I will remember you, all of you

I arose earlier than Elida this day and threw on my clothes quickly along with my swimsuit. We were supposed to go on a private boat today to Capri but we have slept in too late.  Instead I walk quickly through town buying a new red dress and turquoise ring.  I head to our favorite espresso stand and have a cappuccino and roll.  My favorite roll is one with tiny dried fruit tucked into the curves.  I stand and drink my cappuccino and watch as people enter and exit.  There are many locals who linger and talk to the barista, she is pretty with dark curly hair and brown eyes. You can tell many of the men take a liking to her and she brushes them all off swiftly with her strong words and forceful looks.

Once I finish I head back to our apartment and go directly to the pool.  Elida is still sleeping and I will send her a text later letting her know where I am.  I jump in and swim letting the water release my burdens.  I see other people's sadness and am willing to talk with them about theirs but I rarely talk about my own.  The water makes my soul feel at peace.  This is where I am meant to be for the day and I settle in, setting up a chair and writing.  I take a dip whenever the sweat begins to pour and write in the interim.

I watch the people at the pool.  They come from many places converging in this camping, apartment, bungalow location resting beneath the high hills of Sorrento.  There is an English man teaching his daughter to swim.  Four teenage Italian girls are horsing around and being silly.  They do not stop laughing the entire day.  They leapfrog over one another into the pool, push each other jump and splash.  It reminds me of home and today I really miss my boys.  They would love to be here.

Two brothers are at the pool with their Dad.  The older is trying to get the younger to try diving.  I approach the father and ask if he speaks English.  He says a little.  I ask, "May I teach the boys to dive?"  I explain that I am a teacher.  He agrees.  I begin my students the way I do all of my other diving students sitting on the side. I show them how to put your arms up and push yourself off with your feet.  I go first and then they both try.  They do great.  Step two is next.  Now we kneel on the side with one knee down and dive again.  Once again they are wonderful. The last step is to stand on the side and jump and dive.  The youngest struggles more with this but with encouragement continues to try.  He gets it eventually and the Dad thanks me. The oldest son tells me I am like a fish and I laugh.  It is apt description.  Later their Mom and sister come down and the boys quickly ask me to teach their sister.  Her name is Rachelle, just like my sister.  They remind me of my family who I am away from right now. Rachelle is more nervous than the boys but she eventually gets the nerve and does well.  Their Mom talks with me for quite awhile.  They are from Eastern Canada and she explains how beautiful their area is.  She tells the story of this part of the world in a way that makes me want to go there; there are fiestas, warm people and walking cities with night life. She says it is very European in feel.

I take a break and have lunch at the restaurant by the pool, my favorite sandwich of tomato, basil and mozzarella. The bread is crusty and delicious.  I am satisfied.  I return to the pool.

Elida arrives at the pool late and we sit in the sun and talk.  We send messages trying to figure out our plans for the next few days.  We decide to head to Florence instead of Rome.  I send a message and cancel our reservations in Rome and then we arrange with Father Bruno to stay with him in Florence.  We have one more night in Sorrento and we have been invited to a club.  The owner wants to meet me and has been described as good-looking, intelligent and wealthy.  Paz would be proud I am thinking.  I agree to go.

Elida and I have dinner, just the two of us in Sorrento.  We wandered the backstreets and find a tiny place tucked in beneath some apartments.  There is enchanting Italian music playing and the decor is perfect, bricked walls, simple but elegant tables and only four inside, two outside.  We decide this is the place.  The owner is and adorable man who through the course of our meal sings and dances with his wife.  Each person working there sings sweetly.  The food is an obvious labor of love.  Our dishes are phenomenal.  We ask about the lovely music and he directs us to a Youtube link.  He sits for a picture with the two of us.  It was perfect.  We are filled and happy.

Now we are off to meet some friends, Tawfik and Marouan, and hopefully the owner of the club, the one who had invited us on his boat that day.  We have now been invited for the next day and are debating whether we have time to go or not.  We have set our plans and are traveling to Florence the next day.  We have to run and drop some things off with our friends first and I am taken in how Marouan holds my hand while going up the steps. We had headed to the port and Sorrento has many steps down to the port.  The way he holds my hand is unique to his culture and I love his care for me.  My whole arm rests on his arm as we walk both up and down the steps.

Next we head to the club.  Once we arrive there are series of strange events that play out over the course of about an hour.  We were ready to meet the owner when we are told he can't meet us because, "tonight he has a girlfriend but tomorrow on the boat he will not.  And you are much more beautiful than the girl he is with tonight."  I just laugh.  There is our answer, we will not go on the boat.  As things become even more strange I ask to leave.   I was feeling as if our safety was being compromised and we needed to go.  A series of shady people had walked in and I was not comfortable.  I finally convince the others to leave as well.  At this point I am thankful we had missed the boat by oversleeping.  There is a whole lot more to that story and without children at home I would have stayed long enough to investigate.

We head once again to the Beer Ba.  Drinks are ordered for me and Elida and when I take a sip of the one in front of me I know something is amiss.  My drink is straight alcohol.  Elida's is a mixed drink.  I am certain someone is trying to get me drunk so that I will relax a bit but tonight my guard is up.  Too many strange things have happened and I can't let them go.

