Vacation Notes 2015: September 9th: Mykonos, Greece

The ship docked at 7:00AM and tenders immediately started transporting people to Mykonos, Greece. Tenders ran every 20 minutes. However, on this glorious morning we overslept. I didn’t get out of bed until a little past 9:00AM.

I went up for a late breakfast while L* continued to prepare for the day. M* was feeling a little ill - perhaps the effects of too much sun and heat from the day before - and elected to sleep in for the day.

10:00, 10:30, maybe even 11:00 o'clock but L* and I eventually got ourselves on a tender and headed to shore.

The first thing you notice as you step off the tender is the WHITENESS. Most, if not all of the buildings are painted the brightest white imaginable. Small fishing boats are moored seemingly randomly around the harbor. Several smaller fishing boats lay about on the shore. The beach is sandy in places, but pebbles and small stones dominate in other places. In many areas along this gateway to the island, there is no beach as construction reaches to the water’s edge. The water slaps lazily against a stone sea wall that rises only few feet above sea level. For anyone within a meter of the sea walls edge an occasional spray of warm salty water is unavoidable.

As is customary for Americans and other ugly tourists of our ilk, both L* and I took a few steps into the crystal-clear, warm waters. I'm happy to say that there was no Kraken—at least not on this day—to drag us beneath the waves nor did any octopus choose to mingle with our toes.

Walking along this area that obviously thrives on tourists was damn delightful. I'm not sure that such an unashamed tourist trap should have any right to feel this good, but it does.

The brochures say that the streets of Mykonos are cobblestone. I'll have to concede that claim, as I don't know my stones well enough to dispute this. However, what I do know is that the large stones are laid out relatively evenly, except in those places where it appears to be intentionally creased down the center, possibly for water run-off. Additionally those street stones are outlines with the same heavy white paint, or stucco-like, paste that covers most structures.

We turn off the roadway, known as Paralia Mykonou to those who can pronounce it, in search of the famed library of no apparent name. Once off the main tourist drag the streets, or more realistically the pedestrian ways, became noticeably narrower. There were places where the walk way was barely a single meter wide, yet all walks ways are bordered with sun-lit white buildings that are 3 - 4 stories tall. We have stepped into a true labyrinth of shops and hotels and residences in the old city.

There is, in my mind at least, little doubt that one of the effects of painting everything in brilliant white is that light is bouncing all over the place, brightening up what might otherwise be dingy alleyways and making a slight sunburn virtually unavoidable.

We continued inward, past the shops and through a hotel district. We emerged from the hotel district to - we'll call it a major roadway: AG. Ionnou.

There was nothing particularly striking about this roadway. It was wide by Mykonos standards—almost wide enough for two mini cars and a pedestrian. It was also ordinary; blacktop. We decided to head west, for no particular reason. We had walked no more than 15 feet, or maybe closer to 4 meters since this is Greece, when we saw a sign that made L*’s face light up: a rental company. They had cars, ATVs, and, most importantly, scooters!

As evidenced by the exclamation mark that closed the last paragraph we decided it was a good time to scoot around the countryside in a couple of Vespa-like vehicles.

With the sun at our backs, or the top of our heads, or directly in front of us—it’s really hard to tell when it’s bouncing off of white walls from practically everywhere—we exited the rental lot and turned right. There was no particular reason to turn right except that it appeared to lead uphill.

 

A curiosity in Mykonus, or maybe this is the norm for renting vehicles in Europe, is that the fuel gages of both bikes pointed to "E". (Full disclosure: The rental agent did tell us where we could find a gas station before we left the rental lot.)

We rode up—as in uphill—the AG.Ioannou roadway and turned left at what looked like another steep climb uphill. Our turn steered us in the direction of Ano Mera Kalo Livadi Kalafati, an impressive name but not important as I can’t say with any certainty that we actually made it that far. We found a gas station, gassed up, and continued on our uphill climb.

Sadly, I can’t comment knowledgeably about the important historical significance of all that we passed. The roads were narrow, winding, and, even on a one-gear Vespa wannabe, demanding of a little concentration. The crosswinds were brisk, hot and always welcome. Although there were times when it seemed as though the sun had been turned up to 100%, we didn’t mind. We were having a blast driving coast-to-coast (Mykonos is a small island) and collecting grit and other memorabilia in our teeth and hair.

