You can't be forever blessed.

I leave to fly home tomorrow morning.

If I could, I would continue.  I love this transient, minimal life.  Even with all if the frustrations, all of the many ways Europe has discovered to flush a toilet (and still not all that well), I would go on if I could.  Asia, Africa, Indonesia, Australia... just me and Sisyphus, hopefully meeting friends here and there along the way.

When I think about it objectively, who wouldn't love this life?  I see incredible things, eat and drink incredible things, every day as a matter of course.  I have no responsibility beyond that to my own safety and well-being, and the closest thing I have to actual work is this blog here (which does seem like an outright obligation sometimes but never something I'm not immensely proud of and happy to go back to).

It is, sadly and obviously, an unsustainable lifestyle.  I've pushed it way too far already, and will feel those consequences in the months to come. I wish I didn't like nice dinners.  I wish I didn't like museums, or parasailing, or riding horses on volcanoes.   I wish I didn't like any of those things that have depleted my available funds for this adventure, and now the lack of them forces me to end it.  But if I didn't like those things, I would not have had the experiences that have made this trip unforgettable, the very things that leave me, desperately, wanting more, wanting just so badly for it all not to end.

For three months I lived the life I would live my whole life if I could.  I got to do this.  Many people never get that chance, and I am acutely aware of each and every one of my blessings and fate-smilings-down-upon.  Tomorrow I go back to my real life, my other life, which is still not all that down-to-earth and hardly horrible.

I am so, just so grateful for this time.  To have had this most precious time.  I should be feeling a sense of tremendous accomplishment, and I'm sure that somewhere in there, I do.  But one thing I always try to do is be honest with you people on here, and honestly right now I am sad.  And yes, I am aware this is akin to a child crying because she can't have more cake, even though she's already just had more cake than any reasonable parent would allow.  I don't care.  This is my space, and I can be sad about a wonderful thing ending if I want to.  There is so much more to see, so many countries and cities and coastlines, and hostels to yell at.  I want to keep going.  Forward.  Instead I am going back.

This song isn't truly relevant to my current situation, but it's been in my head a lot during the course of my travels.  I was going to post it originally in the unlikely and unpleasant event that Mitt Romney won the recent election, but by the grace of God and the American people I was spared having to do that.  All the same, it's a good song, a thoughtful song, and I wanted you to hear it.

(Also -- DUDE.  Pants.  Hair.  I don't care if it was the '70s.  Thank God this was before the success of your music depended on how sexy you were.  Instead of, you know, on actual quality of music.)

Rome: Calling up old ghosts

My first night in Rome was kind of like... meeting up with an old college buddy after five or ten years.  It was frenetic, and exhausting, and awesome, full of nostalgia, and I passed many a bittersweet moment reflecting on all that was THEN, and NOW.

But first.  Train from Sorrento, and then from Naples, all went smooth.  I'm a Rail Pro by then end of this freaking adventure.  Even the train ride itself was a little sad as I realized this was the last train I would be taking on my trip.  Flying to Athens, ferry to and from Santorini... this was it for the mighty European Rail System.  So very fitting that my last train would pull me into none other than Roma Termini.  It was 6:00 or so in the evening.

My hostel was near Termini, as are pretty much all the hostels in Rome.  I did not want to stay in this area; I very much wanted to be exactly where I had been the first time, in the quiet and picturesque Monti neighborhood just five minutes from the Colosseum.  But that had been a very different trip with a very different budget, and now my kinds of places were scattered around what my old Rome guidebook called "the seedy area around the train station."  Well, whatever.  Rome is Rome.  I found the place with no difficulty, checked in, and literally discovered I was standing in my hostel kitchen, rubbing my hands together sort of absentmindedly while walking in a very small circle.  I had made it to Rome.  I was back, finally, against all odds, and now I had no idea where to start.

I spread my hostel-furnished map of the city on the table and just smiled.  There they were, all my old friends.  Waiting for me.  I familiarized myself with street names and routes, picked out the obvious landmarks:  the Trevi, the Pantheon, the Colosseum, the Vittoriano.  I touched the street where my old hotel had been, Via Bochetto.  And then I put my map in my pocket and I set out.

I was making for the Trevi.  I'd wanted the first thing I saw to be the Pantheon, as it remains my favorite building in Rome and also it was the first thing I'd happened to come across my very first night in the city three years ago.  But given the position of my hostel, the Trevi was kind of directly between me and the Pantheon.  So...

One of the things I remember about the Trevi was that I was always able to hear it before I saw it.  It was a sad sort of shock to realize that wasn't really the case this time around.  I don't know why.  Maybe they turned down the water pressure?  Maybe things are just never quite how you remember them?

In the vein of that last thought, I definitely did not remember the sheer army of hawkers, sharks, sheisters, and one can only assume, pickpockets and thieves that encircled this poor beleaguered tourist-thronged piazza.  I have been traveling for nearly three months and I can say with utter certainty that I have never seen anything quite like this.  They were everywhere, and they straight-out ruined it.  Maybe this has everything to do with the fact that I'm a lot more grouchy and a lot less naive than I was three+ years ago, but I seriously do not remember it like this.  But at any rate, the Trevi sadly did not have the magic or appeal for me that it had the first time around.  All these circling predators were making me uncomfortable.  Last time, I got a pistachio gelato and sat on the railing of the fountain while I ate it, taking my time, observing everything, happy as a clam.  This time, it was a pause for a couple photos and I headed on my way.

My very first night in Rome, I wandered around lost for something like eight hours.  Just when I was thinking of going to bed early, I came out of a narrow alleyway and stumbled onto this:

I remember being so overwhelmed.  I got a glass of red in a cafe overlooking this exact view, and wrote in my journal a quiet and humble prayer.  "I'm here.  I made it.  Thank you."