But the Beer Ba is an interesting place full of interesting characters and I don't need to drink.  I warn Elida to mix my drink with something else and I stand and observe the people in this bar.  My favorite two characters play off one another perfectly.  An older version of our sandlot, these boys are singing their hearts out, free and unashamed.  Each time a new song plays they are able to repeat every word.  They belt it so loud that the people upstairs in the garden could easily hear.  One is thin with blonde hair that is in a fohawk but larger, wider and softer.  He sings the loudest and leaves his soul out there each time.  His side-kick is dark-haired and chubby but he can move.  He slides down the hallway with his hand out looking a bit like Michael Jackson, grabs a beer from the cooler and slides back to the bar.  The walls of the bar are covered in old newspapers and I look at them searching for key events in history but find none.

I return to the table and talk with Maoruan several times but I am still observing the people, the culture and appreciating everyone that comes in and out of this place.  Some get one shot and leave and others linger.  Some go downstairs and dance and others talk.

 Marouan and I talk about how he learned his languages. Marouan explains that he can never get enough when he is learning.  His teachers loved him because he was so inquisitive.  He still continues to acquire knowledge and says he will never be filled completely.  He is always thirsty to learn more.  He found he was good with languages because he would sit, listen and practice.  He now calls me his English teacher.  He asks many questions about how to say things.  His heart is heavy and his eyes sad but once in awhile they light up and you can see his true beauty.  I take a break and dance with a man who has a limp.  He is cute in his red shirt and it is fun to dance with him.  When I return to the table there has been a fight.  Marouan's female friend had sat down to talk with him while I was dancing. Tawfik started a fight with her.  Now Marouan is upset and so I take him up to the bar while Elida tries to counsel Tawfik to apologize.  This takes quite some time as the man is stubborn and doesn't see the need to apologize.  Marouan and I practice English at the bar, borrowing a pen and napkin and writing down key phrases.

As we are standing there a man strolls up.  He is stunningly attractive immediately making me take a deep breath and step back a little.  He is wearing white pants and a navy blue button-down shirt with white trim.  It is contrasted against his dark skin, dark hair and green eyes.  I cannot help myself.  I smile, raise my eyebrows and flirt.  Marouan is standing between us but it doesn't matter.  He and I flirt back and forth while standing at the bar and finally speak.  I am sober and I know my judgement is not impaired tonight.  I have learned so much about Marouan.  He is the type of man who will sacrifice for others because he feels it is right and courageous.  He stands up for what he believes and protects his friends.  I am still talking with him and flirting with the other guy when Elida strolls up with Tawfik for the grand apology.  They head outside and I stay wishing to speaking with the beautiful stranger.

Aldo and I speak.  I explain the situation about who I am with.  He asks if I would like to go with him.  That was the easiest answer to give, "yes".  We head out to the street to see if the problems with my friends have been resolved.  They are still working on it.  Finally I have to explain to Marouan that I will be leaving him to continue my conversation with Aldo.  He understands but it is with sadness.  I am conflicted but I make the decision to go anyway.

We walk away and kiss on the street.  His kisses are perfect.  I get to trace his fine body and we talk.  We catch a scooter ride to his car and it is thrilling.  I am sandwiched between two handsome Italian men, Aldo behind me and his friend driving. My hair is flying and we are speeding through the streets. His car, of course, is as sexy as he is, a black sporty Audi. Aldo obviously works out as much as I do or perhaps more because he has strong biceps, and sextants. His whole body is framed perfectly by multiple tattoos.

He is the epitome of Italian sexy, the voice, the body and the kisses. Any American girl dreaming of an Italian man would dream of a man such as him but I wonder how many would appreciate his inner beauty as I do. He does not have sadness in his eyes but light and thirst.  His eyes show excitement and wonder and a need for adventure.

As we talk throughout the night I tell him about my boys and show him a picture and he tells me something I will never forget, "You have the perfect life," he says.  I look at him puzzled and he explains, "You have already been married, you have two boys you love, a job you love and you are free to be here with me."  This is just the thing I need to hear and I take it to heart.  I have repeated it everyday since.  I am thankful for the gift of appreciation he has bestowed on me.  He asks if I want to take a picture of him to remember him by and I say no, "I will remember you, trust me." The memory of his beautiful body and soul are etched in my mind forever.

He has wonderful dreams of coming to America and I hope and pray he will pursue them.  In our dreams we find our joy.  We are meant to pursue our passions as it is our way of connecting with God and others. My goal is always to leave a little of my beauty and joy behind when I travel, something people can think of when they need a smile.  I hope I have done well with my time in Sorrento.

The time in Sorrento broke me free, free from my harsh judgement of myself. Free to love and be loved in all the ways the world experiences love.

Aldo is right about my life.  I have a younger son who picks me flowers and gives me endless hugs and kisses and an older son who makes known his bold wishes for me to find love so that I will not have to do everything for myself and by myself. It is a beautiful, perfect life.

