As we were getting back on the bus to Massa Lubrense last night, at least two groups of people asked us how to get somewhere.
This makes me laugh. A lot.
I've spent the last week utterly frustrated by my apparent inability to get ANYWHERE, despite a concentrated and somewhat educated effort. And now, people are looking o me for guidance. Mama Mia.
It gets funnier. There's a Scot on our bus this evening who we joke with a bit about the trials and tribulations of getting from here to there. A few minutes after we board, I'm giving a young girl -- I think German or Polish -- advice on getting a bus card in the morning. The driver was nice enough to let her and her friends board tonight without paying (more on this in a moment.) I told her to make sure to get the three day Compania pass that will take them all over the region for 20 euro.
The Scot comes back up to our seat afterward to say we've been here too long... he says, "You sound like a bloody tour guide!" Me... an Italian tour guide! Now THAT is funny.
On the bus fare thing... I have a theory I've been working on after watching people board the bus. The locals never pay. It seems like the only people who DO pay are tourists. I'm not complaining, but I do think Italy might make a dent in their financial problems by actually collecting bus fares from all passengers. Saturday night, there were about 30 teenagers from Sorrento to Massa Lubrense. At 2,40 euros per person... That's around 72 euros.
I'm just saying... it's a start.
We've decided to try to hit Herculoneum on the way to Naples to pick up our bags. The only issue is, we have a crapload of stuff and no new bags in which to carry said crap. I am quite sure watching us get down the hill looking like two pack mules will be pretty damn funny.
I made a Caprese salad with the mozzarella we bought at the factory and the rest of Lucia's tomatoes and fresh basil. Yes, for breakfast! I tried some of the mozzarella, which I can barely describe. Simply cutting it was different. Commercial mozzarella in America would cut in uniform slices. With this, the outside layer is more firm, almost like a shell, and the inside -- sort of crumbly in a way. This only breaks apart in softly held together chunks, bleeding a milky white liquid when cut. The taste is unimaginable... like cheese rather than a squeaky waxy imitation. It's sort of sweet and savory at the same time, but also delicate. This is the beat thing I've eaten in Italy. I tuck it in the refrigerator to wait for mom to wake up and take some tea to the roof overlooking Massa Lubrense, Capri, Vesuvius and the sea.
I'm listening to opera -- something from Turandot -- as I watch smoke from one of this morning's fires roll lazily down the hill. One of the first ferries cuts through the water, making it's way to Capri. The sea is calm, the clouds low in the sky, hugging the water and the island. Drivers beep their horns to let other Italianos coming around the many blind corners know that they are there. A rooster crows in the distance as a cacophony of dogs sing to the new day. The tag from my tea flutters in the breeze, clinking against the side of my mug.
I'm feeling relaxed today.
I've been thinking a lot about the stress of the last few days. My mom said something really poignant yesterday about being in a foreign country and needing to play by their rules instead of trying to get them to play by mine. That's tough for someone who is pretty used to making things happen. "Making things happen" leads to a lot of conflict, though, conflict I claim to loathe. And don't get me started on my preoccupation with getting a good deal, milking the most value from everything. It's how I make my money go further, which is greconflict it can also create conflict. For example, yesterday there was a tour boat to the Blue Grotto heading out, but I was convinced we could get a better deal. We waste a good 45 minutes looking for that better deal. Unsuccessfully. We ended up back where we started anyway.
Sometimes you just have to let it go.
The path of least resistance will still get you to your destination.
Showing posts with label Capri. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Capri. Show all posts
Monday, September 12, 2011
This mosquito walks into a bar...
I hate to say this. I'm almost glad we are leaving for Rome today. Not because I don't love it here. Not because we aren't having fun. No... not even because of the luggage (which I am sure you will be shocked to hear is at the Naples airport, where we will have to now go out of our way to pick it up. When the guy I talked to Saturday seemed skeptical it would be delivered... He said, "Madame, tomorrow is Sunday," I decided to have them hold it there. Better safe than waiting, or worse -- missing our luggage again.)
I'm happy because, if we don't leave soon, these mosquitoes are going to eat me alive. Mom hasn't been bothered by them, but I have at least eight, including several on my knuckles. Have you ever had a mosquito bite on your knuckle? Decidedly not cool. Last night as I was going to bed, this cartoon popped I to my head. I'll share...
