God Save The Queen

As it is nearly 1:30 PM when we arrive back at Pompeii, and we're here, we decide to just to see the ruins. Oh, Capri -- soon, my love. Soon.

Angello, who has won the patron saint of today award, arranges for us to leave our cheeses at a restaurant by the ruins while we visit. It will be nice not to have to carry everything, and maybe if mom gets tired, she can head back here and wait for me comfortably. It is dawning on me a bit that the reason for this trip -- her 60th birthday -- signifies something a little scary. She's getting older. She has a hard time seeing at night, walking on uneven terrain and she can't really hear me... although I'm not convinced she's not just ignoring me. Selective hearing runs in our family.

Pompeii is amazing. It's like a huge time capsule, but also weirdly modern when you think about everything that is based on Roman systems, like the judiciary. In the forum, the is a raised area where judges would hear cases... partially to raise their status in a very literal way, but also to keep them safe. Our judges sit on a bench, above everyone else in court. the legal process is also very similar, with an accusation and a defense.

The homes are beautiful, but sort of fake looking in a way. When you look at the frescoes painted on the walls and the exquisitely detailed mosaic floors, it is impossible for your mind to justify their age given the amazing condition. I think the only conclusion my mind comes to is that it can't be real. It's Italian Disney. 

There are a few things that really stand out to me here. For one, the plaster casts of the bodies are unbelievable. Imagine this: it's sometime in the 1800's, and the plaster/mold technique is relatively new. You are an archeologist who is excavating part of Pompeii when workers come to you reporting a strange cavity with bone fragments in it. An empty space in rubble. Instead of ordering it cleared, you have plaster poured into it and then carefully chipped away to reveal a body, face frozen, contorted, at the exact moment of death. There is one where you can see the skull and teeth, another, a person curled up in fear. And a dog... chained up and unable to flee. It paints a pretty crazy three dimensional picture of what must have been a horrific event.

I am also struck by the speed bumps. The streets are rough stone lined by raised sidewalks. Across it in many areas are three large stones, separated in a very unique way. With space, apparently, for chariot wheels. They served two functions -- slowing down traffic, and creating a way for people to cross when the water would be too deep in the street. Ingenious.

And last, but not least... a brothel, with it's stone beds and suggestive frescoes painted on the walls. We enter this room with a number of older tourists who are laughing and pointing like teenagers. 

Speaking of other tourists... we have a run in with some today. The tour leaders are actually incredibly rude. They bring large groups in and then just stand -- in full blockade formation -- wherever they decide to give a chat about one of the features of the site. You can't cross the road, or see anything until they move out of the way. We had just finished walking out of the bath house (also really cool, by the way), deciding to go out the same way we came in so we didn't get off track. A large British female guide made a very loud comment to her group about people who don't leave from the correct door. 

Come on. It's not like there's and illuminated exit sign here. Or ANY exit sign for that matter. 

I thank her for letting us know we are not doing this correctly. One of the tourists in the group says if everyone did it the wrong way, there would be a mess. One of the men calls us a bunch of corkers.  I'm a little sad about the whole thing. I like the Brits. People can just be so damn rude. Until now, the rudest tourists I've ever encountered was this American woman in India, or maybe this German guy on a train to Machu Piccu in Peru. Maybe I should be thankful we've been absolved.

God save the queen.

We do some shopping in Sorrento, where I finally get my bathing suit. And two outfits, reasonably priced of course, that I will be sending to the stupid airline for reimbursement. Mom is exhausted. We need to slow the days down a but, and I think things will be easier when we don't have to use the bus to get anywhere. We've been burning the candle at both ends trying to get it all in. We head for dinner in the square at a place call Syrenuse Bar Ristorante. Mom orders pizza, which she says is not as good as the pizza in Naples, while I opt for linguini with mascarpone and lemon sauce. My mouth died and went to heaven. It's the best thing I've eaten here so far.

