bright, warm, and friendly, she's perfect for the work she that has been thrust upon her. Perhaps another reason we get along so well is because she is dating a guy from Turkey and we were able to compare notes on what it's like dating men from other countries. Before saying goodbye, I saw firsthand how wonderfully she was getting on in Amalfi. Every few minutes someone she knew would pass by. By the time I left to catch my ferry, I had met the white knight that fed her, her hostel owner, and two guests. Plus, the cafe we were sitting at gave us a discount on our bill since she was so well recognized by the staff. (Two drinks cost us a total of 6 euros! I hate to think what they would have cost us without the discount!) Next week, I will actually be seeing Eve again when she returns to my hostel for one night as she arranges for a new passport at the Belgian consulate in Naples. I can't wait to hear how her adventure in Amalfi ends. Perhaps someone will buy her a car or adopt her into their family.

I have one last story to tell and really it has nothing to do with Amalfi, but I just have to get this down on the record somewhere. The night before my time off, three Americans (two brothers and a girlfriend) arrived at the hostel. At 11 that same night, one of the brothers came to me and asked for some hydrogen peroxide. When I asked what was wrong, he told me he had a bad burn on his shoulder and it was really beginning to hurt. Thankfully, we had two nurses from Australia staying with us and they happened to witness our conversation. The burn on his shoulder was white and stretched and in the shape of a figure eight. Now here's the shocker. This guy went on to explain to me, and everyone present, that he had inflicted this burn upon himself with a bottle cap he had heated with a cigarette lighter! Not only that, he helped seven other people (his brother and girlfriend included), inflict this same wound upon themselves on various body parts! The obvious question: Why? Apparently, he and his two companions had had a horrible time in Prague and met five other people on a train to Naples who had had an equally horrible time as well. Their subsequent train ride was so enjoyable, they decided to commemorate the journey with a group branding. I asked him to explain exactly what made the trip so memorable that it deserved such an extreme reminder, but, he could only reply; "I don't know. We just had an amazing time."

Now there's some conviction. Our amazingly patient nurses tended to the brother who continued to complain that his shoulder hurt. "Yeah," one replied, "that's because you burned your skin off." "I know, but it really hurts," he continued. She gave him a deadeye glare and said, this time with more emphasis, "Yeah. That's because you burned your skin off!" If that isn't bad enough, this guy went on to tell how the two girls of his great-eight group chose to brand themselves just below and to the side of one breast (basically, right where a bra cup sits). Could they have picked a worse spot? What, had they already branded every inch of their panty lines? Unbelievable! Now I really want to know what happened on that train! There's never a dull moment at the hostel.

With more than two months left to go, I'm sure I'll come across equally bizarre stories. I just hope I leave with my sanity intact. So until next week (or the funny farm- whichever comes first), ciao raggazzi!

2006-07-14T16:46:00.000-07:00

They did it! Italy won! It was an amazing night in Naples last Sunday. I watched the first half of the game at Piazza Plebiscito (where I saw Sting perform live). The piazza was packed, of course, and over the heads of the crowd danced a frenzied sea of Italian flags. People decorated their faces, hair, bodies, and mopeds in red, white and green and cheered with every noisemaker at hand. Along the perimeter of the piazza, fans set off fireworks and colored smoke bombs that repeatedly jarred the attention of the entranced viewers away from the large screen TV. When a referee made a poor call the Italian gestures flew on cue (and in the hundreds) accompanied by a massive voice of discontent. When Italy scored everyone jumped up and down together, hugging and shouting. For the second half, I returned to the hostel to watch the game with the guests and my manager. The match went into overtime and eventually, a round of penalty shots, before Italy took the victory. Every moment up to that involved me and my manager sitting on the edge of the couch with clenched muscles - as if our strain could kinetically transport strength and accuracy to the team - waiting in agony for the final score. When it came, my manager sprang from his seat (in a fashion I was well accustomed to, by then) and hugged me, and every person at hand. At the same time the streets outside came alive with car horns and fireworks. The display I had seen along the gulf the week before, when Italy beat Germany, was put to shame. The city and the Gulf of Naples sparkled with explosions.

Shortly after, I joined the chaotic crowds on the street and made my way back to Piazza Plebiscito. The week before, Renato and I had driven through these same streets. Walking this route on Sunday was a completely different experience! Crossing the street in Naples on any given day can be dangerous to your health; on this night it was nearly suicidal! Looking left and right before crossing was just not enough, since cars and mopeds seemed to be coming from every direction. Finding my courage, I crept along and finally arrived at the piazza, where it looked as though a riot had taken place. Piles of trash slowly burned unattended. Fireworks burst randomly- some with the sole purpose of making a loud bang just a few feet away from unsuspecting people. Broken glass was strewn everywhere, making me wish I had reconsidered wearing flip-flops for the celebration!

Okay- here's the real scoop of the night. As I made my way to the Piazza to watch the first half of the match, I came across a group of men waving giant flags (a couple of them even wore them as capes) and in this group was one guy banging on a drum. We were, of course, going in the same direction and in the spirit of celebration the guy with the drum called me over to him, asked me where I was from, and let me pound out a few notes before moving on. I really enjoyed all of this because the city was no longer a mass of strangers, but friends eagerly greeting each other on the street. Later, when I returned to the piazza, this same bongo-drumming guy found me amid the crowds and chaos. At first I was quite happy. I had gone to the piazza alone and, among all this celebrating, a familiar face (no matter how short a time this face had been familiar for) was a welcomed sight. I took up his offer of a beer and we danced through the piazza until we found a grassy place to sit and watch the every-Italian-is-a-star-tonight parade. Only he wasn't as interested in watching as I was. Having a boyfriend and remaining in one place for so long has made me forget what it was like to be a solo, female traveler and perhaps on this night I regressed to some naïve state of mind. One way or another, I spent the rest of my celebration on the street fending him off and ignoring his claims of love at first sight. (Oh those Italians!). He admitted to liking foreign girls most of all, though not Americans. Of course, I was the exception. The fact that I have a boyfriend (a fact I reminded him of every time he tried to kiss me) didn't seem to bother him one bit. "He's not here," this guy, whose name happened to be Donatello, would say sheepishly. Repeatedly he attempted to assure me that he was not dangerous and he would refrain from kissing me. Then he would frown, as if deeply wounded, whenever I would escape his embrace or incoming lip-lock. (At one point, when Donatello asked for a kiss, he pointed to his mouth and said, "Don't worry. No tongue". Yeah, I'll bet.) Finally I managed to free myself and return to the hostel (relatively) untouched and without any lovesick Italians following me. What a battleground!

My true escape came on Tuesday when I left Naples to enjoy my night, and day off, on the isle of Ischia. At first I had only planned on taking a day-trip there, but my manager, seeing how tired I had been in the last week, insisted I stay the night and arranged for me to have a free bed at a friend's hostel. I am so glad I took him up on the offer. Not only did I get a free bed, but a free, delicious dinner as well and the first full night's worth of sleep I have gotten since I began working in Naples. The next morning, after a complementary breakfast, I went with a Canadian girl, with whom I was sharing a room, to one of the many spas on the island. We spent a beautiful, warm day sun bathing and soaking in one thermal pool after another. (I even got a bit of a tan!) Up until this point, I had had a migraine head ache everyday for a week. Just one day at Ischia and this pattern was broken. I feel like a new woman and I definitely foresee another trip to this amazing island soon!

One more thing I want to mention before signing off (as though it were a small topic) is that my travel plans have changed yet again. I will remain in Naples for the rest of the summer and I will continue to work at the hostel. After many conversations with his family, Renato has returned from Spain and all have decided it would be best for him to remain in Naples. In a way, I'm quite relieved since I love it here in Italy, I love the Italian language (I had my first in depth conversation in Italian with an elderly woman on a bus in Ischia), and I love working with everyone at the hostel. Renato didn't get a chance to look for work before his family convinced him to come home and, though I'm sure he would have found some, I am nearly positive that my chances of finding work would have been next to zero. It was a small adventure, but one from which we learned a lot.

With the World Cup being over and no trek to Spain in sight, I can only look forward to a mystery. Right now I am waiting to see Renato for the first time since he returned to Naples. I will fill everyone in on the reunion (and perhaps some unexpected twists and turns) next week. Until then, ciao raggazzi!

2006-07-10T06:44:00.000-07:00

2006-07-10T06:30:00.000-07:00

2006-07-08T12:59:00.000-07:00

2006-07-08T09:55:00.000-07:00

2006-07-07T17:48:00.000-07:00

2006-07-07T12:18:00.000-07:00

2006-07-07T11:45:00.000-07:00

2006-07-07T10:43:00.000-07:00

2006-07-07T10:41:00.000-07:00

Date: July 5, 2006
Location: Naples, Italy

Well, it has been more than an eventful week. Some major decisions have been made that will change the course of my travels as well as my life. This morning I said goodbye to Renato at the train station as he set out for Civitavecchia where he will catch a ferry to Barcelona. He has decided to try to find work and a place to live in Spain for the next several months. It was not a final goodbye for us, though. If his plans go well, I will join Renato in Spain in early August. Of course, I will continue to work at the hostel until then.

