Napoli

OK, there is another new post below this one, so make sure you read that one as well. I apologize for the backup, but it's been hard to find time to do a proper update. I am in Interlaken, Switzerland now and I have yet to write about traveling to/from Rome, so bear with me. Pictures will be coming soon. Finding internet cafes that allow you to upload pictures are rare, I am afraid. Sorry if it's a lot to read!

Whenever told someone I was going to Napoli, the reply I would almost always get was "Why?" or "By yourself"? This is perfectly understandable as Napoli is the filthiest, crowded and most crime-infested city of Italia. So why did I want to go there? People told me that if you can somehow get in with the Italians, spend a few days there and wait out the initial fear it can become a really incredible place. I really think that would had happened if I hadn't spent two nights on a train.

I arrived in Napoli and begin the hardest part of the trips - finding the hostel from the train station. I had written the directions down in Barcelona so I knew how to get there, but it's not always that easy. People word things differently then you would and before you know it you're lost in the middle of a fish district.

My hostel was in a town a little east of Napoli called Portici. Don't be confused, though. It is very much a part of Napoli. After about a half an hour of wandering I stumble upon a guy cleaning his car with a co-worker. He asked me if I was lost and I told him that I was looking for a hostel.

Him: Hoss-tel?
Me: Yes. A Hostel.
Him: What is the name?
Me: Well, let me see....Well, I actually don't know the name.
Him: What is the address?
Me: Well, I actually only have the directions, no address. I think it was an old fabric factory or something.
Him: (Thinks for a minute) Ahh! Ostello! Yes, yes Fabric! Get in, get in. (He points to the car)

At this point all the years of hearing "don't take rides from strangers" echoes in my head as I ponder letting this man take me to my hostel. I only had 20 Euro on me, so if I got a gun pointed to my head I would have to trade my camera and cell phone and 20 Euro for one hell of a story. I chose the story (or so I thought at the time).

Luckily for me, he was just a generally nice guy and he dropped me off in front of a one way street and said "Go straight! Viva United States, eh?". So I start walking down the street looking for my hostel. His instructions were clear enough, but my head was not, so again I became lost (It's hard to go "straight" when a road divides into two identical angles). So there I am, wondering through tiny little cobblestone allies full of barrels of fish, getting the strangest looks one can imagine.

I ask a random man if he speaks English and he says he does, so I ask him for directions to "Fabrique" (How they pronounce it). He starts to tell me but he is interrupted when a man on a moped with his son comes up and asks what's going on. The guy tells him he's trying to tell me how to get to fabric and they end up getting into a small argument (or as the Italians call it - a friendly discussion) about where exactly it is. They apparently agreed that it was the 4th street on the right and wished me luck.

So by this time I am getting a little tired from carrying all my junk to and fro, and I really wishing I could just hop on a moped and zip right to my hostel. And then my wish was granted. The guy on the moped pulls up next to me, this time without his son, and shouts accompagnare over the noise of the traffic. So I hop on the back of his bike, guitar, backpack and all, and he takes my straight to my hostel (Not bad for a hostel bar, huh?)

That day I remembered the words of a traveler I met in Paris: "The Italians will make you feel incredibly small. But if you can get in with the Italians, you'll be set. You'll be a king". For a long time I wondered how to do that, but it was something I found that just happens with a little bit of luck and time.

I walked around looking for a place to get some pizza (Napoli is, after all, the birthplace of Pizza) and found a quiet little joint near the hostel. I pop in and order some pizza from an extremely large chef (That's a good sign, I thought). The pizza was amazing, and I'm not just saying that. The pizza in Milan was not too bad, but it was nothing you couldn't get in the states. The pizza I had in Napoli was delicious. What really made it was the freshness of the ingredients, especially the fresh basil leaves on top. When I had walked in there I knew I had ten Euros on me, so I you can imagine my surprise when I searched all my pockets to find nothing. I tried to give him my cellphone and tell him that I would be back, but he just said "No problem" and gave the phone back to me. I went back to the hostel and searched everything, and I still couldn't find the missing ten. It drove me absolutely insane. I ended up borrowing ten Euros from the hotel and ran back to pay him. He told me to come back tonight for more and I said I would.

About three hours later I show up again and this time order some pasta. Just plain pasta with tomato sauce, but again, it was the best I've ever had.

The next day I headed to Pompei with some guys I met from the hostel. It was expensive, but it really was interesting. Some of the murals have been restored, and I think they were the best part. And yes, I did see the famous plaster casts of the bodies. The view overlooking Pompei was pretty fantastic, too. Afterwards, I took the guys out to that same Pizzeria as the day before. That makes three times in two days.

But each day I was there I was feeling worse and worse, like my head was too small for everything inside of it. I was hoping it was just from the heat. How wrong I would be. I awoke that night so incredibly hot that I couldn't stand it. I waddled to the bathroom and just ran my head under the faucet. That earned me about an hour of sleep before I had to wake up (because it gets hotter as the day goes on).

The next day I went out looking for a National Museum of Archeaology, where all the Pompei stuff is displayed, with my buddy Stefan from Germany. It took us about two hours to get there (Italian public transportation is the worst I have ever encountered) and then we found out it was closed. So we decided we would go to an art museum instead, which was appartly only a km away. Again, we walked for another hour in the heat to find it. By now, I was really starting not to feel well.

The art museum was nice, but it was just picture after picture of the Virgin Mary and Jesus, so after a while it got a little old. The museum was in the middle of a nice park, though. Stefan and I found some pizza (which was not as good as the one in Portici) and wandered back to the metro to get back.

I went to bed early that night, but not before meeting a group of people who were all going to Capri the next day. I decided I would go with them, hoping I would feel a little better, but I barely slept that nght. Despite the heat, I covered myself in three blankets and shivered the entire night. My illness had reached it's peak.

We all got up to go to Capri the next day (after popping about 4 Advil) and found at the ferry was 25 Euro round trip, so we decided to just chill around Sorrento for the day instead. We explored some Roman ruins on the water, which were absolutely beautiful. We spent the morning there, and got a late lunch at a small bar on the water. The water was really, really rough so you couldn't get in the bay, but you could lay on the rocks and feel the mist from the water hitting the rocks on you.

We left that afternoon and headed back to the hostel for dinner. I told them all about the place that I had been going, and they all agreed to go with me there for dinner.

Needless to say they were thrilled to see me bring in eight people, and they instantly brought out a complimentary tray of mussles for us to enjoy. Everyone else was slightly finicky about shellfish except for me and my German friend who devoured them like potato chips. It was just us and the family that owned the place in there, so I knew it was going to be great.

And it was. I had white pasta with mussels with Stefan (the mussels would melt in your mouth. You wouldn't even chew them, you would just taste them) and everyone else had penne with tomato sauce and beef. After a while, the grandmother and her granddaughter (I think) brought out a free bottle of wine and did an Italian toast with us. She had to stand on a chair because she was so short (her family had a good laugh about this) but she was a good teacher of Italian toasts. Before we knew it, she brought out another bottle of wine and did another toast with us. Ten minutes later she brings out another bottle and this time I give a toast to "Italia, Napoli, and the best Pizzeria in Napoli". Just when I think the complimentary food and drink is finished, she brings out a final plate of mussels for us to enjoy before we leave. In with the Italians? I think so!

The next day I left for Rome, feeling absolutely awful.