We have a little argument. Actually, kind of a big one. It has been almost a week, after all.  I'm spending too much time blogging, and every time we stop and there is Wi-Fi, I'm busy looking stuff up. Or on the phone dealing with luggage. Or I'm stressed out trying to manage all the logistics. This IS a vacation... one we're supposed to be having together. I'm not doing well to remember that. In my bag I have a journal, which is what I would be doing more of to get these moments down for the book. I feel terrible and I am not finding an easy way to balance it all. 

So, I'm taking tomorrow off. Mom doesn't know it yet, but she'll be blogging about Capri tomorrow. See you kids back in school on Monday.

Paestum, and an Ailitalia infiltration...

Paestum. I should include some history here, but must start by saying that when I was looking at Pompeii artifacts the other day and was floored by 15 A.D. -- ha ha ha. I just saw a building constructed around 500 B.C. That's Before Christ.

You probably knew that, but it needed saying anyway.

This is a little tidbit from Wikipedia, as the iPad is very no frills when it comes to the bells and whistles I usually put in my blog... links and pics and such. "Paestum is the classical Roman name of a major Graeco-Roman city in the Campania region of Italy... located near the coast about 85 km SE of Naples in the province of Salerno, and belongs to the commune of Capaccio, officially also named Capaccio-Paestum. The main features of the site today are the standing remains of three major temples in Doric style, dating from the first half of the 6th century BC. These were dedicated to Hera and Athena, although they have traditionally been identified as a basilica and temples of Neptune and Ceres, owing to 18th-century mis-attribution."

I wish we had more time, but we still plan to head to Capri this afternoon. Mom is also hot, and there are a lot of bugs. Despite, I want to walk around this huge complex and and touch things, imagining the people who lived here more than two thousand years ago. 

Afterwards, Angello -- the driver -- took us to a mozzarella factory where we taste some of the most amazing cheese I've ever put in my mouth. If I could get this home, I would in a minute. I just don't think mozzarella would last in my luggage.

Oh... if I HAD luggage. Interested in an update on that? While in Naples onThursday, I finally catch Alitalia with their co liters up and running. They have found mom's bag, which is in Rome. Mine, they aren't sure yet. They say hers will be delivered in two days. That's today. Lucia calls this morning to tell us that our luggage is in Naples and we can pick it up there. 

I'm visualizing my happy place, which at present, is floating down a river in West Virginia.

I thank her and say we will call Alitalia. When I get them on the phone, I explain to the woman I am speaking with that while I understand that this is not her fault. I explain that we have spent four days without our things. I explain that we are not near Naples, that it would take us four hours to get there to pick up our luggage. Losing MORE time from our vacation over this luggage crap is not on the itinerary. I tell her, very clearly, that THEY lost our luggage and that I expect that THEY will deliver it to us directly. I then ask when it will arrive. She says tomorrow.

I won't hold my breath.

A Euro Here, A Euro There

Well, maybe a bit ambitious. We get up at 6:00 am and head to the bus stop to catch the 7:20 AM to Sorrento. We hop on a bus that says Sorrento, but makes us get off and change buses in Massa Lubrense. That one doesn't stop at the right train station, so we wait at another for a train that the woman at the counter insists will be here in "five, ten minutes" for nearly an hour. 

Needless to say, we arrive in Pompeii, where we need to switch to another train for Paestum, ten minutes after the last train until 1:30 pm leaves. I'm swearing in my head right now. Imagine the little dust ball of expletives, cartoon style, swirling around above my head. Argh.

It costs us 10 euro to get to this other train station by taxi. It will cost us ten to get back. Then ten again both ways later this afternoon if we just go to Pompeii now. We somehow communicate with the cab driver well enough that we end up hiring him to just take us the hour to Paestum and back for about 100 euros more than all those taxis would cost anyway. The driver is darling little old man who plays us Italian music, shows us letters from other Americanos who have toured in his vehicle, and promises to take us to get fresh mozzarella from a factory on the way back. Mom is practicing her Italian with him. I think he's a but sweet on her. People really react favorably to those who try and speak the language... it's very sweet. I love thing their eyes light up and a smile break across their face when mom rattles off a sentence or two.