Last week Renato and I sat down together with my manager and told him about our decision. We have until July 10th to inform him with certainty that I will be leaving, giving my manager time to find a replacement. This means that Renato has only a few days to test the waters in Spain before committing me to the swim as well, but it's a risk I'm willing to take.

Knowing that he would be leaving, Renato and I spent as much time together as we could, before his departure. In the background of these last days roared the World Cup. It's on everyone's mind here, and even fair-weather fans and mildly interested foreigners have been lit up by the contagious enthusiasm, becoming Italy supporters over night.

Hoping to draw more spectators to the common room for last Friday's match against Ukraine, my manager had me buy drinks and snacks to set out for the guests. Unfortunately, German students had booked much of the hostel. They stayed to watch the Germany-Argentina game and, after Germany's victory, went out to celebrate, leaving me, my manager, and two other Americans alone to enjoy the bounty and Italy's eventual victory. I didn't mind; more chips for me! Plus, my manager was his usual entertaining self. When Italy scored their first goal, he jumped up and embraced me in a big bear hug while shouting and cheering. There was one other girl in the room and, seeing this enthusiasm, she made sure she was ready at hand for a big hug when Italy scored its second and final goal.
Remember how I mentioned, in an earlier column, that Renato and I had a deal? Early in the series we agreed that if Italy made it to the semi-finals, he would be free from boyfriend duty for the night and could watch the match wherever he pleased. Well, Italy played Germany in the semi-finals on Tuesday the 4th (in the morning, Renato hugged me and shook my hand, saying, "Auguri," in honor of America's Independence Day), which happened to be our last night together before Renato left for Barcelona. Believe it or not, staying in a city in the midst of football fever, we didn't watch the game. I left the option open and was well prepared for a night in front of a screen, but Renato, in a very romantic gesture, instead took me driving around beautiful Posillipo, which overlooks the Gulf of Naples. (We listened to some of the game on the radio and, of course, it was easy to tell when Italy had scored by the sound of cheers from nearby buildings. I imagine, on this night, there didn't exist a TV in town that wasn't tuned in. It was as if Naples was one big football fan - all of its citizens breathing, or holding their breaths - and shouting in unison.).

When Italy won after scoring 2 goals back to back, Naples, whose streets had been virtually deserted just moments before, exploded with life. Immediately, from Renato's car, where we had a wonderful panoramic view of the gulf, we watched as fireworks began to go off all over the city and through to Sorrento. There were so many fireworks exploding in so many different places, that the dark gulf looked like a giant stadium lit up by hundreds of camera flashes (and the occasional blossoming of fancier rockets). Even though I'm thousands of miles away, I got to see a 4th of July celebration!

The colors of the evening: red, white, and green. There were flags, hats, wigs, shirts, air horns, and even cars sporting the country's colors. Renato and I drove down from Posillipo into the city's center where the streets were packed with crazed fans on foot, mopeds, and in cars. On a normal day, the rules of the road don't seem to apply to Neapolitans. On this night it, was utter chaos. The red and green in stop lights no longer functioned as color coded instructions, but rather as mini Italy supporters lost in a greater sea of red and green. People hung half way out of their packed cars to shout their support. Some even rode on the roofs. Still others tripled and quadrupled up on mopeds and swerved down the roads and sidewalks. (Renato and I saw the end results of one accident shortly before being rear-ended by a moped, ourselves. Luckily, no damage was done and we kept driving on.) Pedestrians lined the streets, many stranded, too afraid to cross the road. And everyone - everyone! seemed to have a flag or air horn in hand. Even passengers on mopeds waved giant flags on long, flexible poles, using nothing but their legs to keep themselves on their seats. As much as the skies were filled with fireworks, the air was filled with air horn blasts, singing, chanting, cheering, and general bursts of joy. I even saw an older couple watching the action on the street from their balcony, bang their pots and pans.

A popular sign (printed in several different styles and depths of detail) was an obituary notice for Germany announcing that supporters of the late team would be informed and a funeral held shortly after the match. At one point, Renato and I spotted a hand-made coffin bobbing above the heads of the jostling crowd!

All Italy supporters, however, became instant brothers. Strangers smiled at one another, stretched from their car windows to shake hands, sang together and danced in the streets. As we waited for traffic to move on one particularly stalled intersection, a group of boys ran between the cars, and, as they passed us, one boy reached into my open window and twirled my hair before dashing on. It was a particularly sweet moment for me, because I felt so suddenly connected to these people and to this celebration.

Eventually, Renato brought me back to the hostel. The party continued on the street well into the morning hours, but we needed to get up early to meet at the train station and say goodbye. It was a sad parting, but, with luck, we will soon be reunited in the city where my European adventure began!

Italy's own adventure continues on Sunday the 9th against France. When I asked Errico (he is one of the men that works at the hostel's front desk), if he had fun after the Italy-Germany game, he replied, "Fun is a small word." If Italy wins the World Cup, Errico has promised to shave off his shoulder-length hair!

With Renato gone, I will do my best to visit the sights I have been neglecting up till now. I hope to visit Positano, Sorrento, the Amalfi Coast and Ischia, one of the islands in the Gulf of Naples. Next week, I should know for sure if I will be going on to Barcelona, in August, to spend the rest of my summer with Renato, in Spain. Until then, ciao raggazzi!

2006-07-02T09:35:00.000-07:00

Location: Naples, Italy
Date: June 28, 2006

For one glorious night, I had air conditioning. And then it died.

Naples is getting hotter and hotter every day and the nights don't offer much relief. Unless you count a free concert, featuring an iconic rocker as relief, which, in this case, I certainly do. On Sunday night, I walked just a short distance from my hostel to Piazza Plebiscito to watch Sting perform - and I didn't have to spend a dime - or a euro! It was the Cornetto Free Music Festival, so there were many performers, but since I was technically on the clock at the hostel, I went and stayed just for Sting. His still stellar voice showed why some musicians last and others burn out fast. I was quite surprised to hear a piazza full of Italians sing along, in English, to every song (including my favorite, Fields of Gold, and a surprise cover of the Beatles', A Day in the Life - could anyone ask for more). Unlike the last festival I went to in the same piazza, the only moisture in the air was the humidity (no rain this time) and it was great to be outdoors at night and dressed as though it were noon!

Really, between soccer matches on TV and the many antics of the hostel guests, there has been daily entertainment here. The World Cup is heading toward the quarterfinals, and with games playing everyday, there is always a handful of travelers, with their attention glued to the screen, to be found in the common room.

When Italy and the U. S. played each other, it seemed there wasn't a guy in the building who didn't ask me who I was supporting. I have a feeling that they were looking for an opportunity to show their own loyalty, but I cut that friendly battle short. To be honest, I've been rooting for Italy from the beginning, but before anyone denounces me as a traitor, let me give my reasons.

First of all, Renato (an obvious Italy fan) is always in a better mood when Italy wins and that's certainly good for me. Secondly, since I am in the country (the old phrase, "when in Rome" seems to apply here), I would love to see the kind of citywide, partying-in-the-street celebration that I've been told is bound to erupt if Italy wins it all. With the amount of affection Italians display on an average day, I bet it will be a regular love fest, punctuated by flag waving, fireworks, and car horns honking non-stop. Oh wait - that last one's pretty much a daily occurrence, but I would love to see it anyway. Of course, now that the U.S. is out of the running, it's a lot easier to root for another country. (I think the staff at the hostel and the men who work in the rest of the building are very charmed and amused every time this little, American girl says, "Vai Italia!")

As that old, can't-get-it-out-of-your-head-for-three-days, Disney favorite goes, it's a small world after all. So small, in fact, that I've met a lot of people hailing from southern California, in the last few days here at the hostel. One guy from Laguna, in the spirit of camaraderie, nicknamed me "Newport" and we discussed what it's like being from cities that are widely known as the settings for over-the-top television shows.

Another traveler I only recently met, actually lived in Costa Mesa for 3 years. It was amazing how the usual meet-and-greet became a game of "Me, too!" He lived only a short distance from my home and attended OCC, just two years after I graduated. On top of that, we both played water polo for the Pirates, so we knew the same people and the same coaches. I'll admit, I didn't really warm up to him until after I learned all of this, but there is a great thrill to meeting someone who, with just one word, knows exactly what you're talking about when you talk about your home town. I had heard of similar chance meetings from other travelers (one man met a pair of guys who, after a short chat, realized that not only were they from the same town and were attending the same university, but they were also signed up for the same course in the upcoming fall), but I didn't expect to have such a story to tell as well.

Italy plays the Czech Republic or the Ukraine today. (I don't know which and it might be another team altogether - hey, I never said I was a good soccer fan. It's more like I'm a fan for the stay.). My boss is thinking of putting out snacks and drinks in the common room (where there is satellite TV) for game time, but I'm sure there will be lots of people in attendance regardless of the food. With my bosses flare for outbursts and cheers, I don't know what I'm more interested in watching, him or the game. Either way, vai Italia (go Italy) and ciao raggazzi!