 

We ventured into what were obviously more working-class areas, construction zones and some farmland, before deciding to turn back to our starting point.

Of course, there were some diversions on the way back. We headed into a roundabout, or circle, and somehow came out at two different points. At one point we stopped to look at chickens—I’ll have to let the pictures explain that decision. Also, naturally, since we were on tiny scooters, we were cut off by a truck.

In spite of the obstacles we once again we found ourselves on the AG.Ioannou, but rather than immediately head in the return we proceeded further in what had been our original uphill direction. We rode a little ways until we came upon the windmill at AG.Georgiou. I don't know that this windmill is any more significant than any of the others that can be found on the island. I’ll leave that determination to the tourist brochures, Wikipedia and others. I’ve just noted the location in case anybody would like to look it up it later.

 

It sometime was past noon, between 1:30 and 2:00, and our stomachs having been conditioned for regular eating after only 4 days of cruising began to feel empty. We got back on AG.Ioannou and headed west because, we had been told, food could be found to the west.

As it turned out we never did find that food but we did find a great vantage point overlooking of one of the several family-friendly (damn) beaches suitable for swimming. Once again, a picture, or several pictures, will have to be worth thousands of words.

Actually, we did find a suitable place to eat, but we chose not to. Instead, we continued uphill because it was there and we could. This time it was a very steep incline and although we thought we could make the climb, our tiny scooter engines didn't sound entirely convinced. Anyway, we did eventually reach the summit of this particular hill. It ended at a impressive-looking private home with a very impressive gated entryway. We continued past for a few more meters until it became obvious that continuing on this route would be taking us downhill. However, we didn’t turn around without first stopping to admire the panoramic view of the island offered by this location. We could see from a swimming lagoon, to the old village, to the harbor filled with its small fishing vessels. A few photos later, we re-mounted our baby-Vespas and headed in the general direction of the rental agency.

 

A few twists and turns and some photo-op stops at vantage points later, we returned the bikes and re-entered the labyrinth that is the old city. Somehow, while attempting to retrace our steps we came upon things that we had not come upon before. New shops, eateries, and a chapel dedicated to St. George.

Eventually we emerged several blocks west of our intended destination in an area known—at least in the tourist brochures—as Little Venice. Here as in the rest of the old city the roadways are pedestrian only wide, the primary difference from the rest of Mykonos is that many of the building literally hang over the water and, rather than all brilliant white, are painted a variety of brilliant colors including reds, yellows, blues, greens, and many others that I failed to name.

 

We walked along the seawall in Little Venice, catching some ocean spray as we did so, heading in a direction that we hoped might be correct. I really can't really give any credit to our sense of direction but somehow we did manage to stumble out into the area were we needed to be to meet our tender.

We boarded the tender and wound up sitting next to a small group from Toronto. We swapped stories, helped out with the occasional selfie, relished in the relief from the heat that was provided by the occasional kick up of a warm ocean spray, and just basically enjoyed a nice ride back to our cruise ship.

We fetched M* from our room and went up to the top deck with thoughts of observing the ships departure from Mykonos. As it turned out the departure would take a back seat to the winds, which really started whipping around the top deck. Standing in one spot was a serious challenge. We watched as pool chairs were being blown along the deck.

After our top-deck wind-blown adventures we, and by we I mean L*, stopped to take care of some business, such as booking an experience in Athens.

For the second night in a row we chose the sit-down dinner over the all-you-can-eat option. We met a couple from Scotland, J* is a farmer-researcher relocated to Scotland from Ireland. His wife, F*, is a caretaker for people with severe learning disabilities. M*, who was feeling a little better by now, joined us for dinner. A pleasant time was had, I hope, by all.

Exhaustion takes us all eventually. After dinner, in spite of several great ideas and opportunities we opted to call it a night. And, except for a brief excursion for some emergency ice cream, we did not leave our stateroom for the rest of the evening.

Tomorrow we dock at Kusadasi, Turkey. It is expected to be much hotter than today. Today we stayed under 90 degrees F. The ship should pull into port around 7:00am. We've not booked any excursions—Ephesus is the big draw here, but we’d been there—M* included—previously. At this time, we are not planning on anything beyond a brief on-foot shore excursion.