 I can navigate the bus. The train. Make the reservations and get us from point A to point B, but there is something really special about these interactions.

We are almost to Paestum. Ciao, bella.

The Road To Amalfi... Paved With Good Intentions?

The bus ride from Massa Lubrense to Positano is stunning. The road along the Amalfi Coast is as narrow as they say, and the busses just barely fit past one another as scooters dart in and out of traffic. Mom had her eyes closed some of the time, but says she didn't think about it that much. For me, it wasn't the white knuckle experience it was made out to be, but was still amazing. I like white knuckles.

Positano. We got off the SITA bus at the top of the city and started making our way toward the beach at the center. Loved this little postcard of a town, with it's steep switchbacks lined in all manner of boutique. I finally bought some limoncello, which I tuck deep into my backpack to pretend I don't have to carry it around the rest of today.

Yeah... I got the large.

We stop soon after arriving at Cafe Positano for breakfast. We began speaking Italian to our waiter, who in English, informs us it would be much easier to communicate in our own language. He's from Hungary, working here for a few months. We both had omelets. Mine was not cooked through, and though I have a tiny problem with runny eggs (consistency violation), but it was still very good. I've missed eggs.

After poking in and out of stores, where I pick up a skirt and mom and I both get little bathing suit cover ups that will double as dresses, we head down to the public beach. Just before the water, there are small sooth black stones leading to the black sand. I can't help picking a few up, as I always do, when I am somewhere special. I have an extensive shell and stone collection back home. Nor can I resist taking my shoes off and sticking my toes in the water, which is clear and cool. My feet and legs are sticky from the salt when I climb back onto the dock. Mom has waited up on the promenade, and when I join her, we are looking for a place to wash them off before I put my shoes back on. I hate to anger the shoe gods less they send their minions to chew my feet apart again... since they actually feel better today.

I spot a drinking fountain overshooting it's mark with some little kids playing in it. I slosh around in the puddle they have created, then indicate I want more. The little boy manning the controls smiles wide and puts the water on full force, as it arcs well past the fountain and on to my legs. They are all giggling watching me wash up. Mom hands me a tissue to dry off, but not before shooting me an, "I told you these would come in handy" look.

Whatever. They are not for my bottom, but the bottom of my FEET.

We purchase high speed boat tickets for Amalfi, despite having the bus passes. A different vantage point wold be nice, and we are not disappointed... it is a lovely ride watching the houses stacked on top of one another all along the coast. We positioned ourselves right in the front and the breeze feels good. It's been hot, which is more tolerable today in a skirt than it's been with Earl. The ride isn't long, and soon, were disembarking.

Shoot me for saying it, but I'm not impressed. Amalfi is so touristy, and most of the stores just seem to have junk. We end up getting gelato -- twice -- but I'll be saving all my experiences with Italy's favorite snack food for my gelato review at the end of our stay! I end up buying a piece of pottery, which this region is famous for. It isn't the standard issue intricate work that you typically see. It's kind of like the outlet version of Coach. Still Coach... still Campania pottery... but not REALLY as bragable. Why not? You may LIKE your outlet bargain better, but apples to apples, some would argue the "real" Coach is $499 and the one you got is $199. Why does that matter? My stance is that it doesn't. If I like my inferior, atypical pottery better than what they are selling at twice the price, who cares? I paid 25 euros compared to 150 for the one the sales lady insisted was more traditional but I didn't like as much. 

Anyway. I don't really have much else to say about this famed town, so let's move on, shall we?