This night, I wanted so much to sit at that same cafe and remember all that I had felt and thought on that one remarkable night that remains one of the best in my whole life.  I walked up and took a look at their posted menu.  A glass of wine was 7.50 euro.  Ah, those were different times.  And all things considered, I would not trade my life then for my life now, for anything in the world.  I smiled and set off for the next spot on my Rome Nostalgia Treasure Hunt.

I was heading for the Colosseum, but to get there I had to pass the Vittoriano.

My heels were starting to seriously protest this incredible city-wide trek of ill treatment, but I was ignoring them.  I had an agenda.  I had shit I needed to do.

I said Hi to the Colosseo, and then turned my pain-in-the-ass feet up the Via Serpenti.  I was calling on an old friend.

So I kind of fell in love a little bit, the last time I was here.  I don't mean with the city, although that is true as well.  I fell in love with a lady bartender named Monya who remains the single most sensual gorgeous creature I have ever seen.  She worked in a tiny bar around the corner from my old hotel that I have named the Sodium Light Bar in my head because of the yellow light that filled the place.  I found it halfway through my trip and came there every night after that.  The entire place was filled with graceful, feral animals, drumming beats to the American Jazz on a giant bin of olives, breaking out into spontaneous song.  And Monya moved like tending bar was the most graceful sexy dance in the world, a dance that only she knew the moves to.

My last night in Rome, the bartenders of the Sodium Light Bar let me stay past closing.  We chatted and joked as they cleaned up.  I even offered to help but they wouldn't hear of it.  Monya pulled a bottle of vodka out from under the counter and we all did a shot together.  As I stood up to go finally, she fixed me with a sexy glare and said: "You will come back, yes?"

I promised.  I promised I would come back, to Rome, to the Sodium Light Bar, even though at the time I had no idea what life would bring or how I would ever accomplish this.  And now, somehow... holy shit.  I found myself back in the Eternal City.  I wanted, more than anything, to find the Sodium Light Bar and see Monya there.  I had no illusions about her actually remembering me.  But I wanted to see her and tell her.  "I came back.  I kept my promise."  And I am also under no disillusions regarding the turnover of bar and wait staff.  I knew the chances of her actually being there were pretty much slim to none.  All the same I had to try.

The Sodium Light Bar was full to bursting with Italians.  It was the kind of place I never would have the courage to approach normally, but this was a special situation.  I pushed my way through the crowd and up to the bar.

No Monya.  I smiled quietly to myself and ordered a glass of house wine, which turned out to be more expensive than what I would normally be comfortable paying.  I sat at the counter and remembered my teaching the bartenders of three years ago how to say "Through the arch and to the right", these being the directions to the toilet.  Later, as I stood up to go pee, someone actually told me "To the right," and I wanted to shake him and say "I know!  This is my place!  I belong here!"  But of course I didn't, because Monya was not here and clearly this was not my place anymore.  Whatever magic had been here three years ago, it was hers and she had taken it with her.

As I left, I asked one of the bartenders about Monya.  The woman remembered her but said she had moved on.  She even gave me the name of her new place, and later I looked it up on Google Maps, but it was way outside the city in the suburbs, not somewhere easily traversed by someone dependent on mass transit.  I was going to have to leave Monya in my memory, where undoubtedly she is safest.

I said goodnight to the Sodium Light Bar, which, I realized, got its yellow light from cut-glass sconces and not from sodium bulbs at all, and walked past my old hotel just for a lark.  Then it was time to head up Via Natzionale towards Termini and my new temporary home in the Eternal City.

The next morning I would wake up to find myself 33.

Imagine a morning in late November

Well, it's happening.  My grand European adventure is drawing to a close.  I will be home Wednesday evening.  And yes -- I am pitifully behind on my travel posts.  This is why I'll never be a professional writer -- although, if someone were to decide to give me money for the nonsense I spew out, I probably could pony up with a post fairly regularly.  Couldn't vouch for the consistent quality though. :)

Thanksgiving has just happened, and just like last year, I find my blessings far too numerous to count.  Like the stars.  My family and friends, first and last and always.  Strangers I meet along the way, who sometimes even become friends.  My (mostly) healthy body.  And recently, blue-domed white churches and an archipelago encompassing over 3,000 islands.

But Thanksgiving is over, and it's late November.  And, with absolutely no irony intended, it's about to be The Most Wonderful Time of the Year.  As you (may) know, I missed Christmas at home last year, in favor of a unique and wonderful Japanese Military Christmas with my sister and BiL in Okinawa.  But this year, this year I'll be back with the Christmas Mouse.  And I intend to do Christmas at Home justice... from a Christmas Eve walk around the neighborhood to look at all the lights, to vodka crans at breakfast the next morning.

And then there is this.

I remember so clearly the first time my father read us this story on Christmas Eve.  It was years ago now, and I was so very Too Cool for School and didn't want any part of it, but it drew me in anyway.  Every year since then (except for I think one year), my Dad has read this story to the family on Christmas Eve night, as a fire burned in the fireplace and we sipped hot chocolate or apple cider or mulled wine.  Sometimes he would get choked up at the end and pass it to one of us to finish.

Last year, with me and Eve and Brad in Okinawa, Mom and Dad called us on skype and he read us the story over webcam.  This year we'll do the same thing, only I'll be on the other side of the camera.

With that very long lead-in -- I've decided to try and do something a little different leading up to this Christmas.  There are several texts, stories long or short, poems, songs that I've come to associate particularly with this holiday.  Some have very much to do with the topic of Christmas, others, not so much.

Periodically throughout the next few weeks leading up to December 25, I'll share with you one text or similar that has particular meaning for me during this time.  I probably should save the best for last, but... I've never been good at waiting.

With that quite loquacious ado, here is a link for Truman Capote's "A Christmas Memory".  Cherished in my heart and in the hearts of my family.  I can't read it without hearing my Dad's voice speaking the words, his pauses, his inflections.  In exactly one month I'll hear it again.