2006-07-02T09:34:00.000-07:00

Location: Naples, Italy
Date: June 21, 2006

Last week it seemed like the rain would never stop. Well it has! Naples is finally becoming the summer inferno that all the locals have been warning me about and it's only going to get hotter!

The room I sleep in (the breakfast room) is equipped with air conditioning. Unfortunately, that air conditioning will not be functioning for the whole of the summer due to construction work being done on the building. The dorms and private rooms, however, will not be affected by this problem and will maintain their AC systems. Yesterday, a young man staying in one of the dorms complained that the AC in his room wasn't cold enough and he wanted to know if I could fix it. This was after I spent a night sweating away in my room (I can't leave the windows open because of the mosquitoes), so I couldn't help but point out to him that I didn't know how to work the AC controller since I didn't have one myself. I don't know - was that passive aggressive of me?

Sometimes my patience is really tried here. The other morning at breakfast, two different girls (I later learned that they are both studying to be doctors), at two different times, pointed at the glass pitcher of milk and asked, "What's that?" Hmm, it's wet like milk, it's white like milk, its’ next to the giant bowl of cereal... I'm going to make a wild guess and say it's milk! Of course I did have the advantage of seeing the word "latte" printed on the carton I poured the mysterious liquid from, but they say you shouldn't believe everything you read. I would like to give them the benefit of the doubt and believe that what they really wanted to know was weather it was regular milk or soy, but, with all the mensa candidates I've come across here, I'm not really inclined.

Milk seems to be a confusing drink to many. Every morning I set out a cold pitcher of milk next to a thermos of milk. I can't tell you how many people have asked me what the difference is! Of course, the milk really isn't to blame. Trying to fill her bottle, one guest pushed the sink's tap handle all the way to the left only to get scalding hot water. She then turned to me and asked, "Which direction is for cold?" Deduction, sweetheart, deduction.

Okay, one more story and then I promise I'm done venting! Last week was the Polish invasion. This week is the Swedish invasion. A group of about 20 Swedish architect students are staying at the hostel right now. Some arrived a day before their classmates so that they could enjoy the city a bit, on their own. One man arrived in the evening and I helped him get settled in and learn a little about the do's and please don'ts of the hostel. He also witnessed me helping other guests. In the morning I served breakfast as usual. Only when I politely took his flatware from him at the end of his meal and told him not to worry, I would do the washing, did he ask, "Oh, do you work here?" No, I'm just a control freak - there isn't enough medication in the world to stop me.

All right, venting completed... Really, I hope (for the sake of the world - where is Super Intelligent Man when you need him) that these moments are just the kind of brain farts we all go through from time to time. I hope...

This week, as with every week, I got one night and one day free to escape the mensa meetings at the hostel, so Renato took me to a beautiful little beach in Serapo, north of Naples. It wasn't a public beach, which means we had to rent an umbrella for (a whopping) €15 euros in order to sit down. This turned out to be quite the enjoyable expense though. Included in the rental were two lounge chairs that kept us off the sizzling sand. The beach was lined with blocks of umbrellas, each block a different color to signify the different rental spots, giving it a charming resort-like feel. The water was actually contained in a little gulf, so it was calm, not crystal clear, but certainly good for swimming, and fairly warm for this early in the season- though I still shivered. I was a bit spoiled by the umbrella. Normally, after a day at the beach, I return home a deeper shade of fried, but this day I was able to lounge for nearly eight hours without much ado. Renato and I swam, ate sandwiches we had made earlier, and slept away a peaceful day at the beach. We pretty much closed the place out - in fact it closed while we were still there! Since it isn't a public beach, the only way we could get in was through a rental company and, it would seem, the only way we could get back out was through a rental agency as well. After showering (at the cost of half a euro for hot water - cold water was a quarter euro), Renato and I made our way to the parking lot. There were still a few people lingering on the beach and, only a few minutes before, we had seen an employee organizing chairs and closing umbrellas, so we were quite surprised to find the rental office dark and locked. The gates on the side were also locked. I can imagine being barred from entering a beach, but not barred from leaving one! Perhaps there was a main exit further down the way, but we ended up climbing over two gates and sneaking out like thieves. We certainly got our €15 worth!

After a full day away, I'm back at the hostel, facing yet another humid night and an even more interesting morning (each breakfast is better than the last), but I'm still thrilled to be here, mosquitoes, beguiling guests and all! So until next time, ciao raggazzi!

2006-07-02T09:32:00.000-07:00

Location: Naples, Italy
Date: June 14, 2006

After many days of rain (and disappointed travelers), the weather has finally improved here in Naples. In fact it was quite hot today, so I kept to the old quarter where the narrow streets always seem to provide a good amount of shade.

As usual, I had to say goodbye to a wonderful set of travelers this week and welcome in a new batch. Sometimes I hit a wall where I just can't work myself up for the meet-and-greet. I try to be friendly, but if I'm having a bad day, I have to paint the smile on and pretend to be interested. The funny thing is that whenever I start off like this with someone, they completely win me over, we talk for hours, and I mourn their absence for a few days after they leave. This was the case when I met Patty from Pennsylvania and Anna from New Zealand. After a slow start on my part, we became international amigos - or amiche as it's said here in Italy. To watch us, you would have thought we had known each other for ages. Patty was highly intrigued by the fact that I was staying in Naples to be with Renato rather than going on through Europe as I had initially planned. Of course this opened up a whole conversation on men - the ones we've dated and the one's we've hated - and what group of women don't get along famously over that subject?

Personally I was intrigued by Anna's situation. She's traveling through Europe for enjoyment, but with a little twist. During World War II, an uncle of hers was shot down over Italy and was buried in the Salerno cemetery. However, in all the decades that have passed, not a single member of her family has been to see his grave and pay their respect. Before coming to Europe, her father did a lot of research on this uncle and in learning about him as well, Anna decided that it would be her mission to be the first family member to visit his grave. Easier said than done, especially since the Salerno cemetery isn't in Salerno - go figure. After spending a day discovering this, she finally learned of its true where-abouts (I think it ended up being between Naples and Rome, though I'm not completely sure). One day later, after she left the hostel, Anna emailed me to say that she had completed her mission. Tearfully she paid her respects, took photos to show her family, and proudly planted a small New Zealand flag next to the tombstone. Not the typical bar hopping, museum stopping, church spotting, souvenir shopping trip through Europe.

Of course, some people win you over with more than words. Just a couple of days ago we had a group of 20 Polish people traveling together and staying at the hostel. When such a large group occupies the place, it can be a bit chaotic. Breakfast is spread between 7:45 and 9:30 to allow people to come in and out as they please and to make it easier for the hostel to manage the meal, but when there is a lot of people traveling as one, they also eat as one, which means I was running around for a good part of the morning cleaning up after everyone. (Why is it that when people eat at their own homes they know where to put their garbage, but when they're out or on vacation, it's like they wouldn't recognize a trash can if it bit them in the face? We provide a self-serve breakfast, but some how I need to hold everyone's hand. Personally, I think that some people will go out of their way to have anyone else do for them what they could easily do for themselves, just because they can. Am I digressing here, or venting?). At any rate, two of the men made up for all this chaos by inviting me to have a drink with them in the common room - vodka of course. At first I politely declined. "Don't speak," they said, "Just drink." So I had a few drinks with them and we discussed Poland and Russia and what it took to be a good Polish wife- they were both married, so all of this was very innocent and rather informative. I certainly know a lot more about Poland than I did when I left California, which is impressive to me since I know how much I had to drink that night!

Meet-and-greet exhaustion aside, I am having a wonderful time here at the hostel. It's football (soccer) season right now and, thanks to satellite TV, the common room is packed every night with World Cup fans. (This, of course, means that the "off sides" rule is explained at least three times a day.) The enthusiasm is contagious. Though I have never really watched a soccer game before, I'm now following along and keeping my fingers crossed, like every local, that Italy will make it to the finals. Renato and I have a deal. Right now since our schedules are so different, we try to see each other whenever we have a free moment. However, if Italy makes it to the semi finals and then the finals, he has my approval to stay home and watch the games.

When Italy played its first cup game, a couple of nights ago, my manager treated me and a few other guests to pizza in the common room. He was the only Italian there, at the time, and I don't know what I found more entertaining; Italy scoring and the fans on TV going wild, or my manager jumping from his chair to curse in Italian every time he felt his team was cheated. Hmm, yeah, it's the last one. There's just nothing like a room full of startled tourists watching a man curse and cheer at the top of his lungs.

With every Tuesday off, next week I think I'll go to Ischia, an island in the Gulf of Naples, but this of course depends on the weather, Renato, football, and my motivation to move at all (I really only get 5 hours of sleep a night). I hear that there are some wonderful thermal springs there and spending the day at a spa could be right up my alley. If not next week, I know I'll eventually make it to this island! I'm sure I'm going to need it! Until then, ciao raggazzi!