Ravello. Good to the tenth magnitude. Loved it, hated to leave. Had so much fun, which is clearly demonstrated by how many euros I leave behind. The first place we stop is another pottery store, Villa San Cosma. The people are uber friendly and speak good English. We get into a conversation about the threats of a terrorist attack on the anniversary of 9-11. I talked to a friend from DC who says they're on high alert there and in New York. The guy in the store flashed me some sort of security card and tells me not to worry... there is no real threat. I'm confused, given that he also says he runs a limo service, but thank him for reassuring me those i care about are safe. I literally knock on wood. That gets them rolling. One of the guys knocks on his head and says, "capa tosta," which means "head of wood."

You might think that's what I have when you read this next part given my Amalfi testimonial a minute ago.

I fall in love with another "atypical" piece of pottery -- though slightly more traditional  than the piece I bought in Amalfi. This, however, is just as  expensive as the regular stuff. So I buy several pieces. I mean, the lady makes perfect sense in telling me she will ship it all home, including the Amalfi plate and several that mom buys for 30 euro. That's actually a great deal, comparatively speaking.

I'm rationalizing.

I do believe in one thing while traveling -- buy art, and buy stuff you will use. This is both.

Sorry. Rationalizing again.

Look. It's my freaking birthday. I'm in Italy. I wanted the damn bowls and I'm not going to feel bad about it. 

What I AM going to do is have a drink. This is where things get really interesting, and Amy does something very out of character. No, not the drinking part. Any of you who know me well enough have seen the damage my liver can withstand. And has, time and time again. It's the BUYING part I'm referencing. I am a wine consumer, not necessarily a connoisseur. 

As we wandered through Ravello taking in the sights, the shop keeper of a wine store invites us in for a tasting. Yes, please. But this isn't a tasting. This is a gulping... and this guy isn't pouring crap. The first we try is a Terredora 2003, which has the most amazing tobacco aroma I've ever smelled. Then it's a Brunello di Montalcino 2004. Both are reserves from this region. I like neither, but describe what I do enjoy about each. He pulls out a  wine that makes me happy. It's a 2007 Pomorosso. It does a little dance in my mouth, and baby, this wine's got moves like Jagger. Now this guy has my number, and it's a 1999 Barbaresco Prunotto Bric Turot.  Now... this is a wine I could grow old with. A wine to keep me warm at night. I won't even tell you how much my purchase is, but am sure he overcharges me by a lot. I see a very special occasion in my future and possibly a call to my credit card company. 

Rationalizing.

The wine store owner, Branko, is from Croatia. The place is called Wine & Drugs. I can'texplain why, and he can't seem to, either. I ask him about his baseball hat, which is clearly American, with the USS Albany embroidered in gold across the top. He points to a collection of baseball caps and explains that customers send him one from where they live when they're case is delivered. I spot a University of Michigan cap and almost have a heart attack. I make him promise when I send him a cap from Michigan State University, despite not buying a case myself, that he will put it in front if this abomination. Go Spartans!

We have a wonderful dinner at this place in Ravello called Figli di Papa. Mom orders gnocchi, while I try the veal and mushrooms. The rice balls are delicious. I realize now that I should have written down what they are called, since "rice balls" sounds so classy, but it is what it is. These mozzarella things that come on the same plate are to die for. 

Despite perfect planning, an early arrival and a confirmation with the bus driver, we still end up going all the way to Sorrento instead of arriving at the Bivio Titigliano stop as we requested. If you don't understand the question, please, for the love of all that is holy, don't give an answer. Annoying, but not a buzz kill. 

There are women on the field tonight playing il calcio... or futball... or soccer. Equal opportunity sport -- like.

Still no bags when we get back. Mom and I are hedging our bets the freaking airline will wait until we arrive in Rome to deliver them. Easier for them, you know? Ah, well. Another day... a few more necessary items. Including that bathing suit for Capri. That's where we're headed tomorrow. AND Paestum. 

Ambitious, but doable.

I'm sorry, Earl -- this just isn't working out...

