Swerve Factor

28th April 2006 Napoli

Negotiating the roads of Naples is all about the swerve factor. Apart from being a moving target as a pedestrian, the only other reason why you should be on the road in Naples is as a driver or passenger in a vehicle. Of course this implies that there are lots of other reasons why the locals plant themselves in the middle of the road, but that’s for another time.

Driving in Naples is all about your ability to swerve. It has very little to do with your knowledge of the road rules, at least the traditional road rules as applied elsewhere in the world. It has even less to do with your ability to brake, or change the gears in accordance with your speed, the road conditions, or an impending change in your direction. It’s all about the swerve.

There are very few circumstances on a Neapolitan road when a good swerve won’t serve you well.

Imagine you are driving home from work, peak hour traffic, the single lane carriage has become two lanes of traffic in front of you, and you are already late for something (or just impatient, self centred and unconcerned with the lives of others). Instead of joining the growing queue of stationary cars, you swerve into the lane of oncoming traffic, squeezing in between the cars driving towards you, and those fools that are stopped and waiting in the traditional sense. To ensure your own safety, and the preservation of your vehicles exterior, you toot the horn, pressing harder for a sharper beep for those fools that haven’t realised you are driving directly into their path. Now, you might think I’m exaggerating, but it’s quite common practice and whenever I witness people swerving sharply left onto the wrong side of the road my heart leaps into my throat, waiting for the inevitable sound of impact and crushing metal. The only thing worse than watching from the lane of fools waiting for the traffic jam to clear in the conventional sense is to be in a vehicle where the driver has decided to take on the approaching traffic.

The roads here are not the best maintained. In fact you could hold a competition for the biggest pothole. The whole time I’ve spent in Naples, either as a resident or a tourist, I’ve only seen two road maintenance trucks filling potholes. One was in the modern, commercial area of Centro Direzionale (CDN), effectively the characterless business and government zone of glass skyscrapers. There are only a couple of areas in Naples where the rubbish is collected regularly, shop fronts cleaned routinely and a façade of order exists. CDN is one such area, and as such potholes in the surrounding roads are also plugged up more regularly. However, the underground car park is an altogether different matter, with rubbish bins overflowing and vehicles parked on top of each other. The second area is outside the front door of the apartment complex where Gi’s family reside, and that’s a private area, with a back entrance to a supermarket used largely by semi trailers and delivery trucks.

Keeping in mind that the roads are pitted with potholes much like a teenagers face with acne, and that bags of rubbish, articles of clothing and bits dropped off the back of trucks are another common inconvenience it’s no wonder local drivers have the swerve down pat. It doesn’t matter who you are driving with, they will swing left and right on the road to avoid the potholes (and items of rubbish), and thus avoid damage to the suspension of their cars. What makes it interesting is when they swing left around a pothole onto the wrong side of the road. Rest assured however that a quick swerve right would bring you back onto your side of the road and out of harms way. It does get tricky though when both sides of the road are suffering pothole damage, and the only place to go towards the centre dividing line (when there is one).

Pedestrians and people on bicycles are the other things that create a significant amount of swerving. Pedestrians have a habit of stepping off the curb into the incoming traffic with barely a glance. Drivers are expected to anticipate such moves, and instead of stopping which would probably cause someone to run up the back of you, they swerve around the moving target. Bicycles are a bit trickier in that old people who have slower reaction times and are a little less predictable generally ride them, although they are not afraid to tinkle their bells to warn you out of the way. Or it’s the ‘cyclists’ kitted out in their tight lycra shorts and matching shirts with logos and helmets, often travelling in packs, who have a special arrogance about them as though they own the road and are perfectly entitled to ride three abreast at a pace fitting for a Sunday afternoon stroll. Swerving bicycles tends to be more difficult because it is inevitable that when you find yourself behind a bicycle, or lycra pack, that there is a lorry, semi trailer or tractor coming the other way, and already driving half way across your lane.

Swerving on the highways and freeways is another experience. Generally these are three lanes across, with the right hand lane dedicated to slower drivers, and the left hand lane for overtaking. Indicators are not considered mandatory for driving in Italy, in fact they can be looked down on with disdain, and are often ignored because drivers simply forgot to turn them off, unable to hear the click, click sound above the arguing, mobile phone or blaring stereo. Those travelling in the far left lane are usually doing so at considerable speed and ordinarily drivers move in and out of this lane bowing to the ‘who goes faster wins’ rule. Occasionally someone will be dozing or dreaming at the wheel. This results in the speeding vehicle who’s now braked to slow down, flashing lights, beeping ferociously and tailgating dangerously (the locals crying out ‘zizza in bocca’ – literally tits in the mouth, meaning someone who sleeps while sucking at the breast, like a baby does), until the offending driver stirs slightly from their coma to slowly swerve enough for them to pass. Surprisingly very few drivers overtake on the right, although when some speedster does, swerving left and right through the traffic like he’s Michael (Schumacher of course) he is noticed and cursed as an imbecile by those left in his wake. (I use the pronoun ‘he’ because inevitably it is a driver pumped with testosterone, in a sleek, decked out car, with blacked out windows and the bass thumping that commits this highway sin).

There is one general rule that applies. If there is something, or someone, blocking your path, swerve. It doesn’t matter if you enter the other lane. It doesn’t matter if there are cars coming towards you. In a matter of microseconds everyone will recalculate the physics involved, making space for anything composed of atoms. It might mean driving off the road onto the gravel, or rubbing up against the cars parked along the side, or scaring the pants of a foreigner who can’t imagine how three cars will squeeze through a space for one. Braking is considered a last resort alternative, as that implies giving in, letting someone else get the better of you, letting someone else get ahead. Swerving means you keep moving, and if you keep moving you keep on winning. If you get the swerve factor down, you are a winner in this town!