2006-07-02T09:30:00.000-07:00

Location: Naples, Italy
Date: June 7, 2006

After working for a week at the hostel, I am completely in love with my new traveling/living situation. The staff here is wonderful and eager to chat with me. I'm learning new Italian words everyday. I'm actually at the point where I can talk to strangers on the street and in the stores without using English. Of course, they're not the deepest conversations and I make many mistakes, but not so many now that my counterparts attempt to speak English to prevent me from further butchering their beautiful language.

Everyday I wake up at 6:30 (yes, Mom, 6:30) to start breakfast for the hostel. It's not a complicated affair. I make coffee and tea and put out croissants and cereal with the usual fixings. After breakfast, I wash all the dishes and sweep and mop the floor (yes, Mom, I keep my room clean). Once the common room/breakfast room/my bedroom is clean, I am free to do as I please for the day.

Breakfast is often an educational experience and not just for me alone. The first time I prepared breakfast on my own, one guest complained that his fresh cup of coffee was cold before dumping it down the sink. Since I don't drink coffee myself and therefore had never made it before, I had worried in advance about making a bad batch and suddenly felt my fear becoming a reality. However, I knew that the water I had used was piping hot. Confused, I watched as the same guest poured another cup in the hopes that it would be steaming and indeed it was. He wondered aloud about his mysteriously cold coffee as he reached for the cold milk to pour into his new cup. Hmm. "Maybe it was the milk," I said. "We have hot milk in the dispenser next to you." "Oh, yeah," he responded, all previous hints of his annoyance now gone. "Maybe that was it." Mystery solved.

It is also interesting to watch how a majority of guests insist on crossing the dining room, passing a large trash can, to stuff their garbage into the small waste basket in the kitchenette. Amazing! The laws of physics seem to allude so many!

In the evening, I return to the hostel around 8 o'clock to socialize with the guests and make sure that no one gets too rowdy. If it's a quiet night, I can go out with friends until about 12 when the common room needs to be closed. Just a couple of nights ago, Naples had a huge festival with bands from all around the world. Since everyone was heading out to see it, I was able to go as well. It was a rainy evening though and each act only played one song a piece before switching out, something I found to be very frustrating. With only 5 or 6 hours of sleep between midnight and the start of my morning, I didn't feel inclined to stay too long. However, I did recognize an Italian band I had seen before on Italian MTV and that made the whole outing worth it.

The most difficult thing about living at the hostel is not the work, but the fact that people only stay a few days before leaving for their next destination. I make new friends everyday only to have to say goodbye to them the next and start over with a whole new batch of people. When guests stay for a more considerable amount of time, I look forward to my social hours in the common room, but it is always harder to see them go.

Of course I have the staff here to enjoy on a regular basis. The maid greats me every morning with a "ciao bella" and blows a kiss to say goodbye in the afternoon. All of the guys who work at the front desk couldn't be nicer or more full of character if they try. Luigi started working here the same night I did (though, with his duties, I think he had the harder first day) and speaks English very well. He is young and baby-faced but a joker, too. Enrico is lovable and greets me the Italian way with a kiss on each cheek. We were fast friends (especially since he was the one to give me a spray that helps keeps the mosquitoes away). Christian is more serious and seems amused by my Italian, while Atanazio always offers me a free drink from our simple bar (soda, water, beer). All of them work day and night shifts, throughout the month, to cover the 24-hour reception, so I am never alone or without help at the hostel. Each in his own way makes me feel welcome and at home here, including the manager who today took me out on his scooter (Italy is full of them) to run an errand. It was a great ride! The roads in Naples are driven by a combination of daredevils and madmen. You haven't lived until you've sped in between traffic on the back of a scooter manned by a Napolitano!

I have an ever-growing flipbook of faces in my mind, and because of this I am never bored with my surroundings, nor do I feel like I am missing out on the rest of Europe by staying in Naples. Europe is coming to me!

What will happen next week? I foresee a lot of tables with croissant crumbs on them. (Also, for any of my readers who might be wondering, I foresee more time with Renato. And yes, my parents are okay with this.) Everything else is just part of the adventure. So, for now, ciao raggazzi!

2006-07-02T09:25:00.000-07:00

Location: Naples, Italy
Date: May 31, 2006

The last time I wrote, I was planning to stay in Naples for just a few days before moving onto Venice. Well, those plans have changed. A lot! I'm still in Naples and I must confess that this is largely due to my "friend" Renato. After returning from Stromboli, I knew I wanted to spend more time with him, so I'll remain in Naples for a while. A long while, possibly. I have found a job at a hostel in the city! The first week is a trial run, but if both parties are happy with the results, then I can work here all summer.

In exchange for a bed, breakfast, free laundry, and some spending money, I set out and clean up breakfast every morning and socialize with the guests in the evening. I only get the afternoons off and one day a week, but essentially I'll be living in Naples for free.

I've only been working for two days (and suffering from a cold), but so far I am having fun. The turn over in the hostel is pretty quick - travelers tend to stay just a few nights before moving on to the next big city. I've met people from all over the world in such a short period of time. Often we have visited the same places and are able to compare notes, which is a great way to both remember your favorite places and to vent about your least favorite.

The hostel is a great place. It's clean, safe, and staffed by very nice people. Basically, only my boss speaks English, so I have been learning a lot of Italian words from the woman who trains me in the morning. I also bought an Italian/English dictionary and a book on Italian grammar to help me through the rough spots. Today I went to the supermarket in search of peanut butter. After looking in the jelly aisle, and just about every other place I thought was logical, I went to ask a clerk. He rolled his eyes as I pulled out my trusty dictionary, but repeating the words "peanut butter" wasn't getting us anywhere. And how do you gesture peanut butter? At any rate, the dictionary worked and he took me to the nut aisle where there were 6 mini jars of Skippy. Hallelujah!

Though I really like the place I'm staying at right now, I miss the hostel I first stayed at after returning to Naples. It's near Piazza Garibaldi and the train station, which would make a lot of people nervous, because it's an area notorious for its crime (mostly theft). However, I love this area. There is a great market that begins setting up at about 6 in the morning. They sell all kinds of things, but specialize in clothing, and all for just a few euros. My first hostel overlooks this market and every morning I would wake up to the call of the vendors announcing the prices of their goods. One vendor would always start the morning off at eight euros for anything on his table, but would eventually drop the price to five euros by dramatically tossing handfuls of clothing up into the air and ripping down the sign advertising the old price. In the afternoon, the vendors have to pack up and go, but they leave lots of trash behind. Once they are gone, however, street sweepers come through to clean it up (though they tend to miss a lot). Finally, in the early evening, the street becomes quiet and cars are able to park there for the night, but it all begins again in the morning. To me, this is just another great example of Naples' vibrant and ever transforming nature!

Of course, the city can have some very visible downsides. The kind that stands right in your face. When Renato and I were out a few days ago, we sat down at a piazza to enjoy some shade. We weren't there very long when a young gypsy boy came up to ask for money. He couldn't have been more than eight years old and he spoke at a rapid pace, repeating himself over and over again. Though he had some change in his hand, it was not enough for the panino he wanted, so Renato gave him some money thinking that this would be enough to get him to move on. However, with panino money in hand, the boy didn't budge. Instead he began to rattle on about how his father had sent him over to ask for a cigarette, too. At this point the boy was speaking so rapidly that I couldn't understand everything he was saying, but it was clear that he was repeating himself. In return Renato asked him something about his father before reluctantly giving up a cigarette. Renato told me afterward that he was asking whether the cigarette was really for the boy's father or for the boy, to which the boy responded, "I'm going to keep asking you until you give me what I want." Of course, as the boy wandered off, it was clear that there was no father waiting in the wings and Renato felt badly about the whole thing. This is all just part of life in Naples. You are always negotiating with people. Negotiating for space on the sidewalk, road, or bus. For goods, and, for peace and quiet.

Right now, I'm going to take this week long test drive at the hostel and see if it's what I want to do for the next couple of months. No plans are set at the moment so who knows what I will have to report next. Until then, ciao raggazzi!

2006-07-02T09:23:00.000-07:00

Location: Stromboli, Italy
Date: May 24, 2006

I should start off by saying that traveling by train in Italy is wonderful. It's easy (if you don't mind a long ride in a seat or a night on a hard cabin bed), it's affordable (you can cross a majority of the country for less than 60 euros and, if you check Trenitalia for its Happy Train discounts, you can sometimes cross for as little as 10 euros), and the train system will take you to just about anywhere you want to go.

I left Palermo by train and traveled to Milazzo (for less than 10 euros) in the hopes of catching a ferry to the island of Strombolli. Those hopes were dashed when I arrived too late to catch the last boat, but I spent a very pleasant and relaxing evening in Milazzo as an alternative. (A local later told me that the town is controlled by the mafia - seriously!)