"Buddy, the wind is blowing."

Sorrento: the town I didn't see; and Positano: a town I did

With my trip to see the Napoli Archeological Museum, I didn't end up setting out for Sorrento until 5:30ish.  And then, because I am a savvy -- not to mention SUPER smart -- world traveler, I got on tram 4 instead of tram 1, and ended up on the other side of Naples.

Even though this extended my trip for close to 90 minutes, it turned out being kind of cool because I got myself 100% forcibly adopted by this dressed-to-the-nines blonde Italian woman holding tulips, who stuck bodily with me through the tram transfer (forever), defended my seat on the crowded bus, and told me through very involved charades where exactly to get off.  I guess she figured "This poor girl is too stupid to know the difference between the numbers one and four; I better watch out for her so she doesn't trip over her shoelaces and fall in front of a vespa."

With her very necessary and appreciated help, I arrived in Sant Agnello, the outskirts of Sorrento where my hostel was, at about 8:30 at night, and got to my hostel itself, Seven Hostel, at about 9:00.  As I checked in to this really very incredibly nice and upscale-looking hotel (not even hostel), I noticed a small sign on the desk "informing guests that live music will be played in the lobby that evening".  Um, fantastic.  I inquired as to the nature of the music and its duration.  I was told "rock, then DJ, ending around midnight."  Fine.  I mean, not great, but fine.

My 10-bed hostel room was literally (I mean this) directly over the DJ booth, separated by a mighty cloth awning.  I was not happy.  Eventually, for lack of a better option, I went down to the "club" with a few of my roommates and was cheerfully informed that the expected time of No More Music had been pushed back one hour to 1 AM.  I protested, and was given tokens for two free drinks.  I appreciated this, but also politely articulated the point that these drink tokens actually went nowhere towards actually solving the problem.  I went for a walk with two of my roommates, and when we got back at 1:30 the party was still very much happening.  Upstairs for a quick shower and totally futile attempt to sleep.  And as I lay in bed in the dark, listening to the bass through my earplugs, something inside me exploded.

I boiled downstairs and demanded to see the manager, all politeness gone.  It was not pretty.  I was furious.   It was now past 2:00 in the morning, and to my knowledge not a single person who actually paid to stay at the hostel was actually participating in this retardedness.  It was clear the owners of Seven Hostel had decided to get through the slow season by turning the hotel/hostel into a nightclub for the locals, and just plain fuck the paying guests.  I told the manager I would be checking out the next morning.

Once my righteous indignation had subsided, I considered the wisdom of being in Sorrento with nowhere to stay the next night.  Fortunately I got up early and was able to find another hostel/hotel nearby with very reasonable rates.  Booked it, checked out, had a brief but satisfying exchange of words with the front desk guy (the same one who had checked me in the night before), got my money back for the second night (should have gotten a refund for both nights but they weren't having that), and headed off to find Hotel Londra.

Oh... my goodness.  Why didn't I book here in the first place!?!  The staff were so nice -- let me check in at 10:00 AM, and upgraded me to a single with an ensuite for no extra charge!  The hotel was quiet, spacious, with a kitchy 1970s Italian feel.  I dropped off my stuff, thanked my stars and the front desk guy, and made it on to the 10:30 bus to Positano.

Ever since seeing Under the Tuscan Sun, I've had this thing for Positano; it was the home of that selfish jerk Marcello, so I didn't want to like it, but at the same time all the shots there were fairy-tale breathtaking.  When my sister heard I was visiting Italy, I promised to see the Amalfi Coast for her, so this was me doing that.  The plan was to spend a few hours in Positano and then take the bus on to the town of Amalfi itself.

With very little ceremony, the bus dumped us out on a quiet road overlooking this:

I don't know if you've ever bothered to watch Under the Tuscan Sun, and if not you so should, but that right there is pretty much the exact same view Frances looks out on before Marcello breaks her heart (or at least wounds her pride).  And down there, in the lower right?  Those two triangular pieces of concrete are the ferry docks where she lands.  And guess what?  The waves were huge that day too.

Once again, Italy shows me that hype has really got nothing on the actual real thing.

I explored, took photos of waves, flowers, and cats, and got pizza in a quiet little taverna that had a back terrace overlooking the beach.  After lunch, I followed a trail along the cliff and so accidentally found Positano's second "hidden" beach, where supposedly the locals go.

With the cool weather and ginormous waves, no one was swimming today!  That is, no one except a lone American girl I came across as she crouched picking up bits of sea glass.  Her name was Lisa and we chatted for a while, eventually deciding to head to Amalfi together.  We walked back to Positano proper to see more of the town before setting off.

Positano from the other side, and the enormous waves!

Lisa with bright pink miniature car.  I want one. 

We explored the town some more, and then decided (for reasons now I honestly do not recall) to walk all the way up and around to the far end of town, and get the bus there, instead of where we were current at.  (The bus was going to drive past BOTH locations, so I really do not know...)

It was a longer hike than I wanted, and mostly uphill.  Of course my Achilles tendons started complaining almost immediately.  We finally got there a few minutes before the bus to Amalfi was scheduled to arrive, and Lisa suggested getting a pastry at a bakery on the corner.  When we came back out the bus stop had emptied   Apparently the bus had come and gone in the two minutes we were inside.

So.  For the sake of a cannoli I was not going to get to see Amalfi on this trip.

Oh well.  Positano is on the Amalfi coast, and I'd heard it was actually the most picturesque of all the towns along this particular stretch of coast.  So we enjoyed our pastries and watched the sun set over Positano.

The town was beautiful.  Almost story-book like.  I regret not seeing more of the Amalfi Coast but at least feel I got to see the crown jewel of it.  Plus, I got to get home at a reasonable hour and enjoy the blissful privacy of my single room before packing and heading off to...

