Necessary Evil, Lemons and Ash

Whatever you do, don't ever go to Napoli. Or Naples. They're the same, and they're both terrible, terrible places. Unfortunately, Napoli is the gateway to all the ruins, lemons, and seaside towns of the Amalfi Coast. So I had to pass through.

I went because I wasn't going to get another chance, and because a friend of mine was going alone. She had the whole thing planned out location-wise, but no particular order to it all. After a two nights at home, I was hitting the road again.

Cydney and I (she's a center-midfielder from Eastern Oregon, and pretty much a no-nonsense professional-type traveler. . . almost moreso than ol' Unlce Jon. Almost.) set out midday Wednesday for the first trip south we had ever taken. My first glance of Rome (our program's weekend there is this next weekend) was the Roma Termini train station with plasma flatscreens on every platform with a loop of commercials playing.

The Napoli Giribaldi train station is composed of three levels, each serving a different kind of train. The top floor was the basic Tren Italia I've come to know and love, the middle was the city subway-type trains, and the basement was the Circumvesuvia, which followed all sorts of paths around Mt. Vesuvius to the south. All of these trains, the platforms, the inhabitants and their thoughts were grimy, smelly, and not giving a darn about the well-being of anyone else as they hurry about. Cydney put it best: Napoli is "dirty, running people." (Sound at all like the Mafia? Because this is the town that they got their start in)

Sorrento was our little oasis, the preferable choice of residence for the coast. Trust me. At the end of the 90 minute Circumvesuvia south, there are large expanses of lemon trees, some groves covered in green canvas, some trees lining the streets. Bridges come up unexpectedly, and the shopping was above par, a happenin' stretch by the sea. It's about an equal distance from Napoli and the coral coastal tourist traps to the south, and Pompei is halfway to Napoli. Very easy, very clean, and this is the end of the brochure.

Sorrento at night.

After a stay in my first ever hostel (called "La Sirena" aka "The Mermaid"), Thursday was Pompei day. It has it's own stop on the Circumvesuvia, called "Pompei - via dei misteri" which accurately describes the street it is "on" - the street of mysteries. Rick Steves - nestled snugly in the jacket pocket of Cyd and becoming a little dog-eared - told us not to pay more than 11 euro for a guide book from the many vendors that offered them on the walk over to the entrance. The initial road in this city of the dead was steep, leading up to the columns-only temple of Jupiter, the wide forum, the temple of Apollo, and all sorts of shabby parts-of-walls and columns that were clearly little houses. The weather was overcast (it would eventually rain, then be sunny) and there were only a few tourists. We followed the orange and yellow map that came inside our book (clearly printed in the 1960s) around the open spaces and into the baths. It was in and around here that we saw our first real threat besides the storm clouds - a pretty sizable pack of Japanese tourists. In the summer, they would be a welcome, disciplined, orderly bunch in comparison. They were half the population now. Stray dogs are also apparent in Pompei, and what a life they must lead. They are all well behaved, napping in quiet corners just past the fences that keep us out of sacred buildings and approaching you politely if you open up any food.

I will never know how he got up there.

Our guide book said the most interesting marble carving is on the back of this altar. Figures.

I don't usually photograph dead bodies, but this isn't a body. It's the plaster that filled the void left by the body in the lava. Still with me? At any rate, it's haunting.

The baths.

The House of the Faun was quite a show, too. It is named for the bronze statue that greets you as an enter, and houses two very impressive mosaics - one of which is a battle scene of Alexander the Great, violent and active and shaded very well.

It was about this time that I realized that there are so many pictures to show, I may have slideshow gatherings when I get back. Of the whole trip, that is. I know it is the cliche, boring, Aunt Selma from the Simpsons thing to do, but I think you might have some fun.

The other highlights for me were probably the same highlights for the inhabitants of this Roman town right up until the mountain blew and buried/burned them all. These were the theater (with perfect acoustics, as demonstrated by every guide by clapping), the gladiator training grounds (this was really just for the gladiators, and their little apartments surround the field), and the stadium.

In the training grounds for the Gladiators, which is nestled right up against the theater, Cydney and I decided to get cool shots of us doing as the Pompeisians did. That is, fighting.

Are you not entertained?!

I challenged a fellow American, and below is the moment worthy of a mosaic.

Mortal Kombat!