Well, what should I wear today? My jeans, maybe? Oh wait... They are still wet from the three hours they were in the washing machine last night. Very clean, but very wet. Thankfully, mom's pants are dry and she offers me her skirt. I'm so happy to be wearing something different. I picked up a tank top in Naples yesterday that matches my shoes (you're so vain, you probably think this blog is about you), and paired with my sparkly new wonder woman wrist cuff from Sorrento (yes -- I AM a crow), I look pretty cute. Okay. I looked cute the other days, too. Particularly cute? 

We took a different route to the bus today since ere is only ONE bus that picks up or drops off at Bivio Tigliano, a stop near our place, on the way too and from Amalfi each day. Lucia told us how to get to the other stop, which includes a stairway to heaven and a bunch of narrow corridors. And choices. I make a wrong choice. Or three. I can hear mom huffing and puffing behind me and know all we can do is press on. One bus, remember? 

It doesn't make me feel good. At all. I feel like a heel.

Chin up. We are heading to Positano, Ravello and Amalfi today. Really looking forward to this. I'm still dying to do a Vespa ride on the Amalfi Coast, but I think my mother would disown me. Just being on the bus may kill her. She is terrified of heights. Ironically, it seems more terrified of me being near them. I remember dragging her along so I could go bungee jumping a few years back. I jumped. She screamed.

I have to admit, I'm giggling a bit remembering it.

Ciao. The bus is coming.

Bongiorno & Toilet Paper

I got up much earlier today... about 7:30 am. I cut up some fruit and made a plate with cheese and meat from the store and one of the little pastries Lucia left for us. They are filled with some sort of custard and a tart cherry. Decidedly yummy. 

We are not sold on what to do today, but that's kind of nice. We talked about Capri yesterday. Today, it's Paestum -- ancient Greek ruins near Salerno. Neither is where we end up. 

Phone still isn't working when I try Lucia to tell her the washing machine isn't working. If I don't wash my jeans, I swear they are going to get up and walk out on me. They've taken on a life of their own. I may name them. What would be a good name for dirty pants? I was thinking Earl. 

It takes us about two hours to get out the door. As we are walking down the hill, marveling that we didn't die a bloody or asthmatic related death last night, we pass a dog laying at the end of a driveway. He doesn't move at all. No wag of the tail, nothing but an eye following us. When I remark about this, mom says, "Yeah... he's tired from barking all night!"

True, true. And my karma from complaining about that yesterday earned us a pile of goodness near our front door. Poo on you, too. I miss my very well behaved Pomeranian. She speaks two languages (dog and treat), is a avid traveller who summers in Michigan, and would never poo by the door. Maybe in the living room. Once she pooped an entire perimeter around my bed. I had just started dating someone and I think she was a little jealous. That wasn't as hard to explain as the fact that she also peed on his clothes.

I have really gotten off track here. Where was I?

Passing a woman on the left, we wave and call out, "Bongiorno," which means good morning in Italian. I know about four words. One of the lovely gals at work tried to teach me a few swear words. I wish I would have studied those harder. I've cursed a lot the past few days, much to my mother's dismay. If I could only do it in a different language...

We get to the bus stop and after waiting a few minutes, the woman we passed comes around the corner in the passenger seat of a car. The stop, back up, and ask us if we would like a ride. We ask where they are going, and they respond "Sorrento." Maybe our karma isn't so bad after all. We don't think twice before hopping in.

Maybe that seems nuts -- getting into a strangers car -- but these our neighbors, right? And as Lucia explained when she drove us up the 45 degree incline, many of the homes here are occupied by family. As it turns out, this is her sister. I can see the family resemblance immediately. The driver, Antonio, is Maria's son. His sister and her husband, Silvio, who we met on arrival, live across the courtyard from our little house. They were just lovely to chat with. We learn that Antonio has been to much of the east coast of the US, working on container ships. He now works the hydrofoil from Sorrento to Capri. 