Pedestrians Rule

28th April 2006, Napoli

As elsewhere in the world, there should only be two reasons for being on the road in Naples. You are either a pedestrian, or you are in or on a vehicle of some description.

The life of a pedestrian in Naples is one of heart stopping moments. The locals have an unspoken rule (most of them also being drivers, or related to drivers) that after a cursory glimpse of the approaching traffic they just step out onto the road. How you do this, i.e. the style and accompanying mannerisms used, largely depends on who you are within the social configuration of the city.

If you are masculine, well built and / or confident (like Gigi) you just step out, eyeballing anything on wheels that may be belting down the road, zigzagging to avoid potholes, and most likely driven by someone either arguing animatedly with a passenger, smoking a cigarette or talking on a mobile phone – or all three simultaneously – and only paying negligible attention to the road. It’s the way you eyeball that counts. Stern, no nonsense, alert and ready to curse and gesticulate just in case some hapless driver fails to notice you. You must also be physically assertive, obviously someone not to be messed with, someone it would be better not to run into with a car.

If you are elderly, frail or somehow incapacitated you wait at a pedestrian crossing (the white stipes in themselves mean nothing), watching the traffic zoom pass with an increasingly concerned look on your face, fearful yet determined to make it to the other side. Just like that damn chicken in all of those lame jokes. Eventually you spot a gap in the oncoming traffic and totter out, holding up your hand or walking stick, waving frantically at anything on wheels. Hopefully they notice you and slow down, and maybe even stop, thus holding up other vehicles behind it. Except of course for those that don’t stop they just go onto the other side of the road and keep moving. Your other option is to spy someone confident and strong (like Gigi), or a couple (like us) and as they step out onto the road start accosting them, beseeching them to help you across the road in a manner that can’t really be refused yet still demonstrates pride and a certain toughness. Once you make it to the other side you thank them profusely and totter off.

Mothers with prams are a law unto themselves in this city. With the population rate falling, and the average Italian woman only having one child it still seems as though the city is full of mothers with babies in prams. The reality is that in a city of six million, where the population is largely poor, uneducated, unemployed, adhering to Catholicism and still behind in terms of contraception and feminism, the birth rate is probably slightly higher than the national average. The other thing is that it’s not only babies and toddlers in prams, but children as old as five or six.

Women pushing prams very rarely do so on the footpath. Instead they cruise down the side of the road, alongside the parked cars, which often means they are walking in the centre of the road. Of course in a culture where children are esteemed, indulged and increasingly the target of kidnappings this habit is generally tolerated, even when the footpath is perfectly good, and traffic is mounting up behind a mummy dressed in either a pink tracksuit or tight jeans, platforms and heavy makeup. The scary thing though is when mummy uses the pram as a barrier between herself and any oncoming traffic when crossing the road. It’s as though prams have magic shields, preventing anything travelling at any speed from ploughing into them, collecting pram, baby and sundry contents in one horrifying mess.

Mothers with kids on foot are another matter. All around the world parents try to get their children to hold their hands when out on the street. And all around the world kids try to avoid the hand holding ritual, seeking some independence and freedom. When crossing the street with children, mothers tend to be a little more hesitant, which often only tends to confuse drivers who are expecting people to step out in front of them without notice. However it’s when little boys are involved that it gets interesting. Little boys watch their fathers, and naturally imitate them, quickly learning to pose, gesture and curse. When out with their mothers, it’s not unusual to see a little boy on the edge of the road, holding his mother’s hand, with the other hand up as if to stop the traffic, cursing at cars that fail to follow his directions, chest pumped out, eyeballing anything that moves in an attempt to look confident and intimidating. Eventually someone in a car will stop, or at least slow to a crawl, only further encouraging the boy by confirming that his posing, gesturing and cursing were the factors that secured their successful road crossing.

Gaggles of teenagers have an advantage in that they rule the road by the sheer size of the group. They probably won’t be in a particular hurry to emulate that chicken and get to the other side either. Instead, taking their time, chatting, teasing, flirting, eating, and dragging their backpacks or current love interest behind them. And like teenagers around the world, any attempts to hurry them up, tooting or yelling from an open car window, will only result in defiance and further delays as they stop on the road, in front of the line of cars and gesture with their heads, hands, faces or words as if to say “What do you want? We’re crossing, we’re crossing, it’s our neighbourhood, it’s our street, we’ll take our time, and you’ll just have to wait my ‘friend’”.

Foreigners - like myself – are probably the most dangerous pedestrians. We continue to think that we need to look left and right, wait for a suitable gap in the traffic and then hurry across the road. None of these rules apply in Naples. Foreigners that wait haplessly beside the road are likely to cause an accident. Local drivers expect you to step out in front of them so as they approach, slowing down and if you hesitate everyone gets confused. It’s a moment’s hesitation that will get you killed in Naples. If you lack the courage (read: the balls) to take a leap of faith and just cross, the best thing to do is wait for a local and trail along behind (or better still beside them but on the side away from the approaching traffic).

Nuns, and others dressed in religious garb, are a special group. Traffic hurtling down the road, with the abovementioned drivers who have their attention torn in several different directions, will always stop, or at least slow down, for a nun. It’s as though the locals know that they need to stop for god. For foreigners trying to cross the road, a nun on the side of the street is a particularly good omen.
Pedestrians generally have right of way in Naples. Of course, that’s not to say that if you decide to step out in front of a truck careering down the road, beeping and flashing his lights (clear indications that he’s not going to stop for anyone) and find yourself on the other side of the Pearly Gates you can turn around and ask for your money back. Naples is after all a city that thrives on a system of unwritten laws and rules created to circumnavigate the burden of ridiculous legislation in place. But when it suits, it’s those written laws that the local will apply without hesitation, throwing their hands, and eyebrows, up in the air if you turn around and ask ‘What happened?”