Vacation Notes 2015: September 8th: Crete, Greece

The early bird may get the worm, but he doesn’t get to Greece any sooner. We’re scheduled to pull into port around noon.

Of course, just because you don’t have to get up it that doesn’t mean that you can’t get up. We’re in the Mediterranean—more or less—it’s early in the morning and it’s already near 90 degrees.

Somewhere on an upper deck there’s a pool, or two, going a wasting.

L***y was the first one up. She was quickly dressed—bathing suit and book—and headed poolside.

I slept in a little later but not that much later. I got dressed, woke up M**a, and headed to the upper deck for breakfast.

M**a did eventually get up in time to join me for breakfast. Me being a notoriously slow eater worked in her favor. I was still chewing on my scrambled eggs when she arrived. After finishing breakfast, we walked a few laps on the upper-most deck. Already it was hot. The magnificent Mediterranean had almost finished burning off the early-morning cloud cover. But the walk was pleasant thanks to a healthy breeze that kept us comfortable.

After completing two strenuous laps at the breakneck pace of maybe 1 or 1.5 miles per hour, Mira tired and decided she’d rather see what might be happening at the teen club. The teen club is the place on board where the teenagers can get together to complain about their parents who forced them to come along on this arduous journey. I returned to our cabin, put on my bathing suit, grabbed a book, and joined L***y by the pool.

I'm not a big fan of cold water. Although, other than perhaps myself, most people consider that a pool on board a ship in the Mediterranean in the summer could actually be cold. But, this is a vacation; it’s no time to argue the point. Lucky for me cruise-lines seem to cater to the(us)old folks. There are several whirlpools—or Jacuzzis or hot-tubs, or whatever you prefer—surrounding the main pools. They appear to have one primary temperature setting: lobster. I made two separate trips into the hot tub. Once for poached and a second time for hard-boiled.

There’s only so much pool side splendor that one can endure in a morning. L***y and I returned to our cabin and dressed for a casual lunch in the Edelweiss dining room. We were seated at a table with two couples from Canada, they were traveling together, and another couple from New York.  The topics of conversation ranged from the Seattle Seahawks to the New York Giants, to hockey, to Donald Trump, 9/11, and how we intended to spend our time while on Crete.

Having signed up for a Royal Caribbean excursion the New York couple had a set departure time and barely had time to sniff at their breakfast dishes before they had to go. We and our new Canadian friends, had a little more time to spare as we had not purchased excursion tickets and, in fact, were discouraged from leaving the ship before those who had purchased excursion tickets. I suppose that we could have fought, pushed, and bullied our way off the ship, but what’s the rush?

Eventually we did say goodbye to our breakfast companions, fetched Mira from our room and made our way toward the gangway.

Once off the ship getting into the Old Town of Chania, even without excursion tickets, was very easy. There were busses, running every 10 minutes from the terminal gates, to take us to and from the city.

We boarded the first available bus, which took us straight into the center of the old city and dropped us off Markopoulo Square. As we were on foot and basically ad-libbing our day in Chania, our first stop was, naturally enough, near to where they dropped us: the Municipal Market of Chania.

The market-at least on the outside-has a little bit of the look and feel of some ancient American municipal building. However, in spite of its 1940s American façade it is slightly over a century old. (Only in Europe can you say only 100 years old with a straight face. I know, there are older places in the Americas too, but with few exceptions, these are preserved as historical landmarks and have not remained a part of everyday life. When was the last time you went to a Mayan village on human-sacrifice day?)

The Municipal Market of Chiana is contains a fair number of shops catering to the tourist trade, but at its heart it remains a farmers market. Its high-ceilinged interior and basic cross floor plan is likely the genesis of the concept that grand market places in London, Milan, and Naples appear to have borrowed from. The butcher shops and cheese shops maintain a certain provincial charm, even if they do appear a little too edgy to consider an actual purchase. Its plain concrete floors, a few too many indoor pigeons, and a significant cat population help the marketplace maintain its genuine Crete feel—or, at least what I suspect is a genuine Crete/Chania feel.

A couple of t-shirts, scarves, and bars of soap later we left the market and down Tsourderon. IN this case “down” means right and “right” means northwest, more or less.

