Once we cleaned our plates, we rolled ourselves to the counter to pay – we never really did figure out if you were meant to go up and pay or leave it at the table for the server to collect. Whoops! Still, we were surprised at this first restaurant to have a service charge of a few Euros each. We made sure from then on to look at the menu beforehand, but most everywhere had some kind of charge for eating in. It took us aback a bit, but it didn’t end up being an issue, just a minor annoyance for incredible food. We carried ourselves back to our B&B and decided it was time for a much deserved nap to appreciate the day’s worth of food we’d just consumed in one sitting.
We woke up an hour or so later, got ready for the night, and went back out to find drinks and gelato for the night. Since it was still before dinner-time, we licked at our gelato while exploring a bit and just bought our own bottles and took it back to the common kitchen area and balcony. There we enjoyed a few drinks on the terrace, appreciating the fresh, Italian night air. Before we realized it, a few hours had passed and we began to get hungry again, so we set out back into town to continue exploring and find food. A number of vendors were still out in the street, their tables set up to display the array of bracelets, rings, coin purses, scarves, and whatever sort of knickknacks they had to offer tourists with money burning holes in their pockets, i.e. us.
We walked away a few Euros lighter for our purchases and wandered down the main bar street and found an appealing late night beer-and-kebab offer that just happened to be showing a soccer game as well. It may have been the combined atmosphere and excitement, full of soccer, alcohol, and promise for an unbelievable trip, but I think it was the best kebab I’ve ever eaten. Perfectly spiced, fresh lettuce and tomatoes, on a pita-esque type of flatbread. We took our time wandering back to our room where we continued to listen to music and chat, having fully enjoyed our night out.
We rose the next morning and donned our swimsuits, the plan of the day to go to the beach and brave the chilly temperature for the sun that was brilliantly shining. Once we found the bus, again with the help of kind strangers, it was a thirty-minute ride to the coast where the beach was splayed out in front of the mountains on either side, rows of little cafes and gelato lining the street opposite the beach. How pretty!
We ordered Stromboli/pizza-roll things from a little shop and walked along the beach a ways, and I was so relieved to have my feet back in the sand. Of all the things I miss about Australia, the proximity to the beach is close to the top of the list, just behind everyone I met there. After walking a bit, we found a place to sit and enjoy what was again a delicious, cheesy masterpiece.
Unfortunately, it ended up being a sandy, delicious, cheesy masterpiece, because the wind was blowing something fierce. To the point where I was worried I might actually have scrapes or burns from the sand whipping me in the face. Luckily my sunglasses protected my eyes and the long sleeves and pants I’d worn protected most of me while allowing me to watch the water and pretend I wasn’t being stung repeatedly. We walked along the beach a bit more once we’d finished eating before we gave in and called it quits with the swimsuits and appreciated the beach from inside. We had coffee in one of the small cafes and soaked in the gorgeous view laid out in front of us before making our way back to the bus stop to go back into town.
The afternoon turned out to be one full of learning lessons the hard way, starting with a valuable travel lesson on the way back from the beach. We had all nodded off during the thirty minute bus ride, and we were woken up by some of the public transport security/police officers. Eventually, the girl next to me was able to translate, and we were told that since we didn’t buy a transport ticket, we would have to pay a 53 Euro fine. I was skeptical, but since they were wearing jackets and hats with the public transportation logo and had official-looking, ticket pads of paper, it seemed legit. As soon as the guards were out of earshot, the girl next to me suggested that we just make a run for it when the doors opened (not the only time running from the public transport police was suggested that week, as it turned out), but they already had one of our passports, and we figured we shouldn’t take off without it. Instead, we stayed and ended up handing over the 53 Euros. Wah. I’ve since been advised to insist on paying the ticket at the office in order to ensure that the authorities are legitimate, but also because they’ll often drop the charge if you do. Lesson one: learned.
We spent the next few hours in the hostel lobby soaking up what bit of internet we could before making our way to the harbor where we would catch our ferry that night. On the way, we looked for somewhere to have dinner, a bit before 6:00, and lesson number two was there to meet us. No one, and I mean no one, eats or serves dinner or anything resembling a substantial meal before about 8:00. We found a few pastry or sandwich shops, but nothing was open and serving dinner. Literally forty minutes and eight failed attempts later, we stumbled upon a deli/gelato/bar/restaurant that was actually open for dinner. Success! Or so we thought. We started with another bottle of red wine that did not disappoint, followed by another incredible bruschetta. I’ve never been much of a fan of the stuff, but Italy knows how it’s done! Shocking, right? Unfortunately, the incredible food stopped there. Roz and I had ordered the same spaghetti dish, having only recognized the word “spaghetti” with what we inferred was red sauce and then assumed came with a kind of meat, and we had been hoping meatballs. Caitlin had figured out that her pasta came with a white cream sauce, but we weren’t able to figure out what kind of meat she had either. Turns out we all ordered seafood. Caitlin’s crawly things were still looking at her, and Roz’s and my best guess as to what we were eating was sea urchin. EW. Thus lesson three was served: don’t order something if you don’t know what it is. We’d lucked out previously, but this set a new standard for the trip. We wrapped up the food to appear less rude and ordered gelato, but the damage had been done.