AFS Spirit

Where has my AFS spirit gone?

Gi asked me a couple of days ago how I could tolerate all of the idiosyncracies, problems, differences, language breakdowns and cultural issues with the exchange students, but find it so difficult to extend the same level of tolerance, understanding and acceptance towards his family.

It's a very good question.

I'm still working on the answer. In fact, I'm sitting here, in broad daylight, calm and relaxed, thinking it is a very good question. And I'm a complete cow for not having a respectable answer. Maybe I am often an intolerant, impatient, selfish, insensitive and judgemental person (no comments required, thank you sisters) but there is something about the exchange studnets that we hosted and supported while in Brisbane that took the edge of some of those personality traits. Or maybe it's just being here, living in an apartment the size of a dog house with three people that are from the same planet (it's challenging enough living with Gigi let alone three of them) that brings out the absolute worst in me.

I keep getting supportive comments like 'get out of there', 'move out on your own', 'get your own place for goodness sakes'. Rest assured we are working on a plan and I'll keep you posted once I get to put the bathmat permanently in the bathroom, stock the cupboards with 2 minute noodles and any pasta except spaghetti (I hate spaghetti) and have loud, bed bouncing sex without fear of sister-in-law knocking and walking in without the usual 'come in', or the bed squeaking and collapsing in the middle.....sorry if that's a bit too personal, but I don't have any grandparents reading this so figure it can be a little bit blue at times.

The photo of us in front of the cactus was taken on ANZAC /Liberation Day at the Acropoli di Cuma. I thought the prickly cactus symbology was somewhat appropriate for this blog.

And for those that are checking daily for updates .... I'm doing my best with limited resources. If you like the arm chair travelling and think I have any chance of being published at some stage send me some suggestions for magazines/newspapers etc that you read that might be appropriate targets.

Acropoli di Cuma photos

Liberation Day

25 Aprile 2006

It’s ANZAC day today, with remembrance ceremonies, wreaths, poppies and a public holiday for Australians (those that don’t rise for the Dawn service or watch the Veterans parade through the streets of Sydney on the ABC) to sleep late, picnic, wash the car, go bushwalking or have a backyard BBQ. On the other side of the world it’s Liberation Day. It’s also a public holiday here in Italy but I have no idea what they were liberated from. However, from our excursion today it was apparent that mid week public holidays all over the world encourage people to picnic, have BBQs, go hiking or to the beach.

This morning we had a follow up appointment with possible landlords. But I’m not talking about looking for a house so we’ll skip this bit and go straight to the next bit.

On the southwest side of Naples is Pozzuoli, the birthplace of Sofia Loren. Sofia Loren is truly an icon here in Italy. She is admired for her beauty, acting, humour, grace and other assets the world over but here in Naples, her hometown, Sofia is considered a goddess.

Further west of Pozzuoli is Baia, where our potential landlords have a villa. It’s a beach side area, once “a fashionable Roman bathing resort known for its debauchery” (Lonely Planet) and more recently inhabited by NATO base recruits (Americans). It now looks like a shantytown on the outskirts of Johannesburg, or a somewhat rebuilt war zone and the main drag is lined with hookers of every shape, colour and nationality. We visited the nearby area of Cuma, which was the “earliest Greek colony on the Italian mainland” (I quote Gigi who I know realise was quoting the Lonely Planet). In particular we explored the Acropoli di Cuma, the ruins of the Greek colonisation, with it’s dug out sandstone, Temple of Apollo and Cave of the oracle Sybil.

The park is well maintained and pleasant in that it’s not an overly known or touristy site. However, one of the best parts of the afternoon was leaving just as a large group of high school students arrived. We inevitably run into groups of school students, French, German, and American on our sight seeing adventures. But it’s the Italian kids that are the most painful. As if to support my opinion there was a couple walking some distance behind the last of the loud, disorderly stragglers. I told Gi I thought they were teachers, he thought they were friends out strolling. However as we passed them we overheard the woman say something like “let them get ahead a bit so we can have some peace”. With good reason too, I thought.

We didn’t have breakfast this morning and it was mid afternoon by the time we left the ruins and the teenagers in our wake. Skipping the expensive junk food at the kiosk we drove back towards the centre of Pozzuoli. On an isolated road lined with orchards and mounds of rubbish we stumbled across a roadside restaurant that looked more like a ramshackle shack. The delight of the afternoon was finding it busy and popular, with generous squares of tasty pizza, warm loaves of bread, and cold drinks ready for roadside feasting.

So, that was Liberation Day. Today is the day when Italy was freed from the Nazi Fascist regime as a result of the signing of the NATO Alliance Pact, with Americans arriving on Italian soil in 1943, helping the Italians to topple Mussolini from power and ending the infiltration by Hitler’s Third Reich and army.

Liberation Day, ANZAC Day – somehow it seems to me that history keeps repeating itself. Australia is still at war, Italy is still not free.

Smorgasbord

24 Aprile 2006, Napoli

We did it today. We took the first step.

One of the dangers of being an outsider residing in Europe failing to take advantage of the opportunity of being surrounded by an unimaginable diversity of countries, cultures, language, food and landscapes. As anywhere it’s easy to get caught up in the day to day, dealing only with what is down the road or next door.

