flashback: adventures in italy -- part 2

after a fitful sleep under piles and piles of quilts, we awake to face the day.  "can you believe this rain?" chris asks.  "like nothing i've seen in many, many years," i deadpan.  he doesn't laugh.

the extended forecast screen gives us little hope for a fall beach holiday -- copious amounts of rain predicted for the amalfi coast until our scheduled departure day.  "let's make the most of the situation and go to naples," suggests chris. (we know now that no italian, a neopolitan included, or any somewhat seasoned european tourist, for that matter, would ever suggest that destination as an alternative.)  but i agree, and we blithely carry on with our preparations.

our rent-free holiday a bust, we aim for a cheap hotel and find a holiday inn suite that suits (cough back your sneers.  the holiday inns and hiltons in europe are far superior to the 295-euro-a-night boutique hotels which supply lots of psuedo-chic or faux-old-worldy atmosphere and few amenities, like babysitting.)  we repack all the gear, the sand shovels and buckets, frisbees and water guns (oh, how hopeful we were) and form a short queue at the door, halted by what we see.  the rain descends in sheets.  "it's like the car wash!" joe exclaims excitedly.  (he loves this vacation.)  we have no choice but to run.  

because positano is built into a cliff, the rainwater rushes continually down the stairs, never pooling.  we throw ourselves into the car and begin wringing out what wasn't covered by our waterproofs and boots.  chris still must retrieve the luggage.  i notice the water dripping from the end of his nose and can't resist:  "told ya to bring the one with the hood."  he glares.

eventually we make it into naples, make it to the holiday inn and up to our room.

we dump baggage, take hot showers, regroup.  

fortunately, i can present chris with a list, albeit a short one, of things we might do in the city. even in the varying degrees of rain.  but not with the added obstructions associated with the pope's visit that morning.  

we settle on lunch and a walk.  

it pains me to recall the harrowing ride thru naples to the lunch spot.  i believe it's because we were on the verge of death many times.  one-lane alleys, often obstructed by enormous piles of trash.  roaming mongrel packs.  angry, gesticulating italians.  joe is awed, face pasted to the window, more under-his-breath-repeated-wowing.  it's a third-world country.  it's an urban nightmare.  it's an independent movie in which the next plotline involves chris hitting something with the rental car and us being taken to a jail where no one speaks english. 

the pope's retinue requires us to backtrack several times, but we make it to our lunch spot, a wine bar with a 5-6 table eating area behind.  no one in the restaurant speaks english.  not even a bit.  but we manage to secure a table and we can read the menu like anyone can read an italian menu.  while we wait for our food, we watch the steady stream of patrons come in off the alley and hand the bartender plastic 1.5 litre bottles which he fills at a tap.  for 2.50 euro.

our food arrives.  it is the best, simply the best, food ever.  chris eats whole grilled calamari with sea salt.  the rest of us eat pasta and pizza.  we drink wine.  the manager comes and kisses tally when she begins to cry.  she pulls off her wellies and socks and begins toddling to the other tables and petting the house dog.  the manager brings the kids special desserts, picks tally up and parades her around.   he gives joe a tour of the kitchen.  we are enveloped in a warm glow of wine and italian hospitality.   suddenly we love naples.  before we leave, we get pictures with the manager, the cooks, the barkeep.  the manager even takes a few himself.  were are refueled, rejuvenated, ready for the rest...  (tbc)