Two suave looking Italian mosquitoes are flying around as church bells clang in the distance. One looks at the other and asks if he's hungry and wants to get a bite to eat. They hem and haw over what they're in the mood for, when they run into a third friend, flying slowly, rubbing his stuffed belly.
"Giuseppe, where have you been, my friend? We were just heading to dinner, would you care to join us?"
Giuseppe, slightly out of breath, responds in his squeaky Joe Pesce-esque voice...
"Luigi...," he gasps, "Francesco...," he puffs, trying to keep up, "If your are hungry, you must come with me! I found this great new American place in Massa Lubrense. The food is delicious!"
I itch.
I'm happy because, if we don't leave soon, these mosquitoes are going to eat me alive. Mom hasn't been bothered by them, but I have at least eight, including several on my knuckles. Have you ever had a mosquito bite on your knuckle? Decidedly not cool. Last night as I was going to bed, this cartoon popped I to my head. I'll share...
Two suave looking Italian mosquitoes are flying around as church bells clang in the distance. One looks at the other and asks if he's hungry and wants to get a bite to eat. They hem and haw over what they're in the mood for, when they run into a third friend, flying slowly, rubbing his stuffed belly.
"Giuseppe, where have you been, my friend? We were just heading to dinner, would you care to join us?"
Giuseppe, slightly out of breath, responds in his squeaky Joe Pesce-esque voice...
"Luigi...," he gasps, "Francesco...," he puffs, trying to keep up, "If your are hungry, you must come with me! I found this great new American place in Massa Lubrense. The food is delicious!"
I itch.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Mom, Part One
It felt good to sleep in until 8:00 am, but does it count as sleeping in if you don't go to sleep until 2:00? I'm excited that today is one of the last that I'll have to take on the road from hell. I must admit, my legs are starting to feel firmer, but tacking this hill each night after a full day of walking makes me have great empathy for folks on the Biggest Loser. Amy is definitely my Jillian Michaels: pushing, prodding, pulling -- everything but carrying me up the hill.
We are way too early for the bus when we arrive at 12:00 noon and decide to walk to the next stop to wait in the shade. Oops. Read the schedule wrong. The bus barely arou
Nd the corner stops for us anyway when we wave him down. We arrive in Sorrento and stop for a coffee and tea at the Internet point, and then down about a hundred steps (thank God it is DOWN) to the marina.
Did I mention the steps in Italy? These people have steps for their steps. You go down five, down three, up four -- right in a row. I'm getting muscles in my legs. Hopefully, they will go all the way up to my butt!
We purchase our ferry tickets and sprint down to the dock. Amy can't believe I'm moving this fast, but it's the old tuck your tail and run for me -- from the heat. The boat is air conditioned, and quite cozy. We have good seats where we can look out over Capri and half of North Korea, as we are sitting amidst a large group of Asian tourists.
The boat ride is one of the most relaxing things we've done all week. Umbrella trees dot the cliffs of Capri. We wander around from shop to shop along the waterfront, where we both buy different versions of a scarf wrap and I look for a hat. Amy convinces me to buy an umbrella instead. Not the small one -- the big one -- which when I open it up, almost pokes her eye out. Twice. She tells me to hold it higher, to which I respond, "I'm not a tour guide."
After talking to several places about a tour to the blue grotto, the Grotta Azzura, we decide to go with the inexpensive version at 24 euros total round trip for both of us. Luckily, we have less than twelve people on our boat, compared to the fifty they cram on the others. The ride out is breathtaking, and thankfully -- not too rough. When we arrive at the grotto, terror of terrors... we must leave the comfort of our big boat and get into a tiny wooden boat build for five people, sitting flat on the floor.
First, we have to step off one boat I to another moving in an opposite direction. That's not the most challenge part. I am sitting with another couple. He gets in first, then she sitting between her legs. I am edged in next to them -- so I had to be careful not to step on her as I get down into the boat. Our "captain" laughs when Amy wants to sit next to her mama, but she's wedged into the front. All 5'11" of her.
We make our way into the grotto, as the captain pulls us into what looks like Alice's rabbit hole with a chain attached the the stone. Our guide tells us to watch our heads, and as I duck down, I can feel the dampness of the rock by my head. Inside is spectacular. The water is an electric turquoise blue, from the sun shining through the opening. The guide tells us the grotto was used for swimming but an ancient emperor of Rome -- the Tiberius family.