So today we booked flights to London for a week at the end of May.

Of course London is not a new destination, but it’s time to touch base with some friends, and it’s usually a lovely time of the year to visit.

We are also frantically working on the itinerary for the 18 days in August when my parents are in Italy. The plan is to spend a few days in the Naples / Amalfi Coast area, then take in Tuscany, and the north east before circling back down to Rome.

However, I’ve also started dreaming of our trip to Sicily having recently met an old school friend of Gi’s who now lives on a small island off the coast. Similarly Eastern Europe is quietly beckoning with cheap airfares and less known destinations.

Of course the other problem with being an outsider residing in Europe is that with such a smorgasbord to choose from it’s very possible to become paralysed with indecision.

Unmentionables

Started 29th March 2006, Naples reviewed 22 Aprile 2006

Today (29/3/06) ended in my second meltdown in a month. The problem is that there is nowhere for me to have a private meltdown. Four adults (‘adults’ used generously) and a dog sharing a one-bedroom apartment is not something I would recommend to anyone, under any circumstances. But here we are, guests under my mother in law’s roof, and me behaving badly; melting down, ranting, crying and imploring Gigi to understand while his mother and sister sit just four metres away in the only other room of the house. It’s not pretty, and they think I’m a nut case, and that our relationship is built on arguments and psychotic episodes (no comments please!)

I’m going to take some photos to help you get a better understanding of my position….done! Now that I’ve taken them I’m thinking it’s inappropriate to load them onto the web for fear of embarrassing anyone (so I haven’t), but the reality is that this is how a lot of people live in this city. For two people it’s okay, not unlike some of the small apartments now available for inner city living in Australia (except of course Casalnuovo is not inner city…in fact it struck me today that it’s a bit like living in Goodna or Wacol compared to living in Ashgrove or Coorparoo) but for 4 + a beast it’s just not that much fun.

Of course I recognise that I am spoilt. There are plenty of locals living with large families in small homes and in poorer conditions.

Following is a list of things, good, bad and different that I have been obsessing about because of the limited space, privacy and independence:
· The apartment is clean (I won’t mention the mould growing on the walls that they can’t get the landlord to action or the dog hair)
· We have hot water (I won’t mention that I can’t take either a regular bath because the bath leaks into the apartment below or a regular shower…it’s one of those horrible hold it yourself things where you stand in the bath…I have never been able to master this and manage to get water everywhere to the disdain of those I share the bathroom with…and bathmats are considered unhygienic for some reason in this house {I’m going to buy one tomorrow which will surely rock the boat}).
· We eat well (I won’t mention the fact that Gi’s mother is still cooking two different meals every time we eat to accommodate Irene’s fussiness and Gigi’s vegan diet)
· The heating works well (I won’t mention the fact that you have to go outside on to the balcony in the cold to turn it on and off)
· They have a television (I won’t mention the fact that it’s still just as bad Italian tits and arse stuff as always, and that when Irene is watching TV no one is allowed to talk or she goes off in a huff)
· They have a DVD player (but strangely when you hire a DVD from a self service outlet you effectively pay for the DVD by the hour)
· The building has an elevator (we live on the 8th floor) which is not something to take for granted in a city where the old buildings often only have stairs (I won’t mention the fact that it only takes four people at a time, in a squeeze and only if you know each other, or that the elevator only registers one floor at a time…so if you get in with a complete stranger whoever is going to the lowest floor pushes that button first, gets out and then you push the button for your floor continuing the ascent upwards)
· The apartment building is in a secure area, with a security gate and allocated parking for residence (I won’t mention the fact our keys to open the security gate for vehicle access only works one out of three times…very tricky getting in if you come home at 1am in the morning).
· We don’t really see the neighbours either, which is good (I won’t mention the fact that we can hear them, above and beside us, in the morning walking around, banging furniture, yelling at the kids…you get the picture).

However, true to form Gi’s mother is ready to move. They’ve been here about 9 months now. Moving seems to be a habit for Rosaria – I don’t ask too many questions about the why. As I’ve mentioned in previous blogs we’ve been looking for an apartment with three bedrooms, two bedrooms, a kitchen with living room space and room for guests, my writing and Gi’s massage clients. I’m not yet convinced that we could all live together happily. I think Gi and I are so accustomed to our space and our privacy, as Irene and Rosa are used to their ways and lifestyle, that it would be a sensible idea to have two separate places. The economics and practicalities however might just get in the way of this though as we can undoubtedly save a couple of hundred Euro sharing one bigger place. If we have to completely furnish a new apartment it means buying a kitchen as well. Gi and I will have to furnish our bedroom regardless (unless we live separately in a furnished place) but I also have a dream of some space to write and an Internet connection. Now these are big dreams, I know, but if I could get a sound proofed bedroom that is off limits to everyone else (including the cleaning obsessed Irene), an Internet connection, a desk and a bathmat I’d be a pretty happy Jenny.

Needless to say I’m missing my house. It’s ironic to remember that as we were packing up and moving out I was thinking about how we’d outgrown the house, and that when we come back to Brisbane we’ll need more space…. intellectually I knew we were going to downsize in Naples but it’s the horrible process of being in limbo with your backpack unpacked, your stuff crammed into someone else’s drawers, that is driving me a little nuts. Irene cleans everyday (unnecessarily if anyone asks me, but mostly because she doesn’t have anything else to do), and moves our stuff around. I try to keep things organised, and put things out of the way, but every afternoon I come home and inevitably find everything has been moved to another place (22/4/06 this has stopped now after a long conversation, and the cleaning happens spasmodically now). We go grocery shopping and I can see Irene’s getting frustrated because all of that food has to go into the little kitchen cupboards somehow and it means that the perfectly organised 2 packets of pasta are no longer going to be as tidy as before we invaded the house…and we really have invaded.