Bright and early the next morning I bought my ticket for Stromboli and less than two hours later I was stepping off the dock, facing the black volcano that looms over everything on the island.

I immediately began my search for a place to stay and, with the name of a hostel already in mind, I was off to a pretty good start. With the help of a local fisherman, who pointed me in the right direction, I was able to find my hostel. It has communal bathrooms, a pretty little patio area with tables and chairs, a communal kitchen, and a terrace with a view of the ocean. Also, just a short walk down the sidewalk, there is a quiet little beach tucked into a cove of lava rock.

To be honest, when I first arrived, I wasn't really enamored with my new surroundings. (The bathrooms had me flashing back to my days as a camp counselor.) I started in a double room upstairs with a view of the terrace and the ocean. After hiking around with all my luggage in the morning, I was exhausted and collapsed on the bed to sleep for a few hours. I had yet to get a key for my room, but when I looked for the manager, she was nowhere to be found. I napped with my door unlocked, but when I woke up I finally had to call her on the phone. (I wanted to get my first look at the island while I was still young.) She lives not too far away and visits the hostel at various times of the day. When we talked she told me that there was no key for my room, but that it was okay to leave my door unlocked, because Stromboli is a very safe place. (Unhuh.) She did, however, give me the option of moving to another double with a key, but it was downstairs and didn't have a view. (Looking at the other rooms, I could see that their doors had keys, so my key must have been lost and no one had ever bothered to replace it.) Having already gotten a good ogling from one of the men staying there and knowing I would have to leave my camera equipment in the room from time to time, there was no way a view alone was going to cut it. "Yeah. I'll take the room with a key, grazie."

After this questionable development, I was a bit on edge, but I met many nice people at the hostel and I later met an Australian man at a restaurant. James, the Australian, is a free-lance graphic designer. Since my father is a professional photographer, we had a lot to talk about. The next night we hiked to the 400-meter mark on the volcano to watch the volcanic explosions (Stromboli is very active), and it was a beautiful, moonless night, which means I saw more stars in the sky than I have ever seen before. Stromboli has virtually no street lamps (something I discovered my first night stumbling back to the hostel in the dark), making our view of the stars nearly perfect. The explosions were like nothing I've ever seen before. Sometimes in the day you can hear the little eruptions and see plumes of grey smoke rising from Stromboli's peak, but you can only get a good glimpse of the bursting red lava at night.

There are tours to the top where you can look down at the craters and watch the eruptions from a relatively close, but still safe range. Of course, I'm just the sort of masochistic traveler to do such a tour. If you’re like me, in this way, and find yourself on Stromboli someday, take the tour with Magmatrek. They have a better reputation and deservedly so. A friend from my hostel went with another group and when we compared notes, her guide seemed to care more about flirting with a woman at the head of the line than actually looking after his team. A woman in this same team fell down the side of the volcano as they were returning to base camp. The guide went sliding after her and managed to grab her before she got too far, but it could have ended a lot worse. My guide on the other hand, kept us informed at all times. Not just in safety precautions and what to expect further up the trail, but also in the volcano's history. All of this was non-existent in my friend's group.

When I first signed up I knew that this tour wasn't going to be easy (anyone who had sweated a day away on Stromboli sitting in the shade could guess that), but I was assured that it was not overly difficult.

Climbing Stromboli was one of the most physically grueling experiences I have ever had. No joke.

At first I was cocky and thought it was going to be easy. I mused that those in my group who were already huffing and puffing needed to find a Stairmaster. Climbing to the top of Florence's Campanile and spending a week on the hills of Perugia were all just mild training days for what I faced on that volcano. It's not just hot, it's humid and each phase of the trek is harder than the last, including the climb down. The whole way up, you just want to guzzle down your water. Once you reach the top, swarms of bugs and the smell of the volcanic gasses accost you. As you sit, covering your face with a mask or handkerchief, dust rains down on you, covering every surface. Dusting yourself off is just a temporary relief. (I actually didn't get to take any photos at the top, because this dust, high in glass particles, could easily ruin my camera and lenses.)

The view of the craters was phenomenal, however. The volcano seemed to be putting on a show just for us. At one point there were three consecutive eruptions that were awe inspiring in their size and duration. It was like watching a giant fire hydrant bursting forth liquid fire and, after each eruption, the ground around the craters swelled and collapsed as if it were breathing.

My group began its climb down after sunset. We each had a flashlight and a mask for our faces. We still needed to cover our mouths, because the trail down was nothing but sand. Each step kicked up a thick fog of dust, giving us poor visibility, even with the lights. Going down was just as hot as going up, because, as we practically ski-stepped along our steep trail, we exhaled hot breath into our masks only to breath it back in a second later. By the end, we were covered in ash and dirt and sweating like a mid-day sun was shining down on us. I was sore, tired, and desperate for water and I was not alone. I don't think anyone who took the tour for the first time knew what they were getting themselves into. We were all a bit shell shocked by the time we returned to our starting point. Not caring how I looked (I'm sure the locals are used to it anyway), I stopped at a pizzeria and wolfed down an entire pizza and large bottle of water before going back to my hostel and taking a much needed and much enjoyed shower.

Despite the difficulties, I'm glad I took the tour, not just for the views it provided, but also for the physical test. It was difficult, but I never turned back. No one wants to be the only person who didn't make it to the top. As glad as I am that I made it through the whole trek, I certainly don't feel the need to do it again and I won't be putting any more volcanoes on my must-see-list.

Right now, I'm back in Naples, where I'll stay for a while, before going on to Venice. The temperature has gone up a lot since I left, but I'm happy to be staying in a familiar place. Before I know it, I will have to leave Italy behind and then I'll really put my European phrasebook to use. At least for now I can still say "ciao raggazzi!"

2006-07-02T09:21:00.000-07:00

2006-07-02T09:19:00.000-07:00

Date: May 17, 2006
Location: Palermo, Sicily

Well, I am in Palermo and the city and the weather are beautiful. I rode on my first sleeper train for 12 hours to get here, but I nearly got stuck in Naples with nowhere to stay. I actually missed an earlier train (a train I had already purchased a ticket for) that was to leave Naples at 10:30 P.M. After returning from Capri in the late afternoon, I had a few hours of sitting in the station to look forward to, so I called my friend, Renato, and we took the metro to a coffee house. Later, when I tried to get back to the station, the metro was very late (I was really loving Naples' metro system by this time) and I missed the train by 2 minutes! Needless to say, I was not a happy camper, especially since the train station is hardly a cozy place after dark. With all the ticket vendors closed, I had no choice but to wait for a train leaving for Siracusa at midnight and hope that I could beg my way onboard with the ticket for the other train. This meant talking (or, at least attempting to talk) with several Trenitalia employees. I think they showed me a lot of patience and kindness, because it was clear I wasn't fluent in Italian (though I let that play in my favor by appearing a little more clueless than I really was). Also, I was the only single woman (and practically the only woman) wandering around the station at midnight. When the train to Siracusa finally arrived, I walked down the platform from car to car with an employee looking for an open seat, but each attendant we passed declared their car full and told us to continue on down the line. Things looked grim at first, but at long last (and I mean the last car) I found an open seat. I ended up sharing a cabin for four with (drum roll please) a nun from Guatemala- I can't seem to get away from them! She was very nice though and I put my high school Spanish to work trying to talk with her. Thank goodness she was patient!

Before leaving Naples, I was told by several people that there is no bridge or land based crossing between mainland Italy and Sicily. The only way to get across is by ferry. I assumed that this meant that halfway through the trip all passengers would have to get off the train and board a ferry to catch a connecting train on the other side. I kept waiting for this and, as early morning became late morning, I began to wonder how long this ride was going to be if we hadn't reached Calabria yet. My helpful nun had gotten off at a little station not long after sunrise, leaving me alone to enjoy the beautiful ocean views and to wonder just when I would be reaching my own destination. The train pulled into several small stations and finally one large one just before 11 in the morning. When I looked out the window, I was stunned to see a sign saying "Palermo". How could this be? What happened to the ferry? I turned to some other passengers who were gathering to disembark and asked, not trusting my own eyes, "Is this Palermo?" "Yes," they answered, chuckling slightly. Perhaps there is more than one Palermo. "Palermo, Sicily," I asked and got many nods and smirks as my response. So, suddenly, I was in Palermo! I realized then that the whole train must go onto a ferry and I recalled how, in the night, the nun had talked of "una barca," a boat. I knew she was referring to the ferry, but I had assumed, since I understood very little of what she was actually saying, that she was simply warning me about the crossing as I had been warned by others before. It was during this time that the train repeatedly went back and forth on the tracks. That must have been when we crossed over to Sicily. The train was probably lining up properly with the ferry. Since it was nighttime, and thus dark out, I had missed this transition. Now that I think about it - after the train went back and forth a lot, it then rocked heavily from side to side. I realize now that it was rocking with the boat. Yes! I know! I'm a swift one.

Anyway, I got here safe and sound, if not a little bit later than I had planned, and I have a room with a view and a bathroom for 40 euros a night- I think Sicily may give me more for my money!