A private meal in a tucked away place

The restaurant owner who serenaded us with his singing

Marouan and I having some fun

Marouan and I at the Beer Ba, notice the newspapers

Tawfik and Marouan

La Neffola, our residence

The Amalfi Coast

We have decided to go all the way to Ravello today by bus passing through Positano, stopping at Amalfi, continuing on to Ravello and then ending our day in Positano.  One of Francesco's friends had told us there was going to be a great party in Positano on this night and we are up for anything.

Once again we do not get an early start.  We get our usual cappuccino and roll at our favorite place as well as our tickets.  After lingering for awhile we head to the bus.  The ride will be thrilling and we sit on the right side so as to take in all the frightening, edge of the mountain driving along the way.  The drive will take us through small villages on winding roads, through tunnels where we sometimes have to back up and sometimes barely squeeze by another vehicle, up hills and teetering on the edge of cliffs so high that one wrong turn of the wheel could send us plummeting to our deaths.  This is Italy and these drivers are Italian.  They dress perfectly, they drive in a way that gets your adrenaline pumping and speak in a way that makes your heart flutter.  They have such skill.  They navigate with precision squeezing past one another even when it seems there is no room.  It is a thrilling ride, better than most roller coasters I've been on.  And it is surprisingly smooth.  Only in Italy could they put those things together and make it work.

We visit Amalfi first.  It is a village tucked into the hillside on the water.  The main road actually goes down to Amalfi unlike in Positano.  It is small but pleasant. We wander up to the duomo first and decide against going inside, after all it won't top what we have so far seen. Next we pass by the shops and stop in a few thinking about buying souvenirs but eventually putting them all back. We walk Amalfi in a matter of minutes.  When we are finished we head back to jump on the bus to Ravello.  We have enough time to grab a gelatto before boarding thankfully because it is hot.

The bus ride to Ravello is extraordinary.  We now are winding into the mountains that overlook the coast so you get terraced vineyards on one side and white cliffs leading to the sea on the other.  It is stunning and once again I am drawn in by the land and the care for the land; vines growing over twisted trellises, tomatoes drooping on the vine and orchard trees hanging heavy with fruit.  There is such beauty in how they garden and grow things.  I can breathe it in and not ever get enough.  It fills my soul almost as much as being in the water.

Ravello is tucked high in the mountains.  The road is more narrow than before and the bus has to stop several times and back up.  One one side Ravello overlooks the sea, on the other the terraced hillsides of small farms.  The buildings in Ravello are mostly white a striking contrast against the blue sea and sky and the deep green vegetation.  There is one small town square and two gardens that are the focus of tourist activities but Elida and I decide to wander the alleys exploring the nooks and crannies.  We find an art gallery tucked away on one such lane. We sidestep a garden wedding to take a picture by the sea.  Next we find a tile shop that has tiles for every profession.  They are expensive but the owner is so persuasive I almost buy one.  He is handsome and kind and practices his English while I practice my Italian.  He is generous about correcting me.  The characters on the tiles are old-fashioned, like my ideas about life sometimes.  We continue on passing gardens that I fall in love with of course and courtyards, steps built of stone and arches leading to churches.  We have a bite to eat and head back to the bus.  We are headed to Positano to end our day. Ravello leaves us with kisses and flirting from some men at the restaurant overlooking the ocean, an enjoyable stint on the curve of eyes looking with appreciation and a tranquil feeling in our souls.

The bus ride is long because the roads are so twisted and traffic cannot always pass one another so we wait often.  We want to swim and are hoping to make it to the party but we will need a ride back to Sorrento if we stay.  We make it in time to swim with the sun going down but the beach is shaded now by the high surrounding cliffs. Positano's beach is warm with rounded dark rocks that had baked in the sun all day.  The water was warm with currents of cold running through.  Small boats shuttle people back out to their awaiting yachts.  The boat boys are fit and give us plenty of visual attention. The attention they give you makes you feel like a real woman, feminine and appreciated. It is enjoyable to be watched by them on many levels.  Mentally it does me some good helping me to see that relationships past have not ended because I lacked beauty but instead because I need to learn something from each one. We enjoy watching the boat boys while we are in the ocean rinsing our cares away.  The party is supposed to begin at 8 but it is 8 already and there is nothing going on.

While we are drying Elida dares me to ask the boat boys to rinse me off with their hose.  This is actually one dare I turn down.  It is way too bold and brazen.

It is decision time. We have jokingly asked Jorge to come and pick us up by sailboat but he says it is too far. We are texting him when we decide to get up from the beach. We are still wet from our swim even though we spent a brief stint drying off in the rocks.  We put on our skirts, fix our bathing suit tops to look presentable and then head up to find out either when the party begins or where we meet our bus back to Sorrento.

We are directed back to the bus several times by the same man from a restaurant but we are so tired our brains get lost and disillusioned trying to figure out what to do.  We finally pull it together, make the proper turn, pass a market where we pick up much needed food and head back to the bus.  We are taking a little bus to the top in order to catch the bus back to Sorrento.  We make it to the top of the hill just as the last blue bus pulls up to head back.  Fortunate, yes.  There was no other way we could have gotten back.

