Traveling Solo: 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!