There is also a beautiful beach here called, Mondello. I went there the other day to swim and sunbathe. (Yeah! I've finally been in the Mediterranean Sea!). The water is crystal clear and there is barely an open inch of sand on the weekends. One thing I have discovered about Italians is that if they aren't born with a tan, it is easy for them to acquire one. I, however, have a lot of Irish blood in me, which means I was the whitest person on the beach (and perhaps in all of Sicily). I am practically blue-white. People gather around me at the beach to catch the sun's reflection off my skin! (I tried to find some self tanner at the many farmacias here, but they don't exactly carry a wide variety. Why sell something that isn't in demand!)

Hopefully, I’ll be able to work on my tan some more in Strombolli, a little island off Sicily's northern coast. I am heading there next and I am looking forward to relaxing rather than running around from one historical place to another!

Until next time, ciao raggazzi!

2006-07-02T09:14:00.000-07:00

2006-07-02T09:01:00.000-07:00

Location: Isle of Capri
Date: May 10, 2006

It seems the farther south I go, the more intense the city (and the more aggressive the men). Before coming to Naples, I was warned by many people that it was a dangerous place. However, after my short visit, I think the city has suffered from a bad reputation for too long.

Do I think the city can be dangerous? Yes, but what city is completely safe? Do I think there are pick pockets and scam artists in the city? Yes, but Rome and Florence and just about any city that tourists frequent have them as well. My verdict (keep in mind that I was there for only a brief amount of time, so take from this what you will), is that the people are a fierce, but not unfriendly, bunch. You can't walk very far down a street without hearing a lively argument. If someone is unhappy, they voice it loud and clear. For those who may not be used to open expression of this kind, Naples can appear to be an unwelcoming place. It only takes a little patience to see that the city is pulsing with as much friendliness as it is with ferocity.

The proprietors of the little hotel I stayed at, for example, couldn't have been kinder. When I arrived at the door, sweaty and a bit frustrated by Naples' metro system (the stairs to the line I needed were closed and I, along with a few hundred people, were forced to cross the tracks to catch and be crammed into the next train), Maria, the maid, eagerly showed me to a room and told me to rest. My room (at 40 euros a night) had a giant, wall-sized poster of a forest scene on one wall and a mural of an open window on another. The wood decor (along with the poster) gave it the feeling that I was staying in a cabin. Maria greeted me warmly every morning and Roberto the owner made sure I knew where the good restaurants were at night. All were eager to please and, even though I was essentially staying in the heart of Naples' historic (and crowded) center, I felt quite tranquil and welcomed in my surroundings.

Some, in Naples, are more friendly than others. The men are especially friendly in fact. A woman sitting alone is seen as an open invitation to all ages! Unfortunately, elderly is the age I run across the most. There have been exceptions however.

I stayed in the city for five days and, on my third day, I went to visit Pompei. There is a special train that takes you there and I would have gotten on the wrong train if Renato, a young Italian from a little town outside of Naples, hadn't stopped me. He overheard me talking to two other women about Pompei as the train I would have boarded arrived. He quickly informed me (in very good English) that I wanted the next train. Since he happened to be taking the same one, we sat and chatted along the way. When it came time to say goodbye (he was off to work), we made plans to go out to dinner that night. In fact, we met for dinner my last two nights in Naples and Renato drove me around the waterfront and Posillipo Alto, a large hill overlooking the waterfront. He played some CDs while we drove and I was able to explain a few Guns N Roses songs to him. (There are, however, some lyrics that just get lost in the translation and I am, after all, a lady.) We had a great time and Renato was later sorry to see me go (I was sorry to leave him behind), but this girl has to keep on trucking! It was great to hang out with someone my own age. It was also nice not to have to eat alone and become a mark for any waiter who takes a polite smile or friendly conversation as an invitation to hit on me.

I have been in Capri, an island fondly referred to as the Jewel of the Gulf of Naples, for the last three days and there are parts of the island I am avoiding so as not to run into the kind of waiters mentioned above. It makes me laugh though, because most of them are old enough to be my father and I have to wonder just how far they think they can get with me. I am sure that they are just being friendly, but my gut tells me that their "friendly" could quickly transform into something else. These older, Italian men are a hopeful lot!

I have had a wonderful time on Capri however. The island is truly beautiful with winding roads and green foliage everywhere. The water is a blue like no other water I've seen and there is a quaint charm to Anacapri, the less touristy section of the island. I feel that my three days here has been enough, and tomorrow I will take the ferry back to Naples. After that, it is on to Palermo, in Sicily. It will be a long train ride and then a ferry ride of course, but if I catch the right train, I will be able to save some money on a hotel by sleeping in my seat. Until next time then! Ciao ciao!

2006-07-02T08:47:00.000-07:00

2006-07-02T07:54:00.000-07:00

Location: Rome
Date: May 2, 2006

Hello from rainy Rome! I have stayed in my convent accommodations 4 extra nights and I'm glad I did! There is so much to see in Rome that my original plan of 4 nights (with 2 days partially in transit) was an example of misguided optimism.

I visited the Roman Forum and the Colosseum shortly after arriving in Rome. If you visit Rome, don't buy your ticket to the Colosseum at the Colosseum. Visit the nearby Palatine Hill first - as I did - where the ticket price of 11 euro includes admission to the Colosseum. This will help you bypass a great portion of the line into the ancient arena.

Though rain drizzled throughout my day at the Forum, I was able to get some great photos of the ruins. It was a special day for all visitors to the ancient center, because the city was holding a graduation ceremony for its newest firefighters and rescue workers. The festivities included rare sights of classic, Italian fire engines and rescue vehicles driven by men in vintage uniforms. The greatest sight of all, however, was when workers, repelling down in unison, hung and lowered a giant Italian flag on the side of the Colosseum! The red, white, and green flag remained there for the rest of the day for revelers to photograph and enjoy.

My real adventure, however, began the next day. As you may have already guessed, I am not well versed in religious practices, but my week in Rome was not without a holy pilgrimage. I took it on behalf of my best friend, Beth Snelgrove. Unfortunately, by telling this story, I’ll be ruining her birthday surprise, but I think she'll forgive me.

When I arrived in Rome, I knew I couldn’t leave without seeing Vatican City and when my mom told me that I could buy rosary beads there, blessed by the Pope, I knew I had to get some for Beth. Mom’s instructions were to go to the top of the Vatican and buy rosary beads at the souvenir shop. A nun there could get the beads blessed and shipped to me at a small additional cost. So, essentially, I was looking for a nun in Vatican City.

At first I misinterpreted my instructions. Thinking "the top of the Vatican" meant the top of Vatican City; I looked for the highest hill and climbed it. There was a spectacular view at the top, but no souvenir shop and no nun with the hook-up. Feeling frustrated and a bit soggy from the rain, I wandered back down to St. Peter's Basilica, where the Pope lives. I had visited this sight a few days earlier when the line to get inside wrapped all the way around the vast circular courtyard and was several people wide. That same day, when I inquired about blessed beads at a ground-floor souvenir shop, I was told that the only way to get them was by being in the audience when the Pope made his Sunday appearance and gave his blessings to the people.

As I returned from the top of Vatican City and approached the Basilica, I looked up at the giant dome and noticed movement. There were people up there! At that moment I felt slightly stupid for my mistake, but I continued on and joined the line to get inside. Thankfully, due to the rain, the line was 1/20th its usual size. Once I got through that line I toured the amazing interior and then got in yet another line to climb to the dome. Entrance to the Basilica is free, but to visit the dome you must pay either 4 euros to climb the 300 plus steps to the top or 7 euros to take an elevator for part of the climb. Since I had mastered the Campanile in Florence, which has over 400 steps, I saved the 3 euros and took the stairs.

Before I go on, let me explain how lines work in Italy. Italians line up the same way they drive; three abreast, in one lane. If they can get in front of you, whether you were there long before them or not, they will, without hesitation. I found the line to the dome to be no different. To my left and behind me were two young German men who were keen to pass, but they were aware of the foul. To my right and behind me were two older French women who kept sliding up the line shamelessly. As far as I was concerned it was WWIII and I wasn't about to let the U.S. lose! With my camera in hand (I was using a long telephoto lens, which I kept pointed out from my hip), I stayed glued to the people in front of me. My large backpack put some distance between myself and the people behind me. It was all a matter of subtle strategy. The Germans tried for a quick dash forward as we turned a corner, but I anticipated the move and filled the gap. The French were able to slide forward several times, but at key places and with the extra blocking power of my long lens, I was able to retake my position. Just before we got to the ticket counter, the French came back with a big move forward (the Germans had ceased their attempts by then), but were forced to fall back to search their purses for the entrance fee. I had my money ready in hand. It was a small victory, but it was big on satisfaction!

The climb to the top was really not too bad and the awaiting view is more than worth it. With 360 degrees to photograph, you can see everything, except one thing: a souvenir shop. I was beginning to feel like Indiana Jones. Perhaps I was supposed to push the right stone or pull a special candlestick to reveal a hidden tunnel!