The bus ride back rocks along the same road but at night seems even more dangerous with just the tiny lights of the villages below tucked in by the sea.  We are tired once again.  Arriving in Sorrento we walk back to our apartment and crash for a nap.  We need to figure out where we are headed for the next few days as our plans to go to Bari have fallen through.  The distance and travel time meant we would not have enough time to visit Elida's friend.  We decide to stay in Sorrento one more day.

After our nap we decide to go out.  We are disappointed to be on our own tonight since the friends we have made so far are such wonderful people. We would much rather be spending time with Jorge and Francesco but still it is Italy and we are going to experience it.  I am not really in the mood to be out on the town but I go anyway knowing my positive attitude will kick back in as soon as I am out.

Elida looks as beautiful as can be, as usual, and she is stopped by a man who is promoting a club.  He asks if we would like to go somewhere.  We follow him to the Beer Ba where we are taken to upstairs garden area and introduced to the owner. The courtyard garden area is up a set of stairs and surrounded by other buildings.  Vines cascade over trellises and there is seating below.  It is a lovely place to hang out if not for the young boys smoking loads of cigarettes. The boys chat with us briefly until they realize we are Moms and then retreat thankfully.  We are brought drinks and speak with some interesting men.  They are both African.

I am talking with Marouan.  He is young, only 22, and speaks 8 languages.  He is so eager to perfect his English.  Maoruan means brave and after a couple of days getting to know him I realize it suits him.  He has sad eyes. When I tell him I am a teacher he asks me to teach him more English.  I agree.  Marouan still hasn't mastered English and he has said some things that I find inappropriate at the time.  After reflection I realize he just didn't know the proper way to say things.  It is too bad I misunderstood.  He has a story that is interesting and I would love to tell it someday.  His Dad who had three wives and died when he was 15 which is when Maoruan struck out on his own.  Brave, as his name means.  He told me about his girlfriend who he missed immensely, a conversation that would be continued the next night.  If only I had taken the time to appreciate all he had I could have written his story completely but I was selfish.

As we walked down the street I spotted Raffaello walking with his friends. I made a point to say Ciao and then asked what he and his friends were doing.  He is with not only his friends but two other American girls.  They are headed dancing and I think that sounds like a great distraction.  I am invited and accept.  I really want to dance but Raffaello is not up for it.  We talk and have a drink.  His friend is devilishly handsome and the American girls are easily distracted by other men so I talk with his friend for awhile.  The friend is a driver of the buses that head down the Amalfi Coast.  I laugh and tell him I have just come back.  He asks who our driver was and I describe him.  He says, "I know exactly who that is." We flirt casually and talk of the danger of that road and the nature of the person behind the wheel.  We laugh.   Raffaello is jealous that I am talking with his friend but it is my nature to question and get to know the people around me.  The bus driver has beautiful creases by his wonderful eyes that are soft and full of light. Those creases are one of my favorite features on men and perhaps a weakness.  I trace his lines and other men's as well on this trip.  Those lines tell a story to me and draw me in.  I feel when I am tracing them that I am learning some of their story, the meaning of their life. Raffaello has those lines also but his are more from wandering aimlessly, it is obvious the difference.  I am attracted to the friend but continue to speak with Raffaello thinking of him as an angel sent to rescue me from Maruan.  Foolish.

The bartender is also interesting.  He is tall with dark wavy hair.  He has butterfly tattoos on his chiseled bicep and I am curious what it means.  Back home I am used to men tattooing with meaning so I ask. He explains that it means new life.  Gorgeous.

I have met so many interesting people so far and Raffaello is just one.  He owns a villa on a hill overlooking the ocean with olive groves and orchards but refuses to live there alone, solo.  He instead lives and takes care of his parents.  In turn his Mom still cooks for him even though he is 47.  In the US this would rarely happen and if it did that person would be completely rejected by society but with Raffaelo I feel it is acceptable.  He seems to have accepted it but later I learn different.  He is longing to share something meaningful with a woman.  His Dad has just been diagnosed with Alzheimer's and I feel an extraordinary amount of compassion for him and his mother.  He asks me advice about women explaining his last relationship.  Another pattern of mine is to give relationship advice. I talk to him about compatibility. It is obvious from his first few descriptions of the girlfriend that they are not speaking the same love language.  He wants a family and is realizing that time has perhaps passed.  I am not sure how he spent his younger years but his sadness reminds me of how much sadness is in the world.  I try to be a light to him like I do with all others.  I want to leave a bit of my beauty and joy behind with each person I encounter.

In Raffaello I see my own sadness in life and all of my weaknesses.  It will take another day to find my thankfulness for all that I do have.  Maybe I left that with Raffaello.

Another late night leads us to go to bed excessively late.  Tomorrow I will have to rest. Being a light to people sure takes its toll on both Elida and I.  She has also been a light tonight in a world of darkness.

So far we have met men with different kinds of sadness in their lives which might explain why they have sought us out.  Elida and I are joy and as a preacher recently said, "people want to rub up against those with joy even if only for a moment."  Hopefully we have helped spread that joy and in that joy love, God's love for all people.