They drop us at the train station and we buy tickets to Pompeii, where we plan to catch another train to Paestum. Instead, we go to Naples. I'm not sure why we change, though it could have something to do with preparedness. Mom as been pretty fickle about that. There were clouds in the sky this morning, so she said we should get an umbrella. Naples is a dangerous city. We should get mace. There us one thing though, that she has been obsessing about a bit since our arrival. She has mentioned it three times. 

Toilet paper.

We have an entire unused roll in the cupboard, but at home, she says she has like 50 rolls. This is apparently a glaring disparity. The lack of toilet paper we have is actually terrifying, especially considering she bought a 10 pack of travel tissues yesterday. That is not a package of ten tissues, mind you. It is a package of 10 PACKAGES of tissues.

I think there's enough paper products to go around without having to impose a two square rule, but I'll humor her anyway. 

When we get to Naples, we stop first at Medimart, or whatever store we got the damn phone at, to see if they can help. They try. And try. And try... for about an hour. Finally, we ask if there is a Vodaphone store somewhere nearby. We search to no avail for another 45 minutes before deciding to contest the charge for the minutes on the credit card and go buy another sim card. The first Tim store we go to, they hand me a contract in Italian and check where I should sign. My mother didn't raise an idiot here, though she is clearly not having as big an issue as I am putting my signature on something I can't read. We find another store, where the woman is able to explain and give me a copy of the document to take with me. Ten minutes later, we are in business. Phone again.

This will be a shock. I get through to Alitalia AND get someone who speaks English. She politely tells me they're system is down and t call back in an hour. We sit down for some Napoli pizza and a glass of wine for lunch. I would not bet the BEST Naples has to offer, but pretty damn good. The wine is local, and very good.

Our next stop is the archeological museum, or Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli, where the artifacts from Pompeii are displayed. I can't really describe what it is like to walk around looking at stuff that dates to 15 AD. It's just so unbelievably hard to comprehend. I think about Antiques Road Show and the crap the have there from 500 years ago compared to the quality and workmanship of this stuff dating back nearly 2000 years. Crazy. 

However, I CAN describe by reaction to the secret sex room at the museum. Those cats at Pompeii were a little kinky to say the least. There are dozens of random clay penis sculptures stacked in a cabinet with a glass door. There's a sculpture on the floor that mom says looks like a dick on a stick, but I swear... it's a cock on a block. I need to get pictures up soon.

Dear Grandma: I take full responsibility for this post. Mom is a bit embarrassed that I would even include these ramblings here. I insist that you will not only laugh, but come up with something even funnier. That's how you roll. Eighty-eight year old on Facebook and all. Can you handle it? If not, I suggest you stop reading now. And maybe you should pray for me.

Back to Sodom and Gomorrah... the walls are lined with paintings of all kinds of fornication, and the display shelves with figurines so well endowed that if to scale, a real human being would have to haul his thingy around in a wheelbarrow. Maybe two. There are dicks on the walls. The floor. The piece de resistance, however, is almost a bit too much to even mention, so you know I can't resist. Man and... goat.

Let's move on, shall we?

We have a cup of tea in Piazza Bellini and walk to Piazza San Lorenzo to catch an underground tour just as they are closing. I proceed to walk mom on death march through Naples to get back to the train station. She's begging for a cab, but I insist it is just a little further. I think she might cry when she sees it finally. We get back to Sorrento and catch the bus to Massa Lubrense for our hike up the mountain home. 

I'm not sure she'll be able to move tomorrow, but she makes a lovely dinner with tomatoes and the leftover chicken from last night and a few other things. I'm trying to make some tea when we discover the stove isn't working anymore. We get the washer to work, but it has now been running for an hour. Walking around in wet jeans, no matter how clean they are, sounds painful. Mom suggests we dry them and heat the water... with a hairdryer.

I give up. We have now reached a point where this just gets funnier.

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.