After taking pictures and enjoying the view, I began my climb back down. Along the way, there is a place to rest on the roof of the Basilica. It was here that I finally found the souvenir shop! Inside, there were many types of rosary beads, along with several nuns. Approaching one nun, I asked, "Are these beads blessed by the Pope," as if I were asking, "Are these special brownies?" I wasn't there for the regular beads. I wanted the good stuff.

In response, the nun nodded and said an unconvincing, "Yes." When I asked some other nuns further down the line, they admitted that the beads were really blessed by the bishop, but since St. Peter's is the Pope's home, they were blessed by him as well. This wasn't a good enough answer for me. I knew there was only one thing left to do. Go straight to the source; Il Papa himself.

Two days later, on Sunday, I trekked, along with a mass of people, back to St. Peter's to see the Pope's 12 o'clock appearance. The crowd waiting at the Basilica was dotted with flags from many countries and banners written in many languages. Many chanted the Pope's name as show time neared. After waiting two hours, the Pope finally appeared, to roaring applause, from a high window to the right of the Basilica. Though he was little more than a far away, white form, his voice boomed from speakers set up all around us. With Beth's rosary beads wrapped around my hand (I wasn't sure if keeping them in my backpack might dilute the blessing or not), I photographed the Pope and his adoring fans as he, in several different languages, greeted and blessed the audience.

So, finally, Beth's beads are blessed by the Pope (say that ten times fast), or as blessed as they're going to be!

I leave for Naples tomorrow. I am trying to book a 3-day tour of Naples, Capri, and Sorrento, but since I'm doing this at the last minute, I have yet to receive a confirmation. One way or another, this So. Cal girl is looking forward to seeing the seaside again (and possibly selling seashells by the seashore)! Arrivaderci for now! Ciao raggazzi!

2006-07-02T07:31:00.000-07:00

Location: Rome, Italy
Date: April 26, 2006

Well, I stayed a day longer in Perugia than I had expected. In fact, I had every intention of going onto Rome last Sunday, but I delayed my departure after meeting Shiho, a Japanese student learning Italian at the nearby university. We met at a local laundromat and, as our clothes went through their cycles, we talked about everything from the dangers of returning a man's "ciao" (men here can take a simple glance as a come on), to the difficulty of navigating the steep streets in heels. When I mentioned that I had begun to overdose on pizza and pasta, Shiho invited me over to her apartment on Sunday for home-cooked rice and curry. Who could say no to that?! Of course the meal was great (and much appreciated), but, more than anything, the lunch was a wonderful exercise for our Italian vocabulary. (Neither one of us is fluent in Italian and Shiho speaks only a little English, so you can image the two of us mixing languages and gesturing to get a point across! Much laughter was had on both sides.) I hadn't spoken so much Italian in ages and, with so many Italians at hand, I said it all to a Japanese student! We actually talked for several hours before saying goodbye.

Monday morning arrived and I made my way to the train station and said arrivaderci to Perugia. The ticket for Rome was just over ten euros (it took about 2 and a half hours to get there) and after reaching my destination, I once again began a search for a budget hotel. I'll admit, I was in a weakened state. The day I arrived (and everyday since), the weather has been muggy and though the hills in Rome do not compare to the hills I tackled in Perugia, pulling my luggage up and down the cobblestone streets proved to be a fast-track to a migraine headache. After finding no vacancies at a couple of places, I pulled my way to the nearest hotel sign ready to take any room. I knew I was in trouble as soon as I saw the 3 stars on the door (I usually stay at 1 star or 2 star hotels), but, with fingers crossed and sweat dripping down my back, I entered and hoped for the best.

I have learned, in Europe, the price of a room does not denote its size. For example, the 100 euro room in Rome was about half the size of the room I had at the convent in Florence (38 euro). There wasn't anything special about the Roman room either, except it had a safe and a mini-bar with overpriced sodas. The bathroom was small and I got the usual sliver of soap and dollop of shampoo that seems to be standard. (I could really use a free sewing kit right about now- I have a wayward button and a few socks that need mending.) Thankfully, the same night I arrived, I was able to book a room at yet another convent, not too far from the Coliseum.

This room had some major differences (some good, some bad) from the convent in Florence. Immediately, I was glad to see that there was no bell outside my window, but later in the night I found it difficult to sleep over the sounds of trucks passing and the occasional argument occurring on the street below. Also, the convent's chapel is on the other side of my wall. So, bright and early every morning I get to hear the nuns sing hymns. (Perhaps that one isn't so bad. Their voices are pretty good.) Other than the 11 o'clock curfew (a half hour earlier than in Florence), the shower presents the worst problems. I share a bathroom with another room, which at present is empty. Inside there is a toilet, a urinal, a sink, and a shower-head on a cord attached to the wall. On the floor there is a drain for the water, but there is no curtain or division between the shower and the rest of the room. Really, if I wanted to, I could hose the entire bathroom with water from floor to ceiling. Since the room isn't much bigger than a coat closet, it's easy to accidentally spray down the whole place anyway. (I have to hold the showerhead in one hand and wash with the other, which makes opening shampoo bottles and emptying their contents a juggling act. If I kept the showerhead in its holster, it would shoot water directly at the opposite wall!) This morning, to minimize the mess, I did my best to wash my hair in the sink.

I said there were some good differences, right? Well, it's a cheap room, there's a complimentary breakfast, and it's fun to talk with the nuns. They're a bit feistier here.

The first night in the convent (after I got situated in my room next to my own private water-park), I went out to dinner. In Florence and Perugia, the two options for food were Italian or cheap Chinese, so I was thrilled to find an Indian restaurant in Rome (apparently there are many). Let me tell you though, there's nothing like eating alone to make you feel like a freak show! For the most part, I get confused or sympathetic looks from the wait staff, but other diners tend to stare. Just a couple of nights ago, one man actually turned all the way around in his seat to look at me! At first I dreaded eating alone and powered through my meals, but now I've learned to pace myself and enjoy my meals no matter whose watching!

Since I've been in Rome for only a couple of days, I haven't seen much other than the Coliseum and the Forum. I'm looking forward to seeing Vatican City, though. My best friend Beth, a devote Catholic, is hoping I get the calling. Before I left, she cupped her hands over her mouth and, in her best God-voice, said, "Erin, become a nun." Inspiring words. Very divine. Beth, isn't it enough that I'm staying at a convent!

After Rome? I haven't thought that far. I want to continue south, so some research will be necessary. For now, I'm just trying to enjoy the journey.

2006-07-02T07:24:00.000-07:00

Location: Perugia, Italy
Date: April19, 2006

Up Hill to Perugia

Let me start off by saying that if you ever get the chance to stay in Florence for Easter- do it! Granted, it's crowded and the hotels cost more, but the celebration on Easter morning is definitely worth the extra trouble.

About 10 o'clock Sunday morning, I made my way to the Duomo (the cathedral) where the festivities take place. I thought (knowing there would be fireworks) that I had plenty of time to catch the big show. You know - fireworks = night. However, I was wrong and made it just in time.

(Now stay with me here, because what I'm about to describe may sound off the wall and even a little dangerous, but I saw it all with my own eyes.) With the masses gathered around a giant, pagoda-like cart outside, I made my way into the Duomo where it was less crowded. At first I was a bit disappointed. I wanted to see the action taking place outside, but that would have required x-ray vision to see through the backs of a few hundred heads. (I was really kicking myself for not getting there earlier.) All of this was before I watched, as an angel rocket on a string (a holy guided missile if you will) was set off and shot down the center of the cathedral and out the front doors where it collided with the waiting cart. This is how they light the fireworks! Sounds of the explosions surpassed the spectacle of the light show and every time I thought it was over, a new round of blasts would go off. The whole thing bordered more on my idea of Armageddon (crowds of awe struck people, things being blown up, frightened children, etc.), than a holy celebration! Don't get me wrong. It was all safe (or so I assume since no one lost an eye or any fingers) and there were emergency crews ready at hand. Plus, Armageddon or not, it was so darn fun to watch! They should play Vegas. ;)

Since I left the convent the Friday before, I was forced to entertain myself for a couple of days before Easter. After walking all over Florence for the tenth time and climbing the Duomo's campanile (one of the original Stairmasters), I indulged in Italian television. (It's okay; I was a film major. That means staying in my hotel room watching TV all day is not a waste of time. I have a framed piece of paper, at home, that will confirm this.) One of my favorite shows: Italy's version of MTV's "Pimp My Ride". Is it me, or would it be easier to just buy a new scooter rather than reconstructing one and adding a telescope and minibar? Perhaps there is something lost in the translation.