Hillside village

Looking down

Someday, one of those sailboats

Amalfi's Duomo

Arches in Amalfi

Gelato in Amalfi

I like this beach

View from Ravello's square

Ravello's square

On a side street

Alley

Captivating gardens

Contemplation

Positano from the beach

Positano

Figuring out plans

Sunset in Positano

For more information on Love Languages read The 5 Love Languages or visit their website and take the test http://www.5lovelanguages.com/

Ercolano and Napoli

We have once again slept in and we are supposed to be meeting Francesco today in Naples.  Elida needs to get ready, a process which takes quite a bit of time.  I am just a simple girl but I am learning from her to take more time putting myself together.  It is a good lesson.

Jorge asks if I want to hike Vesuvius.  I want to and say sure but that we should wait to hear Elida's plan.  In the end the three of us decide to go to Ercolano aka Herculaneum, a smaller but better preserved version of Pompeii.  After that we will travel on to Napoli to meet Francesco for a tour.

On the train both Elida and Jorge sleep.  They are both excellent power-nappers.  I admire that quality but can't seem to do the same.  I write instead and look at the scenery.

Ercolano is a small village that was destroyed by Vesuvius on the coast.  When we arrive they are out of maps but I buy a small guide to the excavations.  It has the history of each area we will see.  Of course I want to read it and walk slowly through the ruins but Jorge and Elida are moving at a faster pace.  I'm trying to take it all in; the beautifully preserved mosaics of the bathhouses, the murals preserved and detailed, the wine vessels set in the courtyard and the charred remains of beams.  The site is a working site for archaeologists and I think, "I could work here."  The streets are deep and slanted to allow the water and rain to wash into the aqueduct below the city.  The bathhouses are the most impressive because everything is just how it was except the floor is a little wavy.  There are shelves built into the walls, marble benches for sitting and a large tub.  Conversations must have flowed in these places.

We continue through the maze of the town grappling with the utter destruction this place suffered.  People fled to this town on the coast hoping to escape the rage of Vesuvius.  Here they died a different death one of thermal shock from the heatwave that hit.  Many surges followed the first but there was a gift in the heat.  It perfectly preserved many things at Ercolano, giving insight into the everyday lives of its inhabitants.  Near the end in the boathouses we see the skeletons piled up, a somber moment.  I would love to linger longer but the others are tired and we have to get to Naples to meet Francesco so we set off after some water and a brief rest.

We shuttle back to the train and wait on the platform for it to arrive.  There are young boys on the steps of the train station having a great time punching each other, teasing and laughing. They range in age and have different looks to each.  One has the dark hair styled in an upward swoop, another chubby, a third in cuffed-jean shorts and all are sporting tennis shoes. Elida snaps a photo of this unique piece of culture deeming it the Italian Sandlot.  They spot us and begin making jokes at our expense.  I am pretty sure Jorge is the target as he stands draped over the rail relaxing all decked out in his blue striped shirt, deck shorts and boat shoes.

Finally the train arrives. It is dirty, fast and stinks like dried pee.  I wonder how in a country filled with Alpha Romeo's, Ferrari's and Italian leather, they can make the train so non-sexy. Even the vending machines were sexy in how they delivered your drinks with speed and fancy turning cylinders. The train does its job and delivers us to Circumvesuviana station just in time for Francesco to meet us.

He has a host of things he wants to show us but we have arrived to late for some of them and you can tell he is disappointed. Francesco is handsome, unassuming with a depth to his character that is immediately apparent.  He walks fast like me and we have to keep up.  As we pass by one neighborhood he tells us to hold tightly to our purses.  We listen and place them in front of us.  We walk by many churches, Elida and I constantly asking, "What is the name of this one?"  Francesco adorably explains, "Naples has the most churches in Italy.  I can't possibly know the names of all of them."

Francesco has soft green eyes which light up his face making him look happy, sad, puzzled and energetic at the same time.  He has just finished school and has obtained a job in London where he will be moving in about a week.  He studied economics and I ask him if he likes the work.  "Sometimes I like it and it has made me better understand the world," he explains.

He begins to lead us up a street and always tells us what we will see ahead.  He thinks and then explains.  If only I had a map to circle because he showed us so much that I cannot remember all of the names.  As we quickly walk up the street Francesco looks back at Elida and I, staring and taking pictures.  I meet his gaze and can sense he is worried. I try to stick closer.  He makes a quick change when he senses danger ahead.  He takes us down a safer avenue.  It is the place where Christmas displays are sold, Via San Gregorio Armeno or Christmas alley.  The displays are a cross between a nativity set and a Thomas Kincade village only rougher, with wood features, moss-covered roofs and cave-like areas to put figurines in.  Jorge says they have similar ones in Spain.  They are called a presepio.

Next we visit a church whose roof was destroyed by American bombers during WWII when we invaded.  We also rebuilt the roof but with the wrong materials and the people of Naples have not forgotten.  Francesco shrugs his shoulders and smiles at us in a way that says, "This is what your people did."  I joke and remind him we did save his people from Mussolini.  He laughs and we continue on. But he is offended.  In Italy they build things of great beauty and it takes time.  As Americans we sometimes fail to take the necessary time to make beauty and instead settle for function.