The stadium is a quiet little ordeal where people walk in, look around, and exit the way the came, not choosing to do some creative fence and wall hopping and climb into the seats like we did. I recommend it. You really aren't hurting anything, and the view is great.

It's never this empty. Ever.

We had walked a long way over the five hours we were there, and still had to trek to (shudder) Napoli to see all the artifacts. That's how they get you: Pompeii now is just the skeleton, the structures with some copies of the relics and some preserved painting on the wall, but the original goods are in a museum in the city that deserves to be covered in lava does not deserve to be found. We set out on foot from the Napoli train station among the people acting like cars and the cars acting like people, amid the packs of mangy dogs sleeping in bushes and the piles of garbage sacks at least 3 feet high at every corner. The shops are sketchy and cheap, and I actually, technically, got hit by a motorcycle. He thought the sidewalk was a shortcut since people move out of the way a lot faster than cars do. He wheelied and revved and braked hard, at one point brushing up against me as he opened up the throttle.

The street names did not match those in our book. Figures. We retreated to the train station and tried our hand at the crowded, late subway with eventual success. The museum was an impressive affair with original mosaics from Pompei (including the one of Alexander), all sorts of vases, an actual preserved piece of bread, and an extensive section of - ahem - erotic artifacts from Pompei and its brothel. I'd be happy to tell you about it sometime.

Friday was the trip south, away from Napoli and into the hills and cliffs - these are the beaches near Capri, if you're familiar with that rich vacation spot of Emperors turned tourist trap. Amalfi is only a little better - plenty of starfish refrigerator magnets - so we kept walking up the road and around the cove to Atrani, which is Amalfi without the tourists. And it's only 10 quick minutes walking up and around to the neighboring bay. It's always good to see the ocean. A man painted one of his wooden boats on the "sandy" beach and Cyd and I ate our pears and crackers as we sat out among the rocks.

How'd that rock picture turn out?

The walk up the road in town was quiet, save for a rooster on the hill and some creepy cats sitting on the cars, which are all fairly new and nice. A man sands down some white stone at the back of his dark garage, a little girl works the money book in a produce shop as dad watches on, a double-layer butcher shop that looks like a diorama from the street, and a waterfall at the top of the hill fronted by a rusty cross, just as the sidewalk becomes gated and private leading up into the green and rocky hills. This was Atrani.

We explore Amalfi before getting on the bus back, and discover the church where St. Andrew's tomb rests. The Cathedral was the quietest I've ever been in. It's size is unusual in that it seems just as big as any other in Italy, even though every building and street in this (and the other) town are smaller and precariously perched on hills.

St. Andrews in Amalfi.

The bus ride back was like the bus ride in, which I failed to mention was, in a word, precarious. In more than one word, here is an example: a biker in front of us refusing to yield as the road leads slowly uphill before turning sharply at about 170 degrees back around the hill where it slopes down again. The bus driver is gesturing Italianly at the cyclist with one hand, steering the bus in and out of the oncoming lane with the other. He is pretty much guessing when a car will come at us around the bend, and is getting less time to guess as we get closer. These roads are all blasted out of the cliff, and drop sharply into the rocky sea. We finally reach the bend alive, and the driver has not passed the biker. He pedals and coasts around the turn smoothly, gliding away. But our driver won't let him get away with it. His fellow driver had brought us in at a quicker-than-safe pace, but this was ridiculous. He was trying to keep up with the biker for quite awhile at the risk of about 23 lives.

The least steep of the hilly cliff towns.

Having survived the chase on what could be one of the most deadly roads in the world in summer (we may never get the courage to look up that stat), we celebrated with 5 euro jackets (marked down from 40) on a winter close-out rack in Sorrento.

Going home Saturday required one more trip through Napoli and the train station, which had become familiar but remained gross almost behind comprehension, like a wart on your front teeth. A man who knew English shadily stood right up against us, showing us how to use the very simple ticket machines. I was bumped from behind once, but my huge backpack and empty back pockets (and menacing glare as he faked a "scusi") left him a little tail-between-the-legs. Score one for the Americans. We were asked to buy burned CDs, and were offered a gold necklace wrapped in a kleenex. Such is Napoli. Avoid it.

But the coast is wonderful, and Pompei makes it all worth it.

"Cave Canem" means "Beware of Dog." I definately included this very mosaic in a report on Italy I did in 6th Grade.