I’m also missing my friends. I’ve said this in a previous blog but it really hit me tonight (29/3/06) how badly I’d love to have the luxury of picking up the phone (I won’t mention that there is no land line in the house for reasons you don’t want to know) and offloading some of this to someone who can just go ‘Really, that sucks…oh, remember it was you that wanted to go, so suck it up Jenny’. I spoke to my parents, sister Kim and nieces Katy & Sarah and nephew Josh this morning (29/3/06) so I suspect that’s contributing to my messed up state of being as well. It’s only been a month but the kids sound different. Katy was conducting a regular grown up conversation, and Josh told me he was feeling ‘lil bit sad because he couldn’t see me. But we agreed he was going to come and visit soon. Luckily his mother agrees.

22/4/06 PS I did buy that bathmat and am afraid to report that it has created some reverse culture shock for my in law hosts who consider it germ-infested and unsightly (did I mention the dog?).

Differences b/w up and down!

28th Marzo 2006, Napoli finished 22 Aprile 2006.

As promised, a brief synopsis of my impressions of our visit North.

Now you have to understand that Italy is divided up into regions. However historically, politically and economically it’s still very much generally divided into the North and the South. Naturally each region has it’s own attractions (and detractions), cuisine and specialities. Naples of course is famous for its pizza, the Margherita (named after Queen Margherita as the Royal Court baker invented it especially for her) is the local style pizza base topped with tomato and mozzarella with a sprinkle of parmesan cheese, olive oil, a couple of basil leaves and salt. Pizza doesn’t come any simpler (except maybe the Marinara which is just the tomato topping with oregano, no cheese) or any better.

The tomatoes used to top pizzas in Naples are of course grown locally, and it’s the volcanic soil that produces the best tasting tomatoes in the world (according to locals, and I’m afraid I have to concur). The mozzarella is fresh and should be made from buffalo milk. Typically a pizzeria in Naples has a choice of about 15 – tried and tested and guaranteed, in accordance with the sign outside saying ‘Vera Pizza’ which is the local stamp of approval demonstrating that they adhere to high standards e.g. dough preparation, use of wood fired ovens and spinning the dough, never rolling it out.

Each region will have different dough and toppings, interpretations and specialities. In the north they use a lot more cheese (cheese is heavily used in northern cuisine). While up north we dined at a pizzeria and the menu had about forty different types of pizzas to choose from. The northern pizzeria’s menu listed a Margherita pizza (you know, with the tomato & mozzarella which in Naples would generally imply buffalo milk mozzarella) and another pizza with tomato and mozzarella from buffalo milk.

This puzzled Gigi so he questioned the waiter and while the explanation was straightforward and in accordance with the menu description Gi still didn’t quite believe that they offered both versions. You see, to a Neapolitan, a Margherita with mozzarella made from cows’ milk is something of an enigma…why would you even bother? So, despite himself he ordered the regular Margherita (to those playing at home I’ll explain why a vegan is eating cheese later) and it came out absolutely smothered in cheese, mozzarella but obviously made from cows’ milk (come to Naples and we’ll run the difference passed your taste buds) and nothing like a Margherita made in Naples.

The other difference is that in Naples you still only pay about €3 for the famous traditional Margherita, but the ‘fancy’ version on this pizzeria’s menu was priced at double the price of the ‘regular’ Margherita made on cows’ milk. Anyway, that’s the pizza issue out of the way.

Friuli is a region that is close to the northern borders and in fact shares a border with Slovenia. The locals occasionally go across the border to buy fuel. The capital is only about 3 hours away by train, but curiously when I asked Gi’s relatives if they’d ever visited the answer was an emphatic ‘no’, they only go for petrol. Now for an Aussie this is quite odd, probably because we don’t share a border with anyone (excluding the Antarctic) and travelling three hours in any direction is something we’d do for a Sunday afternoon drive.

But I digress. Being so far north means that historically there has at times been control over various parts of the region by other countries eg Austria. My history knowledge is limited (just bits I picked up from tourist brochures) but needless to say you can see, hear, taste and smell the influence from Germany, Austria and Switzerland. The dialect, the street signs, the food, the local style (fashion and architecture), the look of the people (taller, more blonds and red heads, paler skin) and the way things are organised and conducted are all very different to Naples, and the south generally.

Now, Germany, Switzerland and Austria are all well known for being well-organised, punctual, structured places where the people are sometimes overly dictated by the clock. And some others say (not me of course, as I have a Swiss and an Austrian exchange daughter, and a German AFS host sister by default, not to mention other AFS friends from these three fine nations) that the people from these places also lack imagination, are uptight, perhaps superficial and closed. These are of course all generalisations but it’s these influences that you can see in the north of Italy too. If there’s one thing to be said for Naples and it’s people it’s that they have imagination (essential to survive in a city in the state that Naples is in), they are relaxed, passionate, emotive and live in the moment (to their detriment, but that’s just my opinion).

Perhaps I should start back at the beginning though. You get off the train in Udine, the capital of the Friuli region, and only 15-minute drive from the village of Lavariano where Gigi’s relatives live. You come out of the station and notice the lack of dodgy looking people and that you haven’t been harassed by anyone on the walk out to the footpath. In contrast if you fail to notice the dodgy people hanging around the central station in Naples you are either blind or dead. Similarly in Naples within minutes of debarking you will be approached about a taxi, whispered to about illicit substances, subtly shown stolen laptops, Ipods, watches and mobile phones.