Tsourderon, in addition to being unpronounceable for an American is either a street, or square, or avenue, or lane. I don't know what the people of Crete would call this but in America this would be referred to as a pedestrian square. It is lined with shops and restaurants that have been carved from stone and somehow fitted into centuries old buildings.

We continued down Tsourderon, after making a stop to buy Mira and myself some new sandals, and

turned left on Daskalogianni Way. (I seriously doubt that this has ever been referred to as "way", but it seems to fit in that sentence. We walked past several shops--including a scooter rental—to the Temple of St. Rocco. Unfortunately for us St. Rocco must have been on holiday. We could not go inside.

Continuing through the 1821 Square—I have no idea of the origin of that name, consider this your Google assignment—we came to the Dominican Temple of St. Nicolas. What apparently started as a pagan temple has been conquered, and I suppose you could say converted, several times since its construction in 1320.

Leaving the temple, we did some free-lance roaming in an area known as Splantzia. It consist of homes, generally several stories high, arranged in a labyrinth of alleyways, just big enough for some cars, but only if they're barely wider than a scooter. Most of the homes are stone construction, and then covered with a smooth stucco that is then painted, usually in very bright color. Favored colors appear to be yellow, orange, and white.

Emerging from the labyrinthine Splantzia—Labyrinthine is a word I’ll come to use a lot when describing the streets and alley ways of Greece—we came upon the Venizelio Conservatory of Chania. From outside we could hear the music of semi-talented pianist wafting from the open windows. The heat might possibly affect the sound of wafting music as from L***y's vantage point she heard wonderful music. By the time the music reached my ears it taken on the sound of a hundred monkeys attempting to compose a sonata. In any event, we were listening to students practicing, so overall, the Venizelio Conservatory of Chania was of little significance to us except as a geographic marker. The combination of heat and an exhausted water supply was beginning to get the better of us. We retraced our steps to one block short of Tsouderon, deciding to take a slightly different return route.

Chatzimichal Ntaliani is similar to Tsouderon in that it is a pedestrian alley-way, however while Tsouderon features shops Chatzimichal Ntaliani belongs to the string of restaurants that line the street. It was at this point that I wondered why places like Crete don't lobby the Cruise Lines to please stay overnight. It was obvious, as we were slowly making our way to the bus that would take us back to our ship, that the real fun was still a few hours away from beginning. Merchants were setting up tables and chairs in the alley. They were building what would be one continuous, street-long restaurant. No doubt there would be food, music and a whole lot of drinking.

Our final path turn back to the bus took us down Mousouron. L***y and M**a did stop to make a few additional purchases on one of the many shops along this route.

We boarded our bus exactly where it had dropped us off and returned to our ship.

Mira, exhausted and perhaps feeling the effects of a day of sun and heat, went immediately to our stateroom where she collapsed into her bed. L***y and I, washed up and went to our reserved sit-down dinner, the semi-fancy one, not the buffet, and once again enjoyed a fine meal.

We have an early stop tomorrow, so it's, theoretically at least, going to be a short night. After a few top-deck strolls, and a late dinner for M**a, we retreated to our room ready to tuck in for the night. Given the level of service on this ship it wouldn’t be the least bit surprising to learn that we could call room service and them tuck us in, but that seems to be asking a bit much—at least for tonight.

 

Vacation Notes 2015: September 7th: Day at Sea

Monday, a day spent at sea. We're on our way to Crete(Chania), Greece.

Most of the time there’s not much that can be seen from the ship. It’s water, water everywhere except when passing through the Strait of Messina. While here we can see the shores of both Italy and Sicily. It’s not too long before we are out on the open seas again—probably.  Distant rains limits visibility, maybe there’s land just a few hundred yards off. It is the Mediterranean, so I guess that should be a few hundred meters off.

A day at sea would seem a good day to indulge the inner lazy, but I awoke too soon. L***y and M***a did not suffer from this affliction. In fact it is doubtful that M***a would have woken at all if not for the prompting of shoves and pokes.

Too much lazy is not good and once again I walked as much as seemed reasonable. There is a lap-track on the top deck which I took advantage of several times, including a few laps with LauraMaery. The air was hot and heavy with the rain that would eventually fall, but a strong breeze provided the necessary relief to overcome what would have otherwise been oppressive conditions. The end result was illogically refreshing walking conditions.