We traipsed disappointed to the port where we saw a cruise ship-type boat in the harbor before checking in, where we found out that that was the boat we’d be taking! Once aboard, we explored the few bars, seemingly endless staircases, movie theater, game room, lounge/library/cards room, and the seating room where we had booked seats. Instead of going straight to bed, we played cards and chatted in the lounge and played cards before finally acknowledging how tired we were. Though the chairs weren’t super comfy and it ended up being fairly cold, we slept a bit before pulling into the harbor in Naples, or Napoli as the italianos say. I was the first to wake up, so I stood watching the sunrise over the city and Mount Vesuvius – I only just now figured this out as I’m writing, courtesy of Google maps, so I’m feeling excited about it all over again! What an incredible sight to see.
We arrived in Napoli almost rested and stopped right on the harbor for a quick chocolate pastry and coffee before trying to find a map or shuttle or something to do before picking up our car at noon. We had a fairly lazy morning and afternoon wandering the city (and finding most places to be closed!) until we decided to look for lunch before getting to the airport for our car. Unfortunately, lesson number four turned out to be: no one opens for lunch until noon. One woman – who also operated a hostel and even spoke English – let us sit down at her restaurant and have a drink with snacks while we waited for the taxi she was kind enough to call us to get to the airport. Though we were only in Napoli for a short time, the people were so hospitable and kind, and the architecture proved to be incredible, from the ancient ruin-esque looking castle to the fancy and more modern though still very old looking town square.
At the airport, we picked up the car we hired – a Fiat Panda for you car enthusiasts like my dear father – and made our way onto the road. Since I was the only one in our group who could drive a stick, I took on driving responsibilities for the trip, and Roz and Caitlin gratefully performed the ever important and demanding task of navigating. I was a bit nervous about driving period, and the Italian drivers did nothing to assuage my fears with their lack of turn signals, quick stops and starts, and endless line of Vespas zipping around everywhere, but we made it to the highway without any real issues. Luckily, highway driving proved easier to manage than the city.
The drive between Napoli and Roma proved to be an interesting one. About an hour into the two hour drive, we start coming up on an armored police vehicle, and I slow my speed a bit, unsure of who has the power to pull you over in Italy. As we pass the “polizia” from the middle lane, Roz gets a big grin from the driver in the car, and they proceed to pull behind us. With three American speeding tickets and a number of accidents to my name, fear was my first reaction, and I immediately made the conscious effort to hold my speed at 110km/hr (don’t let the 110 freak you out, it’s still under 70mph!). The car continued to the left lane and passed us, and I received a cheesy grin and wave of my own from the officer in the passenger’s seat. Next, they passed in front of me and back into the right-hand lane. Still with my speed consistent, they allowed us to pass them and they started their loop again! This happened four times before they motioned me to put my window down, at which point they mimed drinking coffee and we agreed to follow them to the next rest stop/exit to have coffee. I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried.
Twenty minutes later, we pulled off the toll road to the rest stop where the police officers got out and all but helped us out of the car. It was at this point we learned that none of them spoke English, and we already knew we didn’t speak Italian. Our saving grace was the one officer who spoke some French! Through him we learned who was the boss of the three officers, what part of Italy they were from, that they worked in Rome, they did not in fact have a prisoner in the back of the car, but oh by the way, they had in fact just taken one to a mental institution in Napoli. Just a regular day’s work, you know, driving around mental prisoners and picking up girls on the highway for coffee. We told them about our studies in France and our plan for Italy, and before we knew it, everyone had finished their coffee. The officers walked us back to our cars, kissed us on both cheeks in the proper European fashion, and we parted ways. Oh, Italian men!
Needless to say, the remainder of the drive was reasonably calm, comparatively speaking. We checked into our hostel, the Peter Pan Hostel, a thirty minute bus/metro ride outside of the city and lovely as can be. The single man at the front desk was incredibly helpful and quirky, marking the map of the city for us and telling us all the best places to eat and shop. Since it was already late, we decided to have dinner around the corner where we asked questions and made sure we knew what we were ordering and had a wonderful meal of calamari, bread, wine, and pasta. We made our way back to the hostel and gladly gave into our food coma, ready to rest before our only full day of exploring Rome.
I’m posting this now, just to have something to post before getting into the last half of our adventures, but I’m still writing! So expect the end of Italian adventures, my weekend trip to Toulouse, and my girlfriends’ visit to me coming up shortly. Thanks for bearing with me as the weeks stretch between posts once again, though I hope they find you in a good place. Love and miss you all, and I can’t wait to tell you more about what’s been happening here!
Here and there,
Kiley
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