During our visit the sky was mostly grey. Naples does have grey sky days but even in winter you are struck by the days when the blueness stirs you, causing you to look up, gaze at the volcano set against the expanse of azure and declare “What a beautiful day!” While up north we had one afternoon of blue. Grey skies provide little inspiration for photos!

The streets of Udine are clean, almost immaculate and the cars appear to be parked according to the car park markings. The cleanliness of the street is something you notice because Naples is treated like one big garbage dump. Even the freeways have piles of rubbish on the emergency stopping areas, as it’s easier for locals to drop their garbage on the way to work. Or they just toss it out the window while driving along…this makes for an interesting spectator sport providing it’s not your windscreen in the line of fire.

The car park ..well up north it was pretty much as we’d expect it to be in Australia or London. Clearly marked spaces on the ground, park within your space ensuring you don’t hit any other vehicles or block anyone – vehicle, pedestrian, driveway. In Naples all of those unspoken agreements of the street go out the window. Parking is only limited by your imagination and physics. The other thing is that the first person reigns supreme so you park at your convenience, even if it blocks three other cars, or the whole footpath, or even the street. Bumping the car in front and the one behind is also acceptable as you try to create space. Parking is a local frustration, and considered something of a street sport. But in a city of six million cars, with as many cars, motorbikes and scooters where regular underground or high-rise car parking stations a rarity it’s no wonder that parking is an impossible practice.

So, in accordance with the AFS motto it’s not that things are better or worse in the north and south, it’s just that they are different. Oh, and my beloved vegan just can’t resist the buffalo milk mozzarella cheese of his childhood home.

Dreams of RW

You know how sometimes you develop an infatuation for someone who you never expect to meet? Maybe your mother had a thing for Tom Jones, or your sister liked Rob Lowe, or Sean Connery (not that any of this is true of my family). Well, for me it's Robbie Williams.

I don't know if it's because we eat later, or whether I'm just generally disturbed, or looking for escapism but I'm dreaming about Robbie on a regular basis. Nothing that would make your grandmother blush, but still the sort of dream you don't really want to wake up from.

I'm going to have to do something about it soon. Maybe I can print off a life size photo of Robbie's face and make a mask for Gigi to wear. Or maybe we should just move into a place of our own with some privacy and go back to being a regular couple...

I guess so long as it's only Robbie, and not a group thing with Tom, Rob and Sean then it's okay.

Don't send my any Freudian psychoanalytical comments.

However, if he ever turns up in the flesh then I might need your help.

Jenny

Roman Acqueduct

Acqueduct built by the Romans on the road to Sant'Agata de'Goti

Easter Monday driving

Sant'Agata de'Goti

17th April 2006, Easter Monday, Napoli

You know those days when you get in the car, look at the map and just drive in a general direction without a plan or definite destination? Today was one of those days. After three boring days at home over the Easter weekend I implored Gigi to take me out of the city, risking the inevitable public holiday traffic and crowds of strolling Italians.

We were heading vaguely north, through Acerra and possibly to Telese, avoiding the highways and the freeways. After winding through small towns on the outskirts of Naples, welcoming the increasing signs of countryside life, Gi spots a sign for Sant’Agata de’ Goti, some place he has vaguely heard of but never visited. Turning off we drove through a tiny village of ‘no name’, where at a roadside nursery Gi turns again at a sign for a sanctuary. Pulling up at the local church (was this the ‘sanctuary’ the sign eluded to?) I walked up onto a platform for a view of the neighbouring properties; citrus trees laden with fruit, artichoke plants drooping heavy with cherished produce, earth ploughed into rows, smoke billowing from a pile of rubbish smouldering in a backyard. Apple trees shyly blooming with pink and white flowers, hazelnut trees guardedly yielding young green nuts, yellow flowering friarielli sprinkled amongst the roadside weeds. Gigi had entered the open chapel, to be greeted by fading pink walls, an awkward mural of the Last Supper and a statue of Jesus robed in hot pink and a white cloak.

Following the dirt road up we passed orchards with weeds of violet, a wiry old lady in a front yard watching us with either suspicion or interest, or perhaps both, and two newly built homes scattered amongst farmhouses with grey stone walls alive with mauve wisteria vines. The road ended at a private property where Gi commented on the triple glazed automatic teller machine glass sitting beside the road as we turned the car around.

Before turning off the main road we’d driven through the impressive arches of an aqueduct built by the Romans to carry water from the mountain springs to the surrounding towns. It’s an enormous structure, with three levels, the only modern modification (to my unexperienced eye) being the fortification around the arch where the train passes through. I’m unreliably told it was built about 200 AD.

Sant’Agata de’ Goti was just a place on the map of the region of Campania as we entered the township. Turning left in the direction of the historical centre Gi slowed the car to awe at the quiet elegant street lined with mature trees leading to the bridge. Driving over the bridge towards the central car park it becomes obvious that we are not the only visitors in town as several cars are circling looking for a vacant space. Deciding to look around on foot we drive back over the bridge to another car park that is almost empty, to be greeted by the ‘unofficial’ car park attendant (you give him some loose change in exchange for watching over the car) who has an prominent case of elephantitis. With one side of his face severely swollen with the disfiguring disease, the lips purple and distended, his personality was affable and professional. Leaving the car park we headed towards a nearby villa and beautifully manicured gardens that begged to be photographed. Walking towards the bridge Gigi observed two men entering the car park looking like thieves (don’t ask him to tell you how we can pick them) and suggested we return to the car to put his leather jacket in the boot. (Some ten years ago we left his leather jacket and other valuables on the back seat of a hire car in Dublin only to return ten minutes later to a smashed window and everything stolen, passports, plane tickets, cameras, everything, the day before our return flight to London.) He then changed his mind, thinking he was being over cautious, especially with the parking guy around. However, having once made the mistake I was not about to do it again some ten years later. Entering the car park we could here the guy with elphantitis raising his voice, arguing with the two men. He was ordering them out of the car park, away from the vehicles that were effectively his responsibility. They in turn were claiming to be just standing around, doing no harm, but Mr Elephantitis was having none of it. What a sight, this gentle man with his physical deformities, holding a buckled umbrella in the drizzling rain, threatening to poke their eyes out with his brolly if they didn’t leave immediately! Fifty cents well spent, no doubt.