While too much lazy may not be a good, just the right amount of lazy can be grand. While M***a disappeared into the mysterious stuff that that teenagers do on a long voyage, one that last more than 20 minute, L***y and I took to the deck chairs with books in hand.

All day the skies threatened. There was lightening, in the distance, and the sound of thunder rolled over the relatively still seas uninhibited, rain threatened with several false starts but a serious storm never really did happen. Although, it did become necessary, at least as determined by the ship’s captain, to close the upper deck due to high winds.

Generally food on a cruise line is not really worth writing about more than once. Every day is something new and decently terrific. But, on this day, we tried a few new wrinkles.

Breakfast was ordinary, and delicious, and abundant.

For lunch we tried the sit-down dining room rather than the buffet. Food and service was excellent. L***y had the salmon while I had a steak sandwich.

For dinner we made reservations at Izumi, on-no-board restaurant featuring Japanese and Asian cuisine. This is one of the few times we've been disappointed with cruise-line fare. My sushimi plate was good but L***y's Philly roll had the texture of a wet dish rag. Still, the service was excellent and they did replace the Philly Roll with L***y's substitute selection. For what it's worth, M**a ate what were basically chicken McNuggets.

Cruise-line passengers can be a demanding bunch and, true to form,  after dinner we were ready to be entertained.

Mira went to the on-deck movies. They were showing the latest Avengers flick: the Age of Voltron.

L***y and I went to the main ballroom to hear the group, 4Ever. They were pleasant enough, if you enjoy mediocre 4-Seasons, but after a few bars we’d heard enough.   We quickly retreated to the Centrum -- center of the ship, duh -- where the lobby band was rocking –at least as much as you can

rock on a cruise ship where the average age is probably 75. They called themselves D'Grooveline. Their name aside, it possibly being indicative of a professional death wish for being doomed to a career of playing lobbies, they were a tight, cover band that hit all the right notes for the assembled crowds.

At one point L***y even became a recruiter of sorts, coaxing several toe-tapping women into the dance floor.

That's all for now. Tomorrow we reach land!

Vacation Notes 2015: September 6th: Rhapsody of the Seas

It’s check-out and check-in day for us. We check out of the Mercure and we check onto the Royal Caribbean day for us.

The Mercure has been a great hotel up to now. This morning they decided that we had never really purchased the package that included the complimentary breakfast. It took some doing but L*** cleared this up. It was either a big misunderstanding – or maybe they were just sad to see us go.

I’ve decided to include a photo or two that demands explanation.  For reasons not worth understanding the bidet remains a popular feature in Europe—at least in France in Italy. It may be coincidence but while in France all the bidets I've encountered were dainty devices with water streams less capable than your average water fountain.

It has been a different story in Italy however. First in Venice in 2007, and now here in Rome, both of the bidets we've had in our rooms provided enough water pressure to knock a tooth out. How, exactly that could happen I will leave to your imagination.

Our shuttle from hotel to ship was scheduled to arrive at 10:30AM. It showed up slightly after 9:30AM. I’m not sure how long they waited before the driver went to the front desk to have them call us.

It is said that Mussolini made the trains run on time. So perhaps the answer to the Italians total lack of regard for time and schedules is that it is a subconscious passive-resistance response to the memory of the awful dictator Mussolini.

We finished packing as fast as we could and loaded ourselves on the van with some understandably irritated travelers.  Destination for all: Rhapsody of the Seas.

Well, there really isn’t much to write about on the first day on board a cruise ship. It’s all about gathering luggage, checking in, passport control and all the really un-fun things associated with traveling abroad.

L***y and I spent some time in the whirlpool. M**a insist that nobody calls it a whirlpool; it’s a hot tub! Maybe, but on-board signs call it a whirlpool!

After dinner we sat out on the deck and watched a movie under the Mediterranean sky: Despicable Me 2.

I’ve been carrying a pedometer with me on this trip. Somehow, without really going anywhere except up and down stairs on board this ship I ended the evening with  5.7 miles.