Rome.

The best is yet to come, my lovelies!!

Vesuvius and Pompeii: calderas and ash

I guess it is pretty much official:  I have fallen behind.

My trip will be over in nine days (awful), and I have two more posts to go before even starting to tell you about Rome.  Hell, I turned 33 last week and all y'all don't even know about the awesome day I spent in the company of Keats and Shelley, nostalgia, Sicilian swordfish, and unexpected company of friends from Naples.  While I was in Rome I tried to catch up with doing a post a day, but that didn't work out quite like I intended, and now I am here in Greece, and still behind.

Athens is wonderful, btw.  I leave tomorrow for Santorini.  I'm going to be writing travel posts into the New Year.

Well, nothing to do but either press on or give up, and I am certainly not going to stop writing, so I will just have to rely on photos, my journal, and increasingly crappy memory to reconstruct a day from antiquity, back when I was still in Naples and I decided to do yet another splurge and sign up to go horseback riding on Mount Vesuvius.

I can't ride horses.  I've been on one a few times, distinctly of the "trail ride" variety.  And the last time I rode a horse, it was a pony.  His name was Sly and he was one sly stubborn little bitch.  It would be more accurate to say that "he deigned to take me around, at his own pace that-you-very-much" than to say "I rode him".

All the same, riding a horse on Mount Vesuvius just sounds way too cool to pass up.

It was a very Italian experience.  There were no helmets.  There was pretty much no instruction, other than "kick it to make it go".  Um, what about making it STOP???  They pretty much plunked us on horses and away we went up a volcano.  My horse's name was Diamond.

On the trail!

I'm not sure if this crossed your mind, because it rather didn't cross mine, but going up (and then down) a mountain does mean the horse will be either going up or downhill for much of the time.  The trail was at times pretty steep for me as a novice rider, but my horse had walked (and trotted, and cantered, and galloped!) this trail about a million times previous, and knew what to do.  We didn't get as far up the mountain as I had thought, but stopped at an overlook with a great view of of both the caldera and Naples down below.  (Naples is totally fucked if Vesuvius massively explodes again, btw.)

Horse-riding group, with Naples and the sea in the background.

Caldera

Proof of horse-related happenings.

 After all the photo ops, we headed back down again, a process I found much more nerve-wracking than going up!  The Italian trail guides kept yelling at us to "Wake them up!  Make them go!" and I was all "Dude.  This horse is picking his way down a steep mountain trail filled with roots, mud, and slippery rocks.  The human on his back has never done this before and you better believe he knows that.  I think I'll let him choose his own pace and as long as he doesn't outright stop, I think we'll be okay."

Once we got back to flatter ground, the Italians decided it was time for all us helmet-less novices to... gallop.

I did not terribly want to gallop, but I had no say in the matter.  The horse in front of mine started galloping and Diamond knew that This Is The Time On Vesuvius When We Gallop.  So he did, and thus so did I, flopping around on this poor guy's back, gripping the pommel so hard I got a bruise on my palm, and praying.

It was actually pretty fun.  We did it a few more times.

Also, riding a horse is hard.  My knees were killing me when I finally tumbled off, not to mention the muscles in my legs, abs, and lower back.  No wonder my sister has the flattest abs I've ever seen!

All in all, I would say this was a fantastic experience and a really excellent way to see Vesuvius.  Not cheap, but just like paragliding, when was I ever going to get the chance to ride a horse on a volcano again?  I was very happy I did it, especially with the no falling off and no dying.

After we said goodbye to our faithful steeds, the hostel folks drove us over to Pompeii and left us to our own devices.  I hooked up with a really nice couple from Canada I'd been on the ride with, Arity and Brian.  We were all starving so grabbed pizza and beer at a local cafe.  Pizza was good but not as good as in actual Naples. :)  As we finished up it started pouring.  Sadness.  We went right back into the same cafe and shared a bottle of wine.  By the time we finished the rain had stopped and the sun was coming out.  Lovely!

So, Pompeii is huge.  Who knew, it being a city and all.  I guess I really didn't know what all I'd be seeing, but it really is a city, complete with roads and shopping districts and wealthy neighborhoods and not-so-wealthy neighborhoods.  And more freaking temples than you can shake a stick at.

Pompeii

Vesuvius in the background.

Walking all around Pompeii, down the very same streets that Pompeiians were walking the day Vesuvius blew up, was surprisingly chilling.

Pompeii street

We had to be out of the site by sunset, and due to our rain-and-wine break we were unfortunately a little rushed.  We trekked all over, taking in as much as we could.  At the far end of the city was a huge amphitheater.   We channeled our inner Tomb Raider and climbed through a barricade to get to the top!

Fresco

Illegal views are the best views.

Having toured a fair few of ancient sites in Italy, and now in Greece, I have to say I have never seen a place quite like Pompeii.  I guess being buried under ash for almost 2,000 years went a long way to preserving it almost perfectly.  There were buildings outside that still had painted street signs visible.  Back during the first excavations, all the rooms still had furniture inside (of course, where was it going to go?)

And then there were the people.

I know you can't really see it from this photo, but this guy has toenails.  Toenails.  There were folds in their clothing.  And you could see their expressions.

I did not expect that coming face to face with death that happened 2,000 years ago to affect me so jarringly. But seeing these human ash statues made it impossible not to be affected.  These were people.  Dying horribly.  It's not every day you get to stare into the frozen-in-time face of what that looks like.  And it was all instantly very real.

It seems weird, after writing that, to say I enjoyed Pompeii.  That's not the right word.  I felt very privileged to be able to visit this incredible piece of history, to walk the streets, run my fingers over stones, climb the steps of their amphitheater.  To look into their faces, and wonder what on earth they might have been thinking.  To them it must have seemed like the straight-out end of the world.  And for them, it was.

