Tuesday
We try for an early start, but 8AM is about as early as we can manage. Why the rush? We’re off to see the ruined city of Pompei, 2 1/2 hours south of here, on the other side of Naples. We catch a cab up to the train station, to find we missed the early train and have about 40 minutes to kill. OK, caffé! Up to the AutoStart coffee bar (motto: The company with the Big “A” – I’m not kidding) where the barista makes little heart designs in the foam on our cappuccini.
There are so many little things that are different (why wouldn’t they be?): paying for the coffee and giving the barista the little slip of paper isn’t functionally different than Starbuck’s but it feels unusual, as does figuring out the automatic ticket machines for our trip. The ticket machine asks me for my seating preferences (all 5 together) but without warning, gives us tickets for seats close together, but not next to each other. When we get on the train, there is an additional twist, as a mother with 2 young boys and a nanny has appropriated the club seats and is directing everyone who WAS seated at the table to other seats. Rampant confusion follows, as some of the people who she directed to other seats are Americans visiting Italy 1) for the first time 2) who have a sullen teen who snaps at everyone and 3) are going to visit family they have never met. Stress city, indeed. I’m trying to help straighten out the mess when another couple come along who ALSO have seats at the table. Che casino! (What a mess/uproar!) The mother, who is a “type” (read: Yuppie) is furious because everyone won’t leave her alone to sulk about this trip (she’s telling everyone who will listen about her husband who’s working so hard, he supports her so well, and they’re off to their villa in Reggio Calabria – the “toe”), the people who carefully booked the table for their trip want their seats, the Americans are saying that it isn’t their fault, she told them what to do (she’s telling them to be quiet) and, it turns out, there is an older gentleman who is sitting in the middle of this, whose seat is on another part of the train entirely, but he doesn’t like to ride facing backwards, so he found this seat and won’t give it up (because it “bother’s” him to ride backwards, and no-one should be bothered, right?, he tells me, repeatedly.) Eventually, all the seating gets straightened out, and we relax for our trip (for the next hour, however, one of the Americans continues to periodically erupt with accusations of “it’s her fault” and “He shouldn’t even be in this part of the train.” I try to tune it out: Let it go!) and the 2 boys (5 and 3 1/2) are perfectly well-behaved Italian boys (read: indulged but nice) and keep each other occupied while Mom sulks and the nanny ignores everyone. Ana and I are seated together, but she falls asleep after a bit, and I watch the scenery go by and chat with my fellow passengers. The older boy eventually tells me that they’re going to see their grandparents (Mom interjects: “at their villa”) and Daddy will come when he finishes work. I can’t blame mom for being a bit put out: it’s a 45-50 minute flight from Rome to Reggio Calabria, but a 6 hour train ride with 2 small children is a lot. The Americans are heading to Salerno (below Naples on the water) to visit their ancestral home, and at least 2 of the 5 are here unwillingly (an uncle? and the teen).
We arrive in Naples, and find the train to Pompei, It’s crowded, and we stand for the whole 30 minute trip. Alysia sees the water and tries to convince us that we should make a side trip for swimming (and a new bathing suit, of course). At one point, a man with a saxophone gets on, and starts to play (he’ll ask for money later), but the conductor gives him a look and a gesture that clearly says, What are you doing? and he stops until the conductor leaves. He’s never asked for a ticket, so it’s obvious to me that this is a regular gig, and probably the conductor gets a cut. At another station, a gypsy family gets on, with the youngest (about 6-7?) playing an accordion badly at full volume, while Mom and older brother hit up the passengers. The Rom have been badly treated in Italy for years, and have responded by being ever more aggressive, and by now it is a mutual hatred, and many of the passengers are aggressively negative.
When we get off, we head over to a likely place to eat (it’s now after 1) and then head up into the ruins. As we approach the entrance, a man wearing a guide badge approaches us and offers us his services. His english is good enough and we accept. He is a former professor of French Literature in Naples, and has quit to make more money. Professore Edio takes us on a 2 1/2 hour exploration of the city, thankfully not spending overly much time on the more prurient aspects of the city. (There are many erotic frescos that are considered to be what the tourists want to see. I’ve seen them, and they’re not that good ;-)) Anyway, we clamber up the stone streets, marveling at the sights, grateful for the overcast and sea breeze. Dominating the landscape is the bulk of Vesuvius, thankfully not active today. Alysia changes to sandals (from sneakers) and will pay the price tomorrow when her legs complain. Ana keeps asking where the people are, and how they dressed and generally engages with the whole process.
We’re exhausted, and we’ve seen less than 20% of the whole site. We’ll have to come back one day.
On the train ride back to Naples, some laborers get on with a washing machine. From their conversation, they’re taking it in for repair, and will try to get it fixed for the weekend. Neither man seems to feel that this is unusual, and neither do any of the other passengers. I can’t remember the last time I saw a washing machine on a train. Certainly it wasn’t on the “A” train in NY.
The train from Naples back to Rome is late and we get back around 8PM: a very long day. Alysia decides she can’t live without Chinese food, and we remember that there is a Chinese restaurant in the Campo. So A&A eat Chinese and Joy Christy and I go out for another good meal.
While we’re waiting and eating, we have a wonderful discussion about art and ART and whether primitive art is made the way the people who made it wanted it to be or whether they “really” wanted better tools and then would have made something different. My position is that in this day and age, artists find the tools they want to say what they want to say, even if they are far out in the bush. Christy sort of agrees, but feels that “primitive” art is indulgent. As we’re talking, I notice that there are many women in high heels, walking around the piazza. Not so odd, until you realize that the surface is cobbles and the women aren’t paying attention, just walking. Without stumbling. I couldn’t do it. Just another thing, anyway.