A quick whirl around the inside, as our guide sings songs for us in Italian. I ask if he had do be a good singer to get the job, and he says it came after. I tell him he has a great voice, and of course. He starts sing the Carusso song about Le Americana. He's working for a tip.
Now, I'm just hoping there is something equivalent to the jaws of life to get me out of this boat and UP on to the one that will take us back to shore. The lady whose legs I am siting between says, "everybody can do it." That's a brave attitude. With her pushing and the guide pulling me, I was able to get upright and hop up on the edge of the big boat. I am IN -- no harm, no foul. Back to Capri.
Amy and I head for a little stony beach, where we have a little lunch we brought with us of cheese and salami, with a bottle of wine. Amy goes for a swim while I take pictures and watch the bags. In the process, I see the good, the bad, and the ugly in the bathing suit department. On the way our of dodge, we grab a homemade gelato. Amy has creme caramel and I have a tiramisu. We are learning which places will but good by how the gelato is displayed. Not even all the homemade gelatos are the same. The tiramisu is just so-so. But with about thirty more flavors to try and Rome and Florence ahead of me -- all hope is not lost.
We grab the ferry to Sorrento home and sit on the top deck next to this lovely Italian- looking family of five, who surprisingly turn out to be from Philadelphia and are as American as apple pie. Two town boys, six, and a daughter, Ella, eight, with an angelic personality. The family has travelled to many places in Italy and suggested Lucca and several other great spot to visit.
When we arrive back in Sorrento, we stop in for calamari. In this case, chewier than I would like, but we are by the water. The sun is setting, the temperature is perfect and I think I might been make it half way back up the hill from hell tonight without dying.
We are way too early for the bus when we arrive at 12:00 noon and decide to walk to the next stop to wait in the shade. Oops. Read the schedule wrong. The bus barely arou
Nd the corner stops for us anyway when we wave him down. We arrive in Sorrento and stop for a coffee and tea at the Internet point, and then down about a hundred steps (thank God it is DOWN) to the marina.
Did I mention the steps in Italy? These people have steps for their steps. You go down five, down three, up four -- right in a row. I'm getting muscles in my legs. Hopefully, they will go all the way up to my butt!
We purchase our ferry tickets and sprint down to the dock. Amy can't believe I'm moving this fast, but it's the old tuck your tail and run for me -- from the heat. The boat is air conditioned, and quite cozy. We have good seats where we can look out over Capri and half of North Korea, as we are sitting amidst a large group of Asian tourists.
The boat ride is one of the most relaxing things we've done all week. Umbrella trees dot the cliffs of Capri. We wander around from shop to shop along the waterfront, where we both buy different versions of a scarf wrap and I look for a hat. Amy convinces me to buy an umbrella instead. Not the small one -- the big one -- which when I open it up, almost pokes her eye out. Twice. She tells me to hold it higher, to which I respond, "I'm not a tour guide."
After talking to several places about a tour to the blue grotto, the Grotta Azzura, we decide to go with the inexpensive version at 24 euros total round trip for both of us. Luckily, we have less than twelve people on our boat, compared to the fifty they cram on the others. The ride out is breathtaking, and thankfully -- not too rough. When we arrive at the grotto, terror of terrors... we must leave the comfort of our big boat and get into a tiny wooden boat build for five people, sitting flat on the floor.
First, we have to step off one boat I to another moving in an opposite direction. That's not the most challenge part. I am sitting with another couple. He gets in first, then she sitting between her legs. I am edged in next to them -- so I had to be careful not to step on her as I get down into the boat. Our "captain" laughs when Amy wants to sit next to her mama, but she's wedged into the front. All 5'11" of her.
We make our way into the grotto, as the captain pulls us into what looks like Alice's rabbit hole with a chain attached the the stone. Our guide tells us to watch our heads, and as I duck down, I can feel the dampness of the rock by my head. Inside is spectacular. The water is an electric turquoise blue, from the sun shining through the opening. The guide tells us the grotto was used for swimming but an ancient emperor of Rome -- the Tiberius family.
A quick whirl around the inside, as our guide sings songs for us in Italian. I ask if he had do be a good singer to get the job, and he says it came after. I tell him he has a great voice, and of course. He starts sing the Carusso song about Le Americana. He's working for a tip.