Vacation Notes 2015: September 5th: Naples for an Afternoon

Am I the only person who is mentally unable to bring myself to hit the snooze alarm while on vacation? Today we’re going to Naples—early, but I woke up at 4:30AM. Totally unnecessary. Still, once up, I didn’t see the benefit of going back to sleep only to struggle to rise again in another 30 minutes or so. So I showered and dressed—all before sunrise. Then I sat down to read a bit, feeling proud that for the first time on this trip I've arisen before L***.

Looking on a map while still home, more than 8,000 miles away, Naples didn’t appear to be too far from Rome. A day trip seemed reasonable. After all Naples is where half of my family originated from. I’ve never had any contact with any family members in Italy; still it will be interesting to experience just a small taste of the life that my grandparents left behind.We went online and purchased tickets for a one-day excursion to Naples from Rome.

Our bus was scheduled to leave from the travel agency in Rome at 7:00AM, sharp! The hotel shuttle can take us as far as the EUR Fermi metro station but it will not be available before 7:30AM. This is too late for our purposes. Our best alternative was to hire a taxi to take us directly to the agency’s doorsteps in Rome.

We arranged for a taxi to pick us up at the hotel at 6:00AM. We assumed this would mean that we would be skipping breakfast--the hotel kitchen does not begin serving food until 6:30AM. But, it turns out that this was not to be a problem as the ever thoughtful hotel staff, aware that we were leaving early, arranged to have the kitchen prepare bag-breakfast that we could take with us.

Our taxi driver on time and drove us to our destination. He emptied us from his car and quickly drove off. Presumably he was in a hurry to pick up his next charge although I suspect it may just have easily been that he wished to leave this neighborhood as quickly as possible in order to avoid the possibility of witnessing some criminal activity.

But I am exaggerating a little when I imply that this neighborhood was in any way questionable. After all our travel agency was right there—a closed door in a wall, in the middle of a deserted block, barely wider than an alleyway.  In spite of its appearance the “street”, Via Antonio Salndra, is really not too far off the beaten path. From just the right angle you can see the rear—escape—exit of the Basilica of Santa Maria delgi Angeli. I would suggest that you Google this location, to confirm for yourself that this is not some bad-side of town,  except that that it doesn't appear that Google has ever allowed their cars to visit this area of Rome.

Our scheduled departure time—7:00AM—came and went without incident. By this I mean that other than the three of us standing and waiting, there were no other signs of life. We tugged on the door handle of what we believed might possibly be the travel agency door but it was locked. I began wondering aloud how we could possibly be at the correct address. Some bickering might have ensued.

Eventually a woman appeared from someplace unseen, she cautiously said good morning, unlocked the door and went inside. Like lost sheep we followed her in.

Yes, this was the travel agency, but she wasn't really expecting us. Even with confirmations in hand she remained unconvinced. There was some checking and re-checking, and a few phone calls to irritated individuals before she was able to confirm that we were indeed scheduled to go to Naples at 7:00AM. However, there was a problem. The tour "bus" had broken down and the driver would be at least an hour late.

The sense of how time is defined in Italy continues to elude us. Sometimes in-a-minute means 20 minutes. In this case “at least an hour” also meant 20 minutes. The driver pulled up in what appeared to be a perfectly fine mini-van. This made me suspect that the broken-down bus problem may have been more closely related to a snooze-alarm than to any actual mechanical problem.

The driver’s arrival was followed by some minor bickering between himself and the agency representative. Eventually their misunderstanding was resolved and our tour was ready to begin.

As it turned out we, the three of us, were to be the only tourist going to Naples today.  Our driver's name was Adriano. He complemented our lack of Italian perfectly with his complete lack of English. This could get interesting. Nevertheless we boarded the tour bus, actually an Opel van, and set out on the 2-plus hour drive to Naples.

Although Adriano spoke absolutely no English, LauraMaery did try to make the best of the situation by

engaging in a conversation of hand motions and mostly irrelevant English-Italian homonyms.

To his credit Adriano tried his best to be the engaging tour-guide, often pointing out buildings and far off things, explaining it all in flawless Italian—none of which we understood. Similarly we expressed our appreciation and wonder in US-style English, none of which he seemed to have understood.