We try for an early start, but 8AM is about as early as we can manage. Why the rush? We’re off to see the ruined city of Pompei, 2 1/2 hours south of here, on the other side of Naples. We catch a cab up to the train station, to find we missed the early train and have about 40 minutes to kill. OK, caffé! Up to the AutoStart coffee bar (motto: The company with the Big “A” – I’m not kidding) where the barista makes little heart designs in the foam on our cappuccini.
There are so many little things that are different (why wouldn’t they be?): paying for the coffee and giving the barista the little slip of paper isn’t functionally different than Starbuck’s but it feels unusual, as does figuring out the automatic ticket machines for our trip. The ticket machine asks me for my seating preferences (all 5 together) but without warning, gives us tickets for seats close together, but not next to each other. When we get on the train, there is an additional twist, as a mother with 2 young boys and a nanny has appropriated the club seats and is directing everyone who WAS seated at the table to other seats. Rampant confusion follows, as some of the people who she directed to other seats are Americans visiting Italy 1) for the first time 2) who have a sullen teen who snaps at everyone and 3) are going to visit family they have never met. Stress city, indeed. I’m trying to help straighten out the mess when another couple come along who ALSO have seats at the table. Che casino! (What a mess/uproar!) The mother, who is a “type” (read: Yuppie) is furious because everyone won’t leave her alone to sulk about this trip (she’s telling everyone who will listen about her husband who’s working so hard, he supports her so well, and they’re off to their villa in Reggio Calabria – the “toe”), the people who carefully booked the table for their trip want their seats, the Americans are saying that it isn’t their fault, she told them what to do (she’s telling them to be quiet) and, it turns out, there is an older gentleman who is sitting in the middle of this, whose seat is on another part of the train entirely, but he doesn’t like to ride facing backwards, so he found this seat and won’t give it up (because it “bother’s” him to ride backwards, and no-one should be bothered, right?, he tells me, repeatedly.) Eventually, all the seating gets straightened out, and we relax for our trip (for the next hour, however, one of the Americans continues to periodically erupt with accusations of “it’s her fault” and “He shouldn’t even be in this part of the train.” I try to tune it out: Let it go!) and the 2 boys (5 and 3 1/2) are perfectly well-behaved Italian boys (read: indulged but nice) and keep each other occupied while Mom sulks and the nanny ignores everyone. Ana and I are seated together, but she falls asleep after a bit, and I watch the scenery go by and chat with my fellow passengers. The older boy eventually tells me that they’re going to see their grandparents (Mom interjects: “at their villa”) and Daddy will come when he finishes work. I can’t blame mom for being a bit put out: it’s a 45-50 minute flight from Rome to Reggio Calabria, but a 6 hour train ride with 2 small children is a lot. The Americans are heading to Salerno (below Naples on the water) to visit their ancestral home, and at least 2 of the 5 are here unwillingly (an uncle? and the teen).
We arrive in Naples, and find the train to Pompei, It’s crowded, and we stand for the whole 30 minute trip. Alysia sees the water and tries to convince us that we should make a side trip for swimming (and a new bathing suit, of course). At one point, a man with a saxophone gets on, and starts to play (he’ll ask for money later), but the conductor gives him a look and a gesture that clearly says, What are you doing? and he stops until the conductor leaves. He’s never asked for a ticket, so it’s obvious to me that this is a regular gig, and probably the conductor gets a cut. At another station, a gypsy family gets on, with the youngest (about 6-7?) playing an accordion badly at full volume, while Mom and older brother hit up the passengers. The Rom have been badly treated in Italy for years, and have responded by being ever more aggressive, and by now it is a mutual hatred, and many of the passengers are aggressively negative.
When we get off, we head over to a likely place to eat (it’s now after 1) and then head up into the ruins. As we approach the entrance, a man wearing a guide badge approaches us and offers us his services. His english is good enough and we accept. He is a former professor of French Literature in Naples, and has quit to make more money. Professore Edio takes us on a 2 1/2 hour exploration of the city, thankfully not spending overly much time on the more prurient aspects of the city. (There are many erotic frescos that are considered to be what the tourists want to see. I’ve seen them, and they’re not that good ;-)) Anyway, we clamber up the stone streets, marveling at the sights, grateful for the overcast and sea breeze. Dominating the landscape is the bulk of Vesuvius, thankfully not active today. Alysia changes to sandals (from sneakers) and will pay the price tomorrow when her legs complain. Ana keeps asking where the people are, and how they dressed and generally engages with the whole process.
We’re exhausted, and we’ve seen less than 20% of the whole site. We’ll have to come back one day.
On the train ride back to Naples, some laborers get on with a washing machine. From their conversation, they’re taking it in for repair, and will try to get it fixed for the weekend. Neither man seems to feel that this is unusual, and neither do any of the other passengers. I can’t remember the last time I saw a washing machine on a train. Certainly it wasn’t on the “A” train in NY.
The train from Naples back to Rome is late and we get back around 8PM: a very long day. Alysia decides she can’t live without Chinese food, and we remember that there is a Chinese restaurant in the Campo. So A&A eat Chinese and Joy Christy and I go out for another good meal.
While we’re waiting and eating, we have a wonderful discussion about art and ART and whether primitive art is made the way the people who made it wanted it to be or whether they “really” wanted better tools and then would have made something different. My position is that in this day and age, artists find the tools they want to say what they want to say, even if they are far out in the bush. Christy sort of agrees, but feels that “primitive” art is indulgent. As we’re talking, I notice that there are many women in high heels, walking around the piazza. Not so odd, until you realize that the surface is cobbles and the women aren’t paying attention, just walking. Without stumbling. I couldn’t do it. Just another thing, anyway.
posted by Anonymous | 5:18 AM
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