Naples: The Best Pizza in the World

So, I'd heard Naples was a tough town.

In '09, I met a guy from Naples in a Roman wine bar, and he cautioned me strongly against going.  (Probably this had something to do with sleeping with me and not very much to do with Napoli, but that's what he said.)  Stories floated around various hostels:  "Like, doesn't the Mafia totally run Naples or something?"

Nonetheless, there was no way I was not going to Naples.  For one thing, the tragic story of Pompeii has fascinated me since I was a child.  And also, everyone knows that in Napoli you find The Best Pizza in the World.

I booked five nights in Naples, intending to use one for Pompeii, one for Vesuvius, and probably one as a downtime-day.  My Hostel, Hostel of the Sun, was distinctly above-average.  Not the newest building, and my eight-bed dorm was pretty cramped when full, but none of that mattered because the staff were awesome.  The most helpful and friendly since Lisbon.  Would definitely recommend them!

Right away I started chatting with two girls staying in my dorm, Asia and Sami.  They were on their way to Gino Sorbillo's, one of the famous Napoli pizza places (the hostel circled the top three on our maps), and invited me out with them along with another girl from the hostel who actually knew how to get there. :)  I was happy to have company for my first night out in Naples; my first impression of the city when leaving the train station had not been the best!  Naples is quite unlike any other city in Italy that I've seen.  It reminds me strangely of Eastern Europe, with the graffiti everywhere, laundry strung across grey apartment buildings, and people shouting all over the place.  It has its own beauty and certainly its own very distinct character, but is not exactly what comes to mind when one thinks of Italy.

That is, of course, until one thinks of Italy and PIZZA.

Could not imagine a better introduction to Naples!

There's really no way I can adequately explain the uniqueness of Napoli pizza.  The thing looks enormous,  and it is, but aside from the crust which puffs up a little when cooked, the majority of the pie is so thin it's almost crepe-like.  The toppings as you can see are minimal, not a ton of cheese, sauce, or pepperoni.  Just one sprig of basil in the middle.  With nothing overpowering, the whole concoction just sort of... comes together.  Perfectly.  The subtle tastes and flavors all come together in a way that I've never quite experienced in a pizza before.  And because there's not a ton of toppings and the dough so thin, it IS possible to eat an entire one of these and still have room for gelato.

(Oh, and Georgia?  Seriously.  Either get your shit together or just plain stop making pizza.  The idea of having to face one of your mayonnaise-covered monstrosities -- after THIS -- makes me want to weep.)

Next to Gino Sorbillo's is a wine shop that has 12 different kinds of wine on tap.  They'll let you do a couple tastings and then pour you wine by the litre into repurposed plastic soda and water bottles.  I got a litre of sparkling red (sounds weird but was awesome) for 2.40 euro.

Post-pizza, we hung out in a Napoli square for a while and sipped our wine alongside all the locals.  It was a perfect first night in this crazy, delicious city!

So Asia and Sami kind of ended up adopting me.  They invited me out with them again the next day, first to the market for supplies (trying to be good and buy food to eat at the hostel!), and then out to explore the city.  You know what they love in Naples?  Christmas.  Pretty much every kitch shop we passed was already decked out for the holidays, complete with every Christmas thing possible for sale and giant animatronic Santas at the front beckoning you in.  We saw a Nativity scene made of bread.

We got what turned out to be the best gelato I've had in Europe so far, and checked out the beautiful Napoli Cathedral, including the crypt where we found a vase full of bones.

One more long-shot of a church.

Famous bones on display.

Then we decided to take this massive hike up a hill in the center of the city, to see a castle up there.

Me and Naples

So we got all the way up there and then the girls didn't want to pay to get in the actual castle.  I was a little confused as to the point of the trip, but at least we got some nice views.

And I really didn't care about castles, because that night we were going on a pilgrimage.  To the Pizzeria Da Michele.

Anyone who's read or seen Eat, Pray, Love knows that supposedly The Best Pizza in the World is made here.  There was no way I was coming to Naples and got getting this pizza, but I was a little nervous about braving this mecca filled with shouting Neapolitans all by myself.  So the fact that Sami and Asia wanted to do this on their last night in Naples could not have been more perfect.  We showed up "early" for dinner, around 7:30, and only had to wait about 10 minutes for a table!  (This is even more amazing than it sounds, given the crowd we fought through when leaving, and the even bigger crowd I saw on my last day.)

This is their whole menu.

To tell the truth, I was a little apprehensive.  For one thing, hearing that something is going to blow your mind for three straight years really does make it unlikely that the actual thing, whatever it is, is going to be able to live up to the hype.  And then there was the fame.  Pizzeria Da Michele, pizza itself aside, was now one of the most famous pizzerias in the world, thanks to Julia Roberts.  Fame tends to change things.  Would this still be the tiny hole-in-the-wall that Liz described?

Little did I know that Pizzeria Da Michele, which has been around since 1870, could not give a crap about fame or Julia Roberts. (Although there is a picture of her on their wall.  It's not a huge picture.)  The three of us ordered beer and the Doppia Mozzarella, and I was even able to order in Italian which our waiter thought was adorable.  And then the pizza came.

Yeah.  What can I say.  I had an actual emotional moment taking the first bite of this pizza.  I was just so relieved.  Over three years of hype and this pile of dough, tomato sauce, cheese, and basil just spoke to me and said "Calm down.  We wouldn't even think of being disappointing."  I wanted to hug it.  Instead I hugged it with my tummy.  It was, simply... the best pizza I have ever had or will ever have in my whole life.  It was spiritual.  It was The Best Pizza in the World.

And then it was back to the hostel to embark on our new callings as Da Michele Prophets, telling everyone we saw about this moment of Holy Pizza Perfection that we had just experienced, and how they must, simply must, go and experience it as well.