Next we head to the Gesu Nuovo Church where there is a musical code written in blocks on the facade.  Each block is slightly different, he explains, symbolizing different notes.  When played as one it is a piece of music.  The streets around it are known as the musical quarter where musical instruments are sold for those studying music in the university nearby. We go inside the church and the murals are as good as those I've seen at the Vatican.  Unfortunately, we have arrived late and don't have much time to stare.

Francesco gives us directions to the next few places as well as walks us by a place for food and then he takes off to his dentist appointment.  We are to meet him at the top of the hill after we have visited the other places he directed us to down below.  We grab some food; pizza, of course it is Naples, spaghetti that is baked into a pie and eggplant parmesan.  It is all delicious and we are all starving not having eaten since our light breakfast.  We go on to a large piazza where the people of Naples are mingling then continue down the street.  I try on some shoes but unfortunately they don't fit.  On we go to the Piazza del Plebiscito.  The church stands formidable in the square with its columns and large domes. We snap some photos but don't have time to go inside.

Our time is running short and we decide to grab an espresso.  Jorge wants a smoke but there is no time for sitting.  We need to hurry.  We pay for our espresso and Jorge asks me, "Don't you buy drinks for each other in America?"  It is an interesting question and I have to ponder it for a moment.  He explains that in Spanish culture one person buys and then the other.  "It is not common," I guess, trying to figure out why we always pay for our own.

We head to the funicular to catch the ride up the hill.  It is a very short ride and once again Francesco is waiting for us, waving. He takes us through one of the nicer neighborhoods in Naples, his neighborhood.  It is a contrast to the Naples below.  Below the trash was lining the streets, it was lively, loud, treeless and boisterous.  Above it is peaceful, serene, clean and filled with greenery.  He leads us to an overlook of the massive city by the Castle Sant'Elmo.  From here he points out to me the street that we were on before, Spaccanapoli.  It supposedly divides Naples in half but he says, "It doesn't look like it anymore to me."

The three others decide to have a smoke while I stand a little away from them so as to not inhale.  I don't need to lose my voice again.  After their smoke we continue the tour through a rich neighborhood with tree-lined streets and wide avenues for strolling.  Here they are selling suits for more than I make in a year. Francesco points out a famous Italian designer and he is shocked I have not heard of him.  I tell him that I am sure Elida has since that is more up her alley.  We walk down to the water overlooking the bay and another castle, Castle Dell'Ovo, which Jorge observes has the cannons facing the city instead of the water.  We are able to stop and look at the port and castle and take in the city at night.  It is magnificent.

In one of the these moments Francesco explains a unique Naples tradition which in English translates to "coffee on hold."  The saying in Naples is, "everyone deserves to have good coffee."  You can pay for another person's coffee at certain coffee places and that way if someone is poor they can still enjoy their espresso.  He said all the coffee shops used to do it and now only some do.  The one we visited earlier does.  I wish we would have known because I would have certainly put one on hold.  Next time I visit Naples.

Our next stop is a meeting with Francesco's friends at a rooftop bar.  I feel under-dressed and Jorge, who we have nicknamed Il Capitano, certainly is but it doesn't matter to Francesco or his friends.  The first friend he introduces us to is a beautiful girl with blonde hair, Mediterranean skin and green, large, joyful eyes.  She is getting her Phd in international law and spent some time working for the United Nations in New York City.  She is excited to practice her English and says she can't wait to visit the US again.  We order strawberry mojitos at the outside bar that has an azure blue pool swimming with rubber duckies.  The band is playing above the pool and some people are dancing.  Francesco's friends are easy to talk with and fun.  They are all alive with energy, young and ready to take on the world.  Jorge dances cutely and then him and Elida have another smoke.

Alas, it is time for us to catch the bus back to Sorrento.  Francesco, who is now nicknamed rolex/timekeeper summons us to go with his arms spread out and a sad look on his face.  He is worried about our safety and making sure we are able to get back to Sorrento.  He gets us a cab and tells him where to drop us, back at the train station.  He is not sure if Jorge will be able to take the same bus but we decide to gamble.  Jorge suggests we just stay and it is so tempting.  But the yes girls say no and we head to the bus. Francesco was the most generous and amazing host of all in Italy, showing us something others would not have taken the time to do.  He is a man of deep character and one who we now admire after spending this day with him.

We have to wait at the train station for awhile but it gives Jorge a chance to find out if he can take the same bus. He talks with one of the bus drivers and it turns out he can. There is what seems like a stray dog wandering the station.  He has a collar with a broken leash.  As we wait Elida sings bedtime songs and dances.  We tell him that we love to sing our kids to sleep.

When we board the bus we don't have to pay.  No other passengers pay either.  It is a broken system.  The dog is now being held by the broken leash and the people that own him are trying to convince the driver to drop them somewhere other than a normal stop.  He says no at first and then relents.  They board and we are off through Naples headed south but this time we will wind through hilltop towns and seaport villages as we make our way slowly to Sorrento.  I enjoy the ride immensely, seeing those smaller villages reminds me of my bus ride last year, panoramic.  We discuss eating dinner and Jorge invites us for curry chicken at the boat which is already made.  It is a tempting offer that I do not want to say no to however, Elida says no for us.  Jorge departs at the concrete.  He will have to work tomorrow and though we are hopeful, we will not see him again.