Confident that the car and our now hidden belongings were safe we strolled over the bridge to enter the town centre proper. What would have once been an impressive river is now just a bubbling brook, overgrown with lush vegetation. The steep bank elongated by the rising foundations of the external town wall, stretching about one kilometre along the side of the river and perhaps seven storeys up. I stood there for several minutes wondering at the sheer size of what amounted to an ancient apartment block constructed of stone blocks, looking very much the same as it did some centuries ago.

The rest of the afternoon was spent wandering around, exploring alleyways, peeking under archways and enjoying the mostly pedestrian zone of the town. It soon became apparent that we’d accidentally stumbled into one of those little places in Italy that is off the beaten track but well visited regardless. The Tourist Association of Sant’Agata de’ Goti had posters promoting the Spring Festival from 8 April to 1 May and the towns slogan of ‘Citta di Domenica’ (City of Sunday); other formal posters wishing the citizens best wishes for Easter. A handful of trattorias, pizza restaurants and dimly lit pubs were pulsing with lunchtime trade. Enticing cafeteria signs led us to two bars catering to the influx of tourists with views of the neighbouring mountains. Our quick caffeine hit was accompanied by long sighs and apologies as the barista exclaimed how busy and stressed she was feeling. Gi commented on the attractiveness of the town, only to have her warn us against it due to the monotony, explaining it was always busy on public holidays, Sundays and in summer.

With the late afternoon light still bright, and a huge mound of fresh bread to sustain us we headed home, avoiding the major roads, winding our way back to Casalnuovo. Dusk is getting increasingly later, and it’s still early spring. I’d forgotten how long the summer days are here, and am looking forward to the extended twilight.
Enjoy the photos.

Missing persons.

Many thanks for the comments you are leaving. However, if you leave an anonymous comment could you include your name, nickname, or a clue re identify, in the body of the comment. Otherwise I don't have a clue who your are. Eg we have three comments abou Gigi's new tattoos but I can only identify one. And occasionally it would be nice to email you personally.

I have some old unpublished blogs that I'm planning to edit and load soon. But I've also decided that I'm not going to talk about moving, finding a place or the accommodation situation until we've actually moved into an apartment, taken the penthouse suite at the Holiday Inn or moved into the gypsies' caravan camp on the outskirts of the city.

So if you ask questions and don't get a response take it that we are still looking, breathing deeply and praying for a miracle.

Big Brother

15th April 2006, Easter Saturday, Napoli

It’s a beautiful day, open blue sky, and the sort of temperature where you can wear just a shirt but if you are wearing a jacket it’s not uncomfortable.

We had a 4 o’clock appointment to view another apartment at Pomigliano. It’s the first one we’ve seen as a family group that meets the majority of criteria i.e. three bedrooms plus a room for guests/study, two separate bathrooms, and a kitchen with enough space for lounge and TV. It was advertised as luxurious, 5 minutes to the Vesuviana train station, extremely central, luminous, completely renovated, first floor with 4 ½ rooms. We’ve all agreed that while it’s spacious, it certainly isn’t luxurious, the kitchen being the only room that has recently been renovated. We need to check how far it is from public transport. It needs a little work, some ceiling paintings and external blinds fixed. Irene has expressed her opinion, largely a list of all the problems and negatives, the only thing she did really like were the balconies that look out over the street. Ironically I disliked the balconies because of the uninspiring view of the street, the pollution, street noise and lack of privacy. However the others have also expressed concerns about the doors and windows, whether they seal properly keeping out the wind and cold. We didn’t have a chance to properly access the hot water and heating systems either as the apartment is still occupied.

I’ve resigned myself to the fact that we cannot and will not find a place that suits everyone. Learning to compromise and adjust is one of those great lessons of adulthood. I’ve made my needs clear – private bedroom and bathroom for Gi and I, somewhere for guests to stay, hot water, and access to public transport (for me this means within half hour walk or bicycle ride, for Irene and Rosa it means less than a five minute walk). It’s the same whether we live on our own or with Gi’s family.

One of the problems is that Gi and I are accustomed to making the best of wherever we are living. Any space can become a home with some imagination and innovation. And we are working to a budget. His sister will only contribute financially if she works and doesn’t go to college, so by and large the budget is not her concern and her expectations are quite different to ours. I’m afraid Irene has a lot to adjust to with her big brother in town and planning to stay.

Watching the evening news on this Easter Saturday, reports of all the tourists that have hit Italy for the long weekend. They are expecting 1.6 million through Rome, 50,000 tourists caught the ferry across to Prochida Island in the Bay of Naples today. I’ve been feeling bored and caged in today but perhaps it is better if we stay at home and avoid the crowds. It’s cold up north, and rain is predicted for Naples on Monday and all of Italy on Wednesday. It’s flooding in Romania and Bulgaria; the banks of the Danube have burst.