(Fast-forwarding here, because the next day I went to Vesuvius and Pompeii which gets its own post, and then the day after that I stayed in for laundry and recharging.)

And so it happened that my last full day in Naples was actually my first day on my own in the city.  I had a good but pretty quiet day, visiting the Castel Nuovo (for six euros) and the Castel dell'Ovo (free.)  The Castel Nuovo was okay but not quite what I was expecting.  A large part of it had been taken over by municipal offices, and then there was sort of a small generic art museum.  Very little of it remained actual castle.

Castel Nuovo

Bones found in the castle foundations.

Castel Dell'Ovo

There is an interesting legend associated with the Castel Dell'Ovo (Castle of the Egg).  Apparently in ancient times an egg was hidden somewhere in the castle.  As long as the egg remains unbroken, the city will never fall.

I wanted to head over to the Napoli Archeologial Museum, but my goddam Achilles tendons were freaking the fuck out again.  And this just after a day off!!!  I limped home and decided I'd see the museum tomorrow before getting on the train for Sorrento.

That night I ate at the third famous pizza place, Di Matteo.  It was good but NOT as good as Da Michele!!  I kind of had a bunch of pizza in Naples.

So, yeah.  Last day in Naples, I stored my pack at the hostel and headed over to see the Archeological museum   They have one of the largest collections of ancient Roman statues, as well as a whole bunch of art from Pompeii.

Mosaic art taken from Pompeii

The best thing about this museum was the "Secret Room", that housed all the naughty paintings and sculpture from Pompeii.  These were some randy folks.

Penis, with wings.  And bells.

"Are they playing leapfrog?"

Post-museum, I decided to try my luck one more time, and headed over to Da Michele to see if I could eat there for lunch.  Yeah... No.  The crowd outside was enormous.  I sighed and limped off to eat another, far inferior pizza.

And then it was off to Sorrento.

Siena: the kindness of strangers and the comfort of family

Well folks, betrayals of trust aside, I am still in Rome... and still two weeks behind on this blog thing!  I've had a birthday, five days in Naples full of incredible pizza, and now am even halfway through Rome... and you don't even know about it!!  And hey -- I also finally got (most) of my shit together for Greece yesterday.  Athens and Santorini.  Cross your fingers for me that strikes and riots will only end up making the trip an "experience" and not a complete and utter disaster.

That said, let's turn the Way-Back Machine to November 4, when I woke up in Florence to yet another rainy day, and had to rush like mad to get to the train station because I was... meeting friends in Siena! :)

Back when I was in Cinque Terre, I met this incredibly lovely American family who happened to be living short-term in Siena -- Phil and Dina and their four great kids.  We ended up talking quite a bit, and it was kind of funny how I would run into them everywhere -- all over the hostel of course, but also in train stations, at restaurants in town for dinner... We ended up being very friendly and I said I would shoot them an email when I took my Siena day trip and maybe we could meet for coffee.

So I did, and Phil wrote me right back and suggested meeting in front of the Siena Duomo at 12:30.  I was surprisingly jazzed about this.  Traveling solo, even in the midst of seeing incredible things, it can really get tiring to either always be by yourself or to cycle through a series of single-service friends you will very likely never talk to again.  So even though I had just met Phil and Dina and their family, the fact that I was going to see them again elevated us to something more than single-service friendship.  And also, after months of hostel backpackers, of couples and solos and joined-at-the-hip traveling buddies mostly in their 20s, it felt sort of very comforting to be around a family again.

All of that is a very long lead-in to the point, which was that I found myself positively sprinting for the station, to stand in one of the longest train ticket lines ever (of course!) so I wouldn't be late for our meetup.

And even though I made my train, I still ended up being about 15 minutes late, because to my dismay Siena is a lot bigger than I thought it was!  At a brisk walk/trot, in the rain, it took me little more than half an hour to get to the Duomo from the station.  But Phil was waiting for me, all smiles.

Oh yes, and the Siena Duomo is amazing, even in the rain.

We met up with Dina and their kids and they took me to lunch at this cute little cafe they knew.  And started talking about taking me around for an afternoon tour... and then asked if it was okay with me if we just went back to dinner at their place, rather than going out.

Wait, what??? :) An afternoon tour?  A home-cooked meal at an actual house?  I felt like I was dreaming.  I seriously never expected anything beyond coffee!  But I was not complaining.  This was the most incredible news I'd heard in forever, and I was just totally floored by their incredible generosity.

Lunch was great, and they wouldn't let me pay even though of course I offered.  Their kids loved this place because of the hot chocolate, which appeared to be pretty much a melted chocolate bar poured into a cup.  I stuck with my salami panini and coffee. :)  I need to mention how great and fun and well-behaved their four kids are!  The one boy, Jamie, was particularly adorable.  Back in Cinque Terre, I asked him what he wanted to be when he grew up, and he told me with great solemnity that "I want to be a football player, a basketball player, a hockey -- no, not hockey -- and a baseball player.  And then when I get old I want to be a paleontologist.  And then when I get really old I want to be a priest."  We high-fived.  I hope you make all those things happen my friend!

Over lunch, we had an excellent chill conversation, and both Dina and Phil knew so much about Siena's history and what not.  Made me feel like a total slacker, the way I've just sort of been showing up in places.  :)  Then they suggested letting me explore for a bit, go inside the Duomo and what not, and then they'd meet me at Siena's main plaza, the Campo, in about an hour and a half.  Perfect!

It was supposed to be six euro to get inside the Duomo, but for some reason tickets were free that day.  Maybe because it was Sunday?  Again, so totally not complaining.

The inside of Siena's Duomo beats Firenze's by a landslide, btw.