Tired when we leave the bus, we drag ourselves through Sorrento. We are so tired I can't even remember where we ate that night.  It is salsa night at the club, we are reminded when we walk by.  I tell Elida we will come back but on this night I can't rally.  I am too tired.  I know I disappointed her and I am sorry.  Still the day was yet again a 10!

Looking down at Ercolano

Wine vessels

The floor of one of the bathhouses

The other bathhouse floor

A charred beam

Contemplation

Boathouses with bodies

Napoli

Gesu Nuovo

Naples street life

San Francesco di Paola and the Piazza

Jorge, Francesco, Me and Elida

Naples from above

SantElmo

Two handsome, kind men

Naples at night

For more on the church with the music facade visit http://www.naplesldm.com/Bach.html

The Island of Capri & A Swim in the Blue Grotto

On this day we finally sleep in a bit but still not much.  We get ready and walk down the narrow street to grab some coffee and breakfast.  We decide this is the day we will go to the island of Capri.  We head down to the port to catch the boat but we have just missed the ferry so we have to wait. We hike back up the hill and stock up on supplies, some fresh fruit for the day.

As we wait for the ferry to depart I spot a beautiful Italian specimen standing on the dock with his shirt off.  He has perfectly carved biceps, a sextant to die for and tattoos in all the right places to accentuate his body.  I am taken in.  I stand and stare for a good long time.  As we board the boat he checks us out a bit.  He is one of the boatmen that grace this area of the planet.  As we are seated upstairs another man that Elida is familiar with asks her if she would like to go to his room.  I meanwhile take pictures and since we are upstairs do not see the other man.  I offer to take a family photo for some Italians and they are grateful.  The trip to Capri is breathtaking.  We sail along the Southern Italian coast and then out to the island where I am certain Sirens inhabit.  Sorrento looks impressive from the boat with all its buildings perched on the edge of the sea, high above on the cliffs with staircases winding up.

As we disembark the two boatmen flirt with us unceasingly. We are getting on a smaller boat to sail around Capri and to the Blue Grotto but they don't stop.  The boats are parked next to each other and they beckon us back and blow us kisses and yell compliments, telling us how beautiful we are.  We are eating some of our fruit and they ask, why no olives and cheese?  I return a few kisses and compliments as well. Who could not appreciate what he had done with that body?  It was well deserved.  Elida tries to snap a photo just as we are leaving but is too late.  Darn!  It is etched in my memory anyway.

On the smaller boat we begin to circle the island.  It is breathtaking with stunning high white cliffs, sharp edges and azure blue water below.  It reminds me of the Sirens calling Ulysses because the coves look so enticing but so dangerous at the same time.  I take what seems like a million more pictures and then we arrive at the Blue Grotto.  We have a bit of a wait until the rowboats will be ready to take us in.

When the first rowboat arrives Elida and I are standing in the back of the crowd but Mario, the oarsman, waves the two of us over.  He is handsome and strong with lighter features; blonde hair and blue eyes.  He loads Elida and I in the back of the boat which gives us plenty of space to spread out.  He then loads a couple in the tiny front triangle.  They are cramped and uncomfortable but Mario tells them it is romantic.  It is soon clear why he has made these choices.  As we row into the Blue Grotto he turns to me and says, "I will have to lay back on you a little."  His strong arms have to pull us into the cave by a chain while he hovers slightly above me.

The grotto is an amazing crystal blue.  It is a tropical blue, deep and reflective. Mario is singing to us, not the romantic couple in the front. His singing is beautiful, enchanting.  Another boat rows up and he also sings to us, leaning over his boat towards Elida and I.  Mario asks me, "Do you want to swim?"  I don't think he is serious so I question him but he is not joking.  I wholeheartedly say, "Yes!"  I jump in in my red dress, underwear and bra.  Before I enter he asks, "Do you need to change?"  I say, "No" and jump.  The water is soft and smooth on my body as I imagine an Italian man would be.  It is a very short swim because we are headed back out of the grotto.  Once again forgetting the, act helpless advice, I power myself back up into the boat in 2 seconds flat.  But this time, it works for me because I can tell Mario is impressed.  I love the way he looks at me in obvious appreciation.  We row towards the cave entrance and again with grace Mario leans back on me.  I imagine he is a good lover, tender and sweet.

As we climb back aboard the other boat a British couple shocked exclaims, "Did she go swimming?"  I smile and say, "Yes." My dress dries in the breeze as we make our way around the island.

Elida and I have decided today not to say the word No.  We were yes girls for the day in Capri.  I've lived up to it so far.

We continue to sail around the island.  There are tall cliffs reaching to the blue sky, many grottos and arches where our boat seems to barely squeeze through. Birds soar high in the sky near the cliffs.  There is one grotto that has the shape of Mary in the cave. Another has an arch that you could barely swim through but we are not stopping to swim.  Beneath one arch our guide says it is good luck to kiss so I give Elida a smooch on the check as we pass through.  He, of course, says it has to be a French kiss for good luck to follow but the rest of our trip would prove him wrong.