Now, I'm just hoping there is something equivalent to the jaws of life to get me out of this boat and UP on to the one that will take us back to shore. The lady whose legs I am siting between says, "everybody can do it." That's a brave attitude. With her pushing and the guide pulling me, I was able to get upright and hop up on the edge of the big boat. I am IN -- no harm, no foul. Back to Capri.
Amy and I head for a little stony beach, where we have a little lunch we brought with us of cheese and salami, with a bottle of wine. Amy goes for a swim while I take pictures and watch the bags. In the process, I see the good, the bad, and the ugly in the bathing suit department. On the way our of dodge, we grab a homemade gelato. Amy has creme caramel and I have a tiramisu. We are learning which places will but good by how the gelato is displayed. Not even all the homemade gelatos are the same. The tiramisu is just so-so. But with about thirty more flavors to try and Rome and Florence ahead of me -- all hope is not lost.
We grab the ferry to Sorrento home and sit on the top deck next to this lovely Italian- looking family of five, who surprisingly turn out to be from Philadelphia and are as American as apple pie. Two town boys, six, and a daughter, Ella, eight, with an angelic personality. The family has travelled to many places in Italy and suggested Lucca and several other great spot to visit.
When we arrive back in Sorrento, we stop in for calamari. In this case, chewier than I would like, but we are by the water. The sun is setting, the temperature is perfect and I think I might been make it half way back up the hill from hell tonight without dying.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Hot Tears & Frozen Groceries
We spend the day in Sorrento, exploring the narrow back streets and the darling shops and boutiques they contain. Pottery and limoncello are the primary wares. I buy a modest outfit for tomorrow, and when I say modest, I mean price. It's 15 euros and comes with a cute necklace. It doesn't come with a back. Decidedly cute, though my bra shows a bit, but mom says the lace on my bra peeking out looks cute anyways, and at this point, clean clothes trump just about anything. One of the best things I did to get ready for this trip was lose weight. My goal was 25 pounds, which I exceeded, so the clothes here actually FIT now. That's not to say all of them, as most are small and medium, but the shirt and a cardigan I got as well, do.
Yay, me.
Mom got a belt, and a really cute Esprit skirt and shirt. On sale (see, we were good girls... skipping the shop with the dress for 185 euros.) She also picked up a pair of fit flops. Not so cheap, but down one strap, her sandals were really making a dent. Mine, too, but I just keep putting band aids on. I now own stock in Italian bandages, actually. Despite buying a really nice pair of really expensive but really comfortable Naot walking shoes for this trip, my tootsies are shredded. It's not pretty. If the luggage hasn't come today, maybe I'll pick something up tomorrow.
We stop for a light lunch, a bit more poking around, then head to an Internet cafe until after 6:00 pm. We head back out and hit a few more shops on the walk to the bus stop, including a pharmacy for provisions. Mom nearly starts crying when we find a round brush. I feel the same way about my new tweezers. My eyebrows are out of control. I simply cannot cavort around the land of fashion with unruly brows.
It's dark by the time we get to the bus stop, where we wait for an hour for the blue Sita bus we've been told by Lucia to take. After the second red bus that says Massa Lubrense comes along, we decide to get on it, asking the driver if he goes PAST the town center, which is where we need to be. He assures us yes.
Which is why we are a little confused when he stops IN Massa Lubrense and everyone gets out.
Come. The. Hell. On.
There is no indication that this is a bus stop, either. We ask someone who points up the street with no real specificity. Thankfully, we find a hotel and the clerk guides us to the right stop just as the blue bus is pulling up. We point on the bus schedule to exactly which stop we need this time, and he nods. Please, buddy... know what you are saying.
Here's my concern... the worst, unfortunately, is yet to come. I haven't mentioned yet the extremely steep hill that our little house sirs at the top of, have I? Really steep. Narrow, too. And it's really dark. Not to mention mom's asthma. I'm not worried about me, I'm worried we will get hit by a car (the people here drive like their asses are on fire and they are trying to escape the flames -- I actually read this is a leading cause of death in Italy. Getting hit, I mean, not flaming asses.) My other concern is that she'll have an asthma attack. We don't exactly have all of her medication. Anyway... we will take it slow, but avoid stopping at the parts where the tiny road is flanked by walls on either side... making it impossible to not become victims of vehicular manslaughter.