Stripes in the marble, apparently a signature of Tuscany

Phil told me that I had really very good luck to visit the Duomo when I did, because they had uncovered these floor mosaics which only happens a few times a year.  He said the pictures were classical and mythological themes with a Catholic slant, and even identified a few of them.  I have to admit that that level of education is not one I currently possess!  But even though I couldn't tell you what was happening in this mosaic below, I knew enough to tell that it was beautiful.

The main altar

Outside, the rain had pretty much stopped, so I walked around for a little bit and bought a bottle of wine as a hostess gift for Dina and Phil.  And Phil met me at the Campo just as promised.  Dina, he said, had taken the kids home to chill out for a little bit.

The Campo

What followed was just the best afternoon.  Phil took me all over.  At one point, we were on this terrace and he said "If you lean over just here, you get a fantastic view of the Duomo."  I said that touring the city with him was like having my very own personal Michelin Green Guide! :)

St. Catherine lived most of her life in Siena, and I think Phil said she is not only the patron saint of Siena but of all of Tuscany.  He took me to her convent and showed me her actual cell where she slept.  Then we went to another church that seemed kind of out-of-the-way and unspecial, but inside was a fresco of St. Catherine painted during her lifetime, and then in a very quiet side chapel was St. Catherine's actual head.  In a glass case.

I so do not want to be disrespectful, especially since my host and guide considered this a very holy thing, but staring at a 700-year-old decapitated head that still had most of its flesh is a quite strange moment.  I was raised Catholic, and as I've said in the past few years I have opened myself a little bit more fully to the idea of a non-denominational, gay-friendly and pro-women's rights God.  But the Catholic practice of keeping relics... skulls and bones and mummified heads... on display, I'm afraid I don't exactly get it.

But that's neither here nor there, really.  Except to say that all this was amazing, and I would never have found any of it if I'd come to Siena by myself.  They didn't allow photos at any of the St. Catherine sites, and normally I would have just taken one anyway, but I was with Phil and again, did not want to be disrepectful.  However, thanks to the power of the internet I was able to find one for you:

Kind of... unsettling, am I right?

But anyway.  In addition to St. Catherine, we also walked all over the city, saw a Siena football match happening at the stadium, and he took me by the bus station so I could get my ticket home.

November Tuscany

Then he took me back to their apartment, where I was able to help make dinner!!  I actually love cooking, and did a ton of it when I was home this past summer.  I've missed it!  Dina let me make the caprese salad, and just being able to sit in a clean, normal kitchen, and talk about normal things with a family while slicing tomatoes and mozzarella cheese... I hadn't realized how much my soul had missed this!  I gave them the wine I'd bought, and we sipped on that (and then a new bottle!) while snacking on crostini appetizers.

Dinner itself was green salad, the caprese salad, and spaghetti with a tomato-basil sauce.  So perfect and delicious, and wonderful to sit down to a proper table again!

And then, sadly, it was time for me to say my goodbyes and wait for my bus.  Phil walked me almost all the way to make sure I didn't get lost.  I just could not thank this family enough for taking me under their wing for one whole rainy day, for giving me their time, for inviting me into their home.  I had been feeling sort of down and over it the previous night after my less-than-amazing day in Florence, and this unexpected kindness could not have come at a better time!

Phil, Dina and family, if you happen somehow to stumble on this blog, allow me to thank you once again!  You gave me one of  my best days in Italy and my whole trip!  And allow me also to apologize for all the cursing in the other entries. :)

Truth

This post could have just as easily been named "TRUST."  But at at the end of the day, trust is born from truth, from honesty.

What happens when that trust is shattered?  Rudely, callously, with no regard whatsoever to the damage that will be done to the emotional fractal that makes up a human being.

When someone is forced to face the fact that a person they liked, respected, trusted, has LIED to them... about important shit, just... how do you square with that?

I seriously want to know.  I'm very curious to hear your ideas because right now, sitting in this Rome hostel, I have absolutely nothing even approaching an answer.

I am, as of two days ago, 33 years old.  And I have had fully half a life of relationships, flings, and one-night-stands end in all manner of terrible, dramatic, pathetic, or just plain relieved ends.  Sometimes it was my fault.  Sometimes it was theirs.  And yes, sometimes I lied.  I have hurt my former lovers in all manner of naive and selfish ways.  But, in the spirit of honesty, I haven't lied to a lover -- or to anyone -- in a long time.  I grew up.  In fact, truth got to be pretty important to me.

I suppose, in light of recent events, it was a pretty gigantic mistake to assume that everyone I met -- people I chose to associate with and devote my time to -- people I trusted -- would feel the same way about truth and honesty that I did.  Because, to my knowledge, in all my 33 years I have never been snowed quite like this.

Truth given does not in any way mean that truth will be returned.

I'm 33, and I just learned that.

And what I've been dealing with all day, what's done its best to ruin one of my precious few days in Rome despite all my best efforts, is:  just how do you deal with that?

How exactly do you shake it off when it comes to light that someone you trusted smiled and lied to your face?  And to be frank, my problem has very little to do with the actual person and everything to do with the lie itself.  Lying is pretty much the most disrespectful thing you can do to a person, short of physically abusing them.  Lying is mental and emotional manipulation, which is what certainly what happened to me.

And yes, there are God-knows-how-many inspirational and faux-inspirational Facebook memes and e-cards floating around supposedly to help me deal with just this crisis, but if shit were really that easy, there would be no need for those stupid cards and quotes in the first place.

How do you shake it off when it comes to light that someone looked into your eyes, said one thing and made it sincere, when really, what he was saying in his heart was "You don't matter.  I have not the least bit of respect for you as an individual or even as a friend.  I want something, for whatever fucking reason, and I am going to stare soulfully at you and have a meaningful conversation full of nothing but bullshit until I get what I want."

And the thing is -- even though you know he is completely in the wrong, that whatever he thinks doesn't matter because HE doesn't matter, that he's a liar and a coward -- the fact remains that anyone at all had the balls to treat you so negligently, so disrespectfully, and you LET THEM... because you respected and TRUSTED them...