At about the half-way point we pulled over into a high-way rest stop. This was great news for our bladders but not much else. There was only one open counter inside and it was surrounded by a raucous mob rushing to pay for their coffee and pastry.

It may be a highway that leads from Rome to Naples but once you get close to the city limits its all uneven cobblestone.

Cobblestone roads are not recommended for anyone with back problems, weak kidneys, or traveling more

than 30km an hour. Yet, nobody observes that last rule. Even the scooters are exceeding 30km per hour.

One observation about Italian driving is that in addition to being fast and choppy, it is also obviously faith-based. Bicyclist, scooters, and cars all trust that they will not be crushed as they blindly race towards that one available 3-foot opening in an otherwise closed street.

We continued this route into Naples, winding our way through streets that provide no wiggle room. It’s a miracle that we somehow avoiding scraping the ankles of pedestrians with our hubcaps. All the while Adriano, pretending—I think—to be oblivious to anything that might be on the road in front of us, continued to deliver his well-rehearsed tourist- spiel in his flawless Italian. As he spoke I tried my best to put sounds in context and pick out a word or two of what he was trying to tell us.

 We stopped along the Via Possillipo for a photo-shoot opportunity. We had an awe-inspiring view of Mt. Vesuvius and could see the the isle of Capri off in the distance. A few shutter-snaps later and we were back on the road, circling around a bit to until we arrived at what would be 

our drop-off/rendezvous point, just slightly north of the Teatro di San Carlo.

“Walking time!” Adriano informed us to our surprise. We arranged for what seemed to be—to us—a 3:00PM pickup.

As foreigners with no particular Italian-language skills or useful tourist maps we did what seemed to the logical thing and headed in the direction of the closest, biggest building; the Teatro di San Carlo.

The Teatro di San Carlo which functions as a theater and opera house first opened around 1737. That’s less than 300 years old, which in Italian, means new. The design is naturally elegant and it appeared as though it would have been nice to tour, but the asking price seemed only less than the cost of a night at the opera, so we continued on our way.

As I’ve probably mentioned several times, any sense of the clock seems shattered once you step on Italian soil. I'm not exactly sure what that last statement might have to do with the current narrative but a lot did seem to happen between us stepping out of the van and walking towards, into, and then out of the theater.

We continued a few meters up the road and it happened again. Just as had happened in Rome the day before, there was a flash of lightening and the rumble of distant thunder, then again, but not so distance. This storm was moving faster than the deluge we had experienced in Rome the day before. We had little time to contemplate the implications: lightening and rain, lots of rain!

Having just emerged from what would have been the sufficient shelter of the theater, we found ourselves somewhat in the open, at the mouth of a wide open plaza. We’d already made the decision not to backtrack. Should the clouds just unleash as they had done in Rome there was an underground toilet that could provide a potentially stinky but hopefully dry place to hide from the coming rain.

Luckily, before descending into the toilets, I noticed a pizzeria just across the (Via San Carlo) street. It had food, potentially a bathroom of its own, and outdoor tents that appeared large enough to provide shelter from the storm while enjoying what appeared to be exceptionally good pizza.

I don't want to go on too much about food as it always seems to be all about the food with us stout types, but the Napoleonian pizza served here was really delicious. This was nothing at all like the New York variety of pizza. The dough was artesian bread. They made it more like a pizza cracker than the floppy grease-sheets from New York, which I also love by the way.

I wouldn’t call comparing toilet habits of different countries a hobby of mine. I prefer to think of it as curious and essential distraction that sometimes warrants mentioning. The toilet in this pizzeria is one that—from an American perspective—warrants mentioning.

For reasons I don't really understand restaurant toilets are often hidden away in some obscure location. Maybe this is to discourage non-customers from taking advantage of the facilities—good luck finding the toilet without detailed direction from the staff. Or maybe, toilet placement is simply the unavoidable result of attempting to find a place for modern plumbing in centuries old building. The latter seems the most logical answer. For all I know older building in New York and Philadelphia may have the same issues.

Anyway, the trip to the toilet required me to step outside the restaurant, enter in another location, go to the back of the second dining area, down a short staircase to a landing and…  Left or right? I didn’t have a clue. Luckily an employee coming up from the right, without any need for a translator, guessed correctly at my plight. She directed me to the left. That led to a door, but this shaggy-dog story wasn’t over yet. The room contained a sink, no toilet and two doors. Both doors led to single toilets. While it wasn't clear which I should use the one with no seat seemed the more correct choice.

