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.