Well, that's something I can't just get over in a matter of hours.

That said, I will get over this, probably quite soon.  Maybe tomorrow.  Maybe even as soon as this is posted, and all my hurt and frustration and bile gets to spill out into the ether and away from me.  But now -- for today, for tonight, I sit licking my wounds.  Collecting myself back again.

Florence: the city they tell you to like

Leaving Venice, finally, reluctantly, I boarded yet another train and headed back down into Tuscany.  I had booked my Florence hostel with the same company as the one that owned the Venice hostel I had just left, so was a little uncertain as to what I'd find.  Plus Camping Jolly in Venice was by no means the worst hostel I've ever stayed at, but they misrepresented a whole lot on their site and that had been a source of continual disappointments.  Plus Florence turned out to be okay -- biggest complaint was that there was no dedicated common room, just the restaurant/bar that was first extremely noisy, then dark, then closed.  (Please see my Anti-Youth Hostel rant for more info.)  But that turned out to not matter so much after the first night -- because I had my four-bed dorm room (complete with kitchenette!) all to myself for my last two nights!  Quite an unexpected bonus, but also a very welcome one.

I spent my first morning in Florence trying to figure out Greece.  I was having a terrible time finding a reasonable flight home, and even went so far as to check rates flying out of Prague, Istanbul, London, Paris... I couldn't find a deal anywhere for the dates I wanted.  Ended up spending a good few hours playing with numbers, looking up hostels, ferries, flights... and finally left to see some of the city without having actually booked anything.  Not my most productive morning.

As luck would have it, I'd been to Florence before, on a day trip from Rome when I was here in 2009.  After the sexy chaos of Rome, Florence felt kind of like a wet blanket.  I saw the David, the Galleria Academia, climbed to the top of the Duomo's dome.  And I gratefully headed back to Rome at the end of the day.  With such a lackluster first experience, I was planning on skipping Florence all together and staying in Siena instead.  But Siena has no hostels, so due to lack of options I booked three nights in Firenze instead.  I decided it might be good to give Florence one more chance.  And after my second look....

I'm going to come right out and say it.  I don't get Florence.  Florence is, unquestionably, the most crowded city I have ever freaking been to, including but not limited to:  NYC, DC, Chicago, Rome, Venice, London, Paris...

What are all these people looking at?  Sure, the David is here, and that's cool.  The Duomo is here, and that's cool too (on the outside anyway; the inside is surprisingly... dull.)  But the fact is that Florence is not nearly as beautiful as Venice and not nearly as fun or interesting as Rome.  Why were the streets packed like a rock concert?  What are these people here to see that I am missing?

I went to check out the Duomo first, and all bias aside, this church is breathtakingly beautiful on the outside.

Duomo, with the Baptistery in front.

Like I mentioned, in '09 I paid eight euro to climb up to the top of the dome, and that was great, because it meant I didn't have to pay eight euro to do it again.  Instead, I just went inside the basilica for free.  For how incredible and over-the-top the outside of this church is, the inside is almost jarring in its sparseness.  It looks almost unfinished.

That landmark checked off, I headed next to the Plaza Republica, where there happened to be a very cool little market happening.  Stall after stall of wine, cheese, olive oil, truffle oil, bread, sweets.... and all giving out free samples!  Bought a bottle of Chianti for five euro, but held out against the white truffle oil spread (SO amazing!!).

In.  Sane.

Saw the Ponte Vecchio, but did not walk across as it would not have been so much walking as much as moshing.  With possible crowd surfing at points.

Ponte Vecchio Bridge

I wanted to visit this one church, Santa Crocce I think, where Dante and Galileo are buried.  But as a surprise to no one, the line to buy tickets was huge, and those tickets were six euro.  I passed.  I'd spent my admission money on Chianti anyway.

Santa Crocce

One thing I had wanted to do back in '09, but was unsuccessful, was walking up to the Piazza Michelangelo for a view of the city at sunset.  So that was next on the list, and my '09 self must have been quite the navigational retard, because there were seriously signs everywhere and it was very easy to find.  My God damned Achilles tendons were screaming at me again, so I had to rest for a little while with a 3-euro glass of wine before tackling the final hill. :)

Florence from the Piazza

My hostel was kind of on the exact opposite end of the city from this piazza, and it was a long, painful walk back.  I have been forced to slowly come to the pain-in-the-ass resignation that I am simply not able to walk for as far or as long as I would like at present.  I've been trying to take things a little easier, and have shortened my sightseeing days where I'm on my feet, and even take days off, but it doesn't seem to matter.  I usually have about an hour of pain-free walking and then all bets are off.  Sucks.

Anyway, I'd thought I would get a market dinner that night and eat it at the hostel with my Chianti, but I passed a decent-looking restaurant that had a "menu of the day" for 10 euro.  10 euro was my budget to spend at the market, so I decided to do this instead, as it meant I would get to sit down right then.

Big mistake.  Huge.  I'd had a couple "menu of the day" dinners in France, and they were all so horrible I stopped doing that.  But I thought "hey, this is Italy, the food here is awesome.  Maybe this time it will be okay."  Wrong.  I had what I sincerely hope was my Worst Meal in Italy.  Tasteless mushy gnocchi in a bland sauce followed by a tiny piece of stringy, fatty meat.  Ugh.  Then it took forever to get my check as I sat in a mostly-empty restaurant.  I did not leave a tip.

Home for what blessedly turned out to be quite a quiet night in my empty room!  I drank my Chianti, read, listened to music and just hoped my solitude would not be disturbed by drunk hipsters barging in at 11 PM!  (This did not happen.)

And that was my day in Florence.  I had one more night here but would spend the day in Siena.  I think it is safe to say that from now on I will be content to leave Florence to the rest of you!