Eventually, after I had found my way back to the surface, we ordered 3 slices of pizza and sat at an inner table under the tent. Then the rain, as it had been threatening to do, became serious. Even though the tents provided adequate protection for our heads and bodies our feet weren't so lucky. At ground level was a mini-flood of mini-biblical proportions as as much as 1 inch of water swiftly flowed from high to low ground.

The wind began to whip up even more. Even sitting well within the bowls of the covered areas we couldn't avoid a little spray. Some of the kitchen staff had also come out, presumably for their smoke break. The section of tent over their heads surrendered to the relentless winds and rain and dumped the equivalent of a bucket of water on at least two of the now-scattered employees.

Eventually, as had happened the day before in Rome, the rains subsided and we ventured forth into the city.

Outside of Sophia Loren I knew nothing of Naples. (Even then I don’t know if Sophia Loren is from Naples or of she was just in a movie where she was from Naples.) The streets of Naples—at least the old city—are single lane and narrow. It is no exaggeration when I say that a there is not enough room for a scooter and a smaller Fiat to go down these street side by side. Many of these narrow streets are flanked by buildings that or 4 to 8 stories high. The effect is to create a city of pedestrian tunnels that don't allow for the escape of heat or humidity or the smell of dog poop. When I think back on this I know that it should be disgusting, yet people makes lives and homes there, and, at least when experienced for such a short period of time, it is somehow appealing.

Of course, not all of Naples is trapped in a middle-ages layout. There is a grand courtyard (Piazza del Plebiscito) and a pedestrian mall (Galleria Umberto I) that is similar in concept to those in Milan and London.  The mall is also where I had the best ba-ba rum that I’ve had in over 3 decades. (Again with the food talk.) And, naturally, it is never too far to the nearest basilica: The Basilica Reale San Francesco di Paola is just off the Piazza del Plebiscito. We had the honor—or rather the bride had the horror—of catching a wedding in progress. Would it be redundant to note that it was an Italian wedding?

We continued our walking tour of Naples. I want to say soaking in the sights, but that is not exactly the case. We tried to place our big toe into the normal everyday existence of Naples, staying away from the main drag as much as feasible. Nevertheless we did have a rendezvous point—we hoped—and a driver to take us home—to Rome.

 

We circled around, sticking along the waterfront in hopes of finding our way back to our rendezvous.

Along the way we stopped in for a brief look at the 825-year-old Castle Nuovo. The castle is actually in use even today, although not so much to ward off invaders as it is to host a comedy concert for which tickets were required.

Somehow we reunited with our driver and settled in for the long ride back to Rome.

Adriano dropped us off at our hotel, which saved us the trouble of a metro commute, but which made the thought of dragging ourselves back out for a meal after another day of walking in heat and rain even more daunting . This left us in a bit of a quandary; we didn't really feel like traveling back into the city just for dinner, and we didn't really want to eat in the hotel diner, so LauraMaery asked the desk clerk if she had any suggestions.

As a matter of fact it turns out she had a grand suggestion.  She had a promotional brochure from a local restaurant called De Lureniti. They were a themed restaurant, the theme being 19th century Italy. Why 19th century? I don't really know but I think it has something to do with the establishment of Italy as an independent nation. Think of it as a celebration of 1776.

It was a generous promotion, too tempting to turn down, In addition to a 10% discount on food and drinks the restaurant would send its own shuttle to pick us up from and later return us to our hotel.

We arrived for dinner around 7:45pm, early for an Italian dining experience. We were virtually alone in a rather sizable restaurant. There were at most two other tables that were occupied. Fortunately this was not a harbinger of things to come. The service was great. The food was great. And within a half-hour of our arrival the place was busting at the seams with people. The place was noisy, and boisterous, and fun. And the people came in all shapes and sizes. They were young and old, families and couples, elderly, and babies. The entire staff: waitresses, cooks, everyone wore 19th century garb and, I know I mentioned this already, but the food and service were outstanding.

 

The restaurant shuttle returned us to our hotel and for what would be the last night of the Roman leg of our holiday.