We return to the port and ride the funicular to the top where the town sits high on its perch, a nest looking out for enemies.  Once there we stroll through small streets where they use small carts,  the kind you would only see in an airport back home, to move things around,.  We first visit the cathedral which is small but no less beautiful with its domed, painted ceiling.  We head towards the gardens and window shop in all the expensive shops.  We order some gelato and walk more.  The gardens sit high overlooking two coves of azure blue water a staggering distance down the rigid white cliffs.  We sit on a bench and take in the impressive beauty of a place God allowed us to visit.

We continue on through the narrow streets and stumble upon an art gallery with a wonderful exhibit.  We step in and gaze at the work while Elida examines it closely.  She asks some questions of the two ladies and eventually is able to give them her card.  The owner says she will look at Elida's site right away.

After walking for hours trying to take in the stunning beauty of this place we head back down to the port.  We make the last ferry and as we are waiting in line we talk with a man from Argentina.  He tells us about his trip to the Amalfi Coast and makes some suggestions since we are planning to go there tomorrow or the next day.  As a ferry makes its way into the port I turn to Elida and say, "Thank goodness that one is going to Naples and not taking us."  It had large dents and a rusted side.  It had obviously been in a collision or two.  The,n of course, it backed up to our dock.

At least if the view of the boat is ugly the view on the boat is good.  Handsome Italian men sit all around us. They caress us and undress us with their eyes.  I am holding my breath after one such encounter when suddenly Mario appears.  He chats with us a bit and then leaves.  Strange.  When the boat is getting close to the port in Sorrento Mario reappears again and ushers us to the exit, telling us to hurry and follow him.  We do just as he says.  As we walk off the boat we talk.  He offers me a ride up the hill on his Vespa, "but I don't have room for your friend."  I tell him, "Take me anyway," and laugh.    He is fast, like most Italian men, and quickly figures something out.  He arranges a ride for Elida with a friend.

My first Vespa ride is thrilling.  I am hanging onto Mario with my legs while in my red dress and my arms are wrapped around his strong middle, remember he rows for a living.  He drops me at the top of the hill because there is no helmet for me and he would get in trouble if he took me further.  We chat about our lives as we wait for Elida and her ride.  He has two girls.  I tell him about my boys.  He looks at me with this look of wanting to ask me something but doesn't and then he drives off.

"Today was a ten!" we both shout.

On the walk back to the apartment we laugh at her scooter ride versus mine.  I was on a sleek new Vespa, she was on a old junker one that barely made it up the hill.  Her driver was just a boy and we laugh that she almost had to push the thing to start it.  We imitate being on a kid's scooter without engine.  We are laughing so hard.

At the beginning of our day we had asked for two gorgeous Italian men to take us to dinner tonight, voicing our idea to the universe. Instead we return to the hotel to find Jorge has made a reservation at Bufalito. So one incredibly handsome, charming Spanish man it is.  We have to quickly change and shower because the reservation is at 9 and we have arrived home at 8.  I scramble and put on my new sexy blue dress.  Elida dresses to the nines again in yet another hot outfit and we set out walking to the restaurant with a fuzzy directions on how to get there in our minds.

We find it after passing the street only once.  We look for Jorge but he has not arrived. And we were worried about being late!  The hostess asks if we are waiting and we say there is a reservation.  She shows us to our table which is set for three, two chairs on one side and one on the other.  Not sure where we should sit, Elida tells me to sit on the double side.

By dinner time I have lost my voice from all the smoking that Europeans do.  I can barely speak.  This should be good.  Jorge arrives at last. We shared plenty of good laughs.  Elida tells the waiter he has to make the night special just for us.She tells him he will never forget her and then makes sure he doesn't. He laughs.  He is cute and young in black rimmed glasses. It does seem we get special treatment except that the order is slow.

We all share red wine. Jorge has a beer.  I order a delectable meal of pasta with roasted veggies.  Jorge has the buffalo and it is good too.  Jorge asks if there is anyway to, get my voice back.  "A shot of Limoncello would probably do it," I answer.  He orders all three of us a shot. After mine my voice begins to come back.  He is so excited and his face lights up.  He flags the waiter down and orders me another.  This time he tells me I should sip it.  I've already had plenty of wine and now a couple of shots and should be feeling it but something about the wine in Italy doesn't impact me.  It is the same as the coffee.  Somehow both are a little tamer; yet another surprise about Italy.  We close down the restaurant and then of course go for a stroll.  We walk down to an overlook to gaze at the sea.

Our perfect 10 day ends with a beautiful perfect 10 night.  Off to bed we go for some much needed rest.

The port at Capri

Another view of the port

Myself and Elida on the boat around the island

Inside the Blue Grotto

Us in our roomy rowboat, just before my swim

A unique lighthouse perched on a cliff

White Grotto

Arch we sailed through

In the garden we rested and took in the view

The view from above of the beach and road down