The Monday following Easter, I got on a train (yea trains!) and left for Perugia, in Umbria. Part of why train travel in Italy is so great is that it's so inexpensive. A two-hour ride from Florence to Perugia cost me less than 8 euros! Unfortunately, I got off at the wrong stop (Perugia has three) and ended up in a less than beautiful part of the city. Since Monday was still a holiday, I had essentially gotten lost in a slightly grim looking ghost town, and I wasn't encouraged to stay. Luckily, I came across a woman who cheerfully walked several blocks out of her way to take me to a bus stop where I could catch a ride to the city's beautiful center. (Not to sound too "Blanche DuBois" here, but I am continually surprised by the kindness of strangers! This is not the first time that I have been helped, like this and I am sure that the woman and her counterparts have no idea how much I appreciated their guidance and how much that guidance has affected my experiences in Europe. I can only hope that, someday, I too will be able to help a wayward traveler.)

So, how many hills is Perugia built on? All of them! On the morning that I was to check into my hotel, I took a wrong turn (which, in Perugia, can cause you to burn off hundreds of calories), and wound up walking down a very steep hill. When I thought I saw the tree-lined street leading to San Sebastiano on the hill above me, I hiked, with all my luggage, up a winding road that ended at an even longer set of stairs. Suitcase in hand, I climbed the steps and took two more turns down a narrow street only to find myself at the exact spot where I had started! To add insult to injury (by now I was sweating like a horse), there was a sign I had failed to see earlier, pointing me in the direction of Hotel San Sebastiano! To add injury to insult, I was given a room at the top floor (4th floor) in a hotel without a lift!

Let me assure you, though, that Perugia's amazing views are more breath taking than its steep climbs! It rained on my first two days in the city, but even then I could see the stunning beauty in its panoramic vistas. Though I have only booked my room at the Hotel San Sebastiano for the next four nights, I am tempted to stay a bit longer before going on to Rome. It will all depend on how much my legs can take! This is definitely a city that favors the fit!

2006-07-02T07:21:00.000-07:00

Location: Florence, Italy
April 12, 2006

Ciao Bella Firenze!

Hello from Florence! I've been here for nearly a week and I was quite happy to get here at all! Getting out of Spain and through France was an adventure in itself. Since France is in the midst of a strike, there are no trains traveling into or out of the country. What all of this means is that this merry traveler was less than merry after 22 hours on a bus from Barcelona to Florence!

Once I reached my destination (now tired, hungry, and desperately in need of a shower), my next task was to find economical accommodations - not an easy feat in this city. One of the greatest downsides to traveling on the fly is that when you reach your destination, you must troll around the city, carting all your luggage, in search of a place to stay. This could take a matter of minutes (if your determination to stay on budget is weakened by the siren-like call of a bed and bath) or a couple of hours (and many sweaty blocks), to find that sweet deal that eludes so many. My sweet deal; a convent located not too far from the Duomo, one of the main attractions in Florence.

Now you may be picturing me sleeping in a closet sized cell, but, in fact, my room at the convent is the largest I have had since coming to Europe. Its decor is simple (an old hospital style bed, dresser, wardrobe, desk, and a cross on the wall), and I share a line of bathrooms and showers with other guests. Outside my window (and I mean directly outside my window), is a bell that rings every morning, afternoon, and evening to call the nuns to prayer (or so I assume). It is delightfully loud - every time it rings I find myself laughing at the fact that (of course) my room is the only room next to the bell! (Is this some kind of divine punishment?) None of the nuns speak English, but we manage to understand each other well enough with the little Italian I know. (I wonder how you would say, "I'm a heathen," in Italian?) Perhaps the one (other) downside is the 11:30 curfew, which I haven't had since - well, ever. Needless to say, this makes bar hopping a bit futile, but I suppose that is the sacrifice a budget traveler must make in order to save their euros!

Florence is beautiful and full of English speakers, but I do my best to stick to Italian. It can be quite lonely, though (I miss Joelle!) In a place as beautiful as this, you want to share your discoveries with a friend.

The locals are all very welcoming though, perhaps a little too welcoming at times! I've learned that if you return a man's "hello" at night, they will take it as an invitation to follow you down the block, looking, no doubt, for more than a little chat! A firm, "no grazie," is usually all you need to shake these guys off as you go on your way.

As far as the food goes: I have entered a sea of gelato and, as an avid ice cream lover, I have either found my paradise or my poison. Every flavor you could want to savor can be found here and each one is as delicious as the next. With cups ranging from 2 to 6 euros (the 2 euro cup is more of a tease than a taste), it's not a cheap treat either. (I've found that sodas are quite expensive as well. Only last night I saw a single serving of coke for over 3 euros- no refills! At that price, one might begin to wonder if there isn't some Columbian white gold in those bottles!

My stay at the convent will be up tomorrow, but I would like to stay in Florence for Easter Sunday when (according to my "Lonely Planet" guidebook, "Europe on a Shoe String") a cart of fireworks is set off in front of the Duomo. My search for a cheap hotel will begin again! There are other convents to call upon (and I will), but I wouldn't mind paying a little extra for a nightlife! I'll do some scouting today and hopefully find a reasonable rate. It is likely, however, that many places will be full for the holiday and I will be spending some extra dough. These fireworks better be amazing!

I haven't decided where I will go after Florence, but it will probably be to the south. Wherever I go though, it will definitely not be by bus! My parents visited Italy last year and gave the Italian train system glowing reviews, so I am looking forward to a (short) ride. Perhaps I will check out Umbria (which I have heard is beautiful) before going on to Rome.

2006-07-02T07:15:00.000-07:00

Location: Barcelona, Spain
April 5, 2006

For many years, I’ve wanted to travel the world. Movies and television were probably the earliest influences. My father’s colorful stories of his travels as a photographer, for Sports Illustrated, further fueled my interest. With my undergraduate degree from Berkeley behind me and graduate school in front of me, now was the time. So, after years of saving and anticipating, I am finally off on my five-month adventure through Europe.

I decided to start my odyssey in Barcelona, for the simplest of reasons – a ridiculously cheap airfare! A sleep less, overnight red-eye from LAX had me arriving with thoughts of nothing but slumber. But on the bus to the city, I met a fellow solo traveler. Joelle is a New Zealander, living in Japan and, for the next week, vacationing in Barcelona. By the time we reached the city, we were fast friends. Dinner out cemented our friendship and it was midnight before I finally put my head down in my tiny room at the Sant Jordi Apartments hostel, in the northern area of the city.

First reality of travel! The beds are not as comfortable as the one you’ve grown to love at home. And the water in the shower isn’t always hot. Or, maybe never hot. Despite what the hostel’s webpage says.

There are a number of American students living in this building. I can hear their conversations, through my window and the talk of papers due and projects in the works are somehow comforting. None of the employees of the Sant Jordi speak English and my Spanish isn’t as good as I hoped it was. Fortunately, Joelle is quite fluent and as we travel about the city, she serves as our interpreter.

Barcelona, in general, is beautiful. I’ve already walked a good part of the city and I’m developing the shin splints to prove it. Construction does seem to be a theme of the city. Everywhere you look, there are construction cranes and scaffolding. Gaudi’s famous cathedral, La Sagrada Familia is very close by and it’s been under construction since the 1880’s. It’s a popular tourist attraction and the line to get in could give you a headache. Joelle is anxious to see it, but I think I’m going to pass. With five months to go, I’m sure there will be other, equally dramatic, churches, with shorter lines.

On my walks, I've found a lot of parks (old folks' corrals) and have sat down in many. The seniors sit and talk, or play a form of bocci ball all day. They seem to see me as an oddity. Some try to speak to me and I tell them - no “hablo espanol” - but that doesn't bother them at all - they just keep on talking - I smile, nod, and reply "no se" (I don't know) when ever they seem to be asking me a question. Sometimes I think my presence throws off the balance of the park – as if I am in someone else's seat and don't I know better than to sit down if I'm not 60+ or someone's abuela (grandma). The elderly are so much more visible/active here than at home.

I am out of the Sant Jordi apartment - and glad to be - not that it was bad, but the neighborhood I'm in now is much more interesting. I'm staying at the Windsor Hotel on Rambla Catalunya right in the heart of a big shopping district. The room is about the size of a very small bathroom and a medium-size closet, but at least its’ bigger than my room at the Sant Jordi! AND, it has HOT water. The people who run it are so sweet - I think its’ family run, with not a lot of young blood in the family. The elderly man who checked me in was very precise and in no hurry. The maid is no youngster either, but she hauls butt down the corridor, at the drop of a hat, like she's headed for the end zone. All are very helpful and very patient with my inadequate knowledge of Spanish.

Random thought. The men here, especially the older men, are funny. They will practically walk right up to you, as if they were going to say something, all the while ogling you up and down, but then they keep walking on, ogling you from the corners of their eyes and with a bowed head.

We took the metro to the beach today. The trade off for Joelle’s fluent Spanish is my understanding of the metro system. It mystifies Joelle, but I have it down pat – thanks to several hours of research on the web, before I left. The day was glorious, though a little cool and the sights were just beautiful. However, while wandering through a crowded tourist area, I discovered that the small pocket of my backpack had been opened and searched through. Fortunately nothing was stolen, because there was nothing there worth stealing, but it served as a reminder to be more aware.