The bus driver calls out our requested stop (earning him the prestigious patron saint of today award), I get up and drop my iPad on the floor of the bus.
Finally, we have our answer.
After everything that's happened, all we've been through in a few shirt days, it takes dropping my iPad to reduce me to tears. I sit on the bench at the busvstop, head on my knees, sobbing, as mom strokes my hair. It lasted all of two minutes, though I'm still sniffling on the climb. Until we get to an overlook near the tennis and futball (a.k.a soccer) field near our place. There's a game going, and watching for a few moments gives me calm. Reminds me of another game I was really happy to be at a few weeks ago. And I'm dying to run. I decide to buy athletic shoes tomorrow. Not pragmatic, but necessary for mental health. It will be fun to run in jeans. Or naked. I haven't decided which.
I make us some chicken breasts with sautéed zucchini and mushrooms for dinner while mom washes our underclothes in the sink. After, I take a bath, pampering my feet a bit, which feels nice.
Capri tomorrow?
Sorry, Delta... I'm going to need a swimming suit.
Yay, me.
Mom got a belt, and a really cute Esprit skirt and shirt. On sale (see, we were good girls... skipping the shop with the dress for 185 euros.) She also picked up a pair of fit flops. Not so cheap, but down one strap, her sandals were really making a dent. Mine, too, but I just keep putting band aids on. I now own stock in Italian bandages, actually. Despite buying a really nice pair of really expensive but really comfortable Naot walking shoes for this trip, my tootsies are shredded. It's not pretty. If the luggage hasn't come today, maybe I'll pick something up tomorrow.
We stop for a light lunch, a bit more poking around, then head to an Internet cafe until after 6:00 pm. We head back out and hit a few more shops on the walk to the bus stop, including a pharmacy for provisions. Mom nearly starts crying when we find a round brush. I feel the same way about my new tweezers. My eyebrows are out of control. I simply cannot cavort around the land of fashion with unruly brows.
It's dark by the time we get to the bus stop, where we wait for an hour for the blue Sita bus we've been told by Lucia to take. After the second red bus that says Massa Lubrense comes along, we decide to get on it, asking the driver if he goes PAST the town center, which is where we need to be. He assures us yes.
Which is why we are a little confused when he stops IN Massa Lubrense and everyone gets out.
Come. The. Hell. On.
There is no indication that this is a bus stop, either. We ask someone who points up the street with no real specificity. Thankfully, we find a hotel and the clerk guides us to the right stop just as the blue bus is pulling up. We point on the bus schedule to exactly which stop we need this time, and he nods. Please, buddy... know what you are saying.
Here's my concern... the worst, unfortunately, is yet to come. I haven't mentioned yet the extremely steep hill that our little house sirs at the top of, have I? Really steep. Narrow, too. And it's really dark. Not to mention mom's asthma. I'm not worried about me, I'm worried we will get hit by a car (the people here drive like their asses are on fire and they are trying to escape the flames -- I actually read this is a leading cause of death in Italy. Getting hit, I mean, not flaming asses.) My other concern is that she'll have an asthma attack. We don't exactly have all of her medication. Anyway... we will take it slow, but avoid stopping at the parts where the tiny road is flanked by walls on either side... making it impossible to not become victims of vehicular manslaughter.
The bus driver calls out our requested stop (earning him the prestigious patron saint of today award), I get up and drop my iPad on the floor of the bus.
Finally, we have our answer.
After everything that's happened, all we've been through in a few shirt days, it takes dropping my iPad to reduce me to tears. I sit on the bench at the busvstop, head on my knees, sobbing, as mom strokes my hair. It lasted all of two minutes, though I'm still sniffling on the climb. Until we get to an overlook near the tennis and futball (a.k.a soccer) field near our place. There's a game going, and watching for a few moments gives me calm. Reminds me of another game I was really happy to be at a few weeks ago. And I'm dying to run. I decide to buy athletic shoes tomorrow. Not pragmatic, but necessary for mental health. It will be fun to run in jeans. Or naked. I haven't decided which.
I make us some chicken breasts with sautéed zucchini and mushrooms for dinner while mom washes our underclothes in the sink. After, I take a bath, pampering my feet a bit, which feels nice.
Capri tomorrow?
Sorry, Delta... I'm going to need a swimming suit.
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