About a week ago a special police operation in Sicily captured the boss of all Mafia bosses. Each night there is a news update. On the day that the news broke the newsreaders publicly congratulated with police on the arrest. He’s been hiding in the Sicilian countryside for the last 40 years and is believed to be responsible for countless murders, including children in bathtubs of acid. On the television he looks like an average elderly Italian gentleman. Much like the man I photographed this week sitting in a plastic chair on the edge of his garden, a block of land that was being ploughed by a tractor in preparation for planting the new seasons vegetable crop. Of course, the captured boss will continue to run the operations from inside prison. In fact I believe that often their accommodations are more comfortable when incarcerated, wanting for nothing.

Big Brother is also currently on the television. There are six contestants left in the house. Last night we watched the eviction of one young woman, who has fallen in love with one of the guys. It was heart wrenching, the goodbyes were strung out and teary with Big Brother affording them a private room. The Romeo has a girlfriend out in the real world, but the audience seemed completely enamoured with the romance and their very obvious desire not to be separated. However it seems that boredom and silliness are a problem in the BB house in Italy as elsewhere in the world. Tonight they are having a silent protest, demanding a video to watch. The next step was putting large black garbage bags on their heads to hide their facial expressions. Now, think about it, a group of Italians not talking and covering their faces. How long can this last, I hear you ask? Not long, they all regularly visit the diary room and by bedtime were without bags and conversing again. There is no denying human nature.

Gi's family in Lavariano

Gigi and cousin Caterina cooking





















Cousin Nicola




















Cousin Marianna
















Aunt Marina, camera shy. Going.....















Going....
















Gone

New tattoos

Here they are, the photos of Gi's newly acquired tattoos from Bangkok.

Life inside an opera!

13th April 2006, Napoli

Yesterday was another day of intensity and high drama. I feel like I’m living in the middle of an opera; there is someone down in the pit conducting the orchestra who are mostly sitting in the dark. There is a fat lady standing behind the curtains ready for her moment in the spotlight, at the same time hoping to avoid the fuss and attention. The tenor is already on stage, dressed in his military outfit, his face stern but his eyes are expressing every emotion as the music weaves its way up into the highest balcony. The audience have paid a high price for their tickets and are keen critics but at the same time they are here for the ride, expecting it to be emotional, turbulent and intoxicating. However, the performance is inevitably loaded with tragedy, comedy and passion and the audience are never fully prepared for the anxiety, poignancy and beauty as the story, song and music touches their very souls.

Let me explain. We’ve had two days of family explosions. There is a lot going on in this little apartment with four people who are very different.

It’s become very apparent to me that Gigi (and me by default) is almost a complete stranger to his mother and sister. In fact the personal changes that he has been through over the past five years have sometimes left me struggling to keep up, so it’s natural that the image they have of Gigi is completely out of alignment with the reality standing before them. However the same can be said for both his mother and sister. They are not the people he thinks he knows. They are a bit older, a little more jaded, a little less optimistic and perhaps a little resentful of the opportunities that he has managed to create for himself. I’m sure most of Naples thinks Gigi is just the luckiest son of a gun. They don’t see the hard work, the study, the compromise, budgeting, goal setting and planning. His family certainly don’t understand our relationship. But last night, after several hours of arguing, and then tough love talking we have started to find some understanding.

Yesterday we went to look at another apartment, and after several hours of driving around lost (something his mother does regularly, long story) and then Gi and Irene having a big argument in the back of the car we arrived back at the house with Gi proposing we just pack up and leave. Give up and walk away. However, I’m starting to think that we are in Naples to provide support to his family. I’m also pretty sure it’s going to be a frustrating, confronting and sometimes heart breaking journey but it seems that it’s time. After a lot of talking last night about working (or not), the impossibility of accomplishing anything in Naples (which is certainly true if you choose to believe it), money and whether or not they really want us to stay and help (without judging and lecturing) Irene brings out a piece of paper which encapsulates her dream. She’s spoken about it before and in fact some years ago we offered to host her in Australia to study English and then study fashion design as an international student. The desire to study fashion design is still there, and she’s found a course she wants to do that requires a monthly fee of Euro 200. The problem is that she hasn’t spoken plainly with her mother about it. Rosa thinks she needs to find Euro 3000 up front, and that’s just not feasible. Irene has also received promises from her father that he was going to go to the college and pay for her enrolment and tuition. Each year in September she calls the school only to find she’s not enrolled.

I’m jumping out of my skin. She has the motivation, the intelligence and her health and the only thing getting in the way is the money. In my opinion the money is the easiest thing to find. So, I’ve proposed to her that in September I’m going to start teaching English as part time work and she’s going to start to study.

If we are going to live together I’m going to have to impose some of my culture and upbringing on them by introducing a budget. Rosa is not a very good money manager. Irene has agreed that she needs to work more than one night a week, and that she won’t be able to afford to spend Euro 100 on a pair of sneakers or jeans if she’s studying. They all recognise that by sharing an apartment we can save on rent and utilities. But I know that adjusting spending habits of a lifetime is a painful process.

Last night’s heated and emotional discussions reminded me of something I learnt while volunteering with AFS multicultural exchange programs. Assumptions are dangerous. And just because you are ‘family’ doesn’t mean that you know anything about the person sitting across from you at the dinner table. I’m disappointed to say that Gi and I had made assumptions about his family in their lifestyle choices and habits, only too have some of those assumptions float out the window last night as they explained the changes they made in preparation for our arrival. And the subsequent adjustments and compromises they’ve made since we’ve been here. And like the world of AFS exchange students it’s always the little things e.g. where things go in the pantry, what we watch on TV, what time someