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. 

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.

Math Sucks

Woke up at 3:00 am. Cute dogs from yesterday? Decidedly not as cute barking their heads off all night. I thought Italy was full of cats? I lay there for a while meditating. Doing breathing exercises. No dice, so finally I got up to make some more tea and began looking through Lucia's travel brochures, picking out a few things, when mom got up. We decided to eat a few of the cookies we got at the grocery store, then went back to bed. She, curled up with her Nook. Me, with my head under a pillow. 

We didn't get out of bed until nearly 10:00 am. The phone is now working. Apparently, it takes 24 hours to activate. Here's the funny, slash slightly humiliating part... I actually have no idea how to make an international call. Not within Italy, and not to home. Do i need to include the calling codes? What is the calling ode for he US? I feel like a five year old. In my ignorance, I think I use just about all of the minutes trying to call Delta and Alitalia about the luggage, via the ,19 euro connection charge and ,10 euro per minute fees. We get half a call into the matriarch mermaid (grandma) before the phone cuts off. As we top up the phone at an ATM later (yes, wicked cool... And figuring this out makes me feel smart again), mom insists on adding 50 euros, which I think is insane. However, as some of my good friends will attest, I'm the kind of girl that only takes money out of the ATM in $20 increments when we go out. My reasoning: if you have it in hand, you'll spend it.) So -- phone recharged -- we now have to wait for it to take effect. In the meantime? No phone. Again.

I was able to get through to Delta before we called grandma. Uber helpful, really. I'm being sarcastic. Really. Despite my having BOUGHT the ticket from Delta, and the trip ORIGINATING with them, they are unable to give us any information about the status of our bags. You might ask at this point, am I kidding? Friend, the answer is a resounding NO. I beg. I plead. I promise to bear his children (this I am joking about, of course. I only promised him one of mine...) I explain that each time I get through to Alitalia, I can't get someone who speaks English, and when they realize I don't speak Italian, the line goes mysteriously dead. Meaning they hang up. And don't think I'm being pessimistic here... it happens about six times. Six times multiplied by a ,19 euro connection fee plus two minutes each multiplied by ,10 euros per minute. Math sucks.

I do, however, gain some incredibly valuable information on the Delta call. We can go out and buy what clothes and toiletries we need to get by until the bags come. Rrrrrrrrr (insert sound of record scratch here). Excuse me? That would have been helpful information to have had, um... yesterday. I ask him what the daily limit is.

There is no limit.

No way. No way (bears repeating). Once again, limoncello from the hand of lemons we've been dealt. But this is delicious limoncello of the gods. He adds that we shouldn't go out and buy Versace, but we should get what we need. Ok, maybe I will bear him a child. 

I'm just saying. 

Shall we go shopping?

Refugees

I'm sitting here listening to Yo-Yo Ma as a cool breeze brushes the organza drape next to my bed across my leg and wisps of drying hair across my face. I'm drinking a cup if tea and watching the lights of the quaint town below flicker. I'm waiting for the sounds of the next round of church bells clanging reassuringly in the distance, or the dogs playfully scuffling in the courtyard. Needless to say, the place we are staying is beyond decadent... especially given the last 24 hours.

My patron saint of the day, though there were several, must be Lucia -- the owner of this place. After we finally made it to the train station in Sorrento, only to discover the cell phone we bought in Naples isn't working, I borrowed a cell phone from the girl at the travel kiosk to let her know -- as instructed -- that we had arrived. Strangers have been kind to us today, and Lucia did not buck the trend. She offered to come pick us up. While we waited, I went on a fruitless search for sustenance, as neither of has eaten since early this morning. It's now 3:00 pm. 

When Lucia arrives, she does so with flamboyance anyone would appreciate. A woman of large build, she's sharply dressed in white slacks and a shirt in hues of blue with thong sandals adorned with jewels. She comes bearing a huge hug, and I swear -- I just about melt in her arms. She whisks us off in the car, not just showing us the place we are to stay, but going so much further -- taking us to her own house to explain the bus schedule, to the grocery store and even to an Internet cafe and phone store to get us all straightened out. 

I actually may be in love with Lucia at this point. I'd like to think it is some of my good Airbnb karma coming back to full circle. 

Although mom is exhausted by the time we get back near sunset, I insist we salvage some of the day, taking a beautiful bottle of white wine and cherry tomatoes -- gifts from our new friend and hostess -- and a plate of antipasto to the roof deck to watch the sunset. We decide to just pour half the bottle in each glass. Makes sense, right? We sip wine and nibble as we watch the sun sink into the horizon just right of Capri. The buffalo mozzarella, salami and olives are like nothing we have ever tasted. It is magnificent.

Mom keeps calling us refugees, as she washes her clothes in the sink and I take what-- hand to God -- is the most amazing shower of my life. We've both got airline-issued white T's on. And that's it. 

Heres hoping our bags come tomorrow.

It is before 9:00 pm here, but I've now been up for about 38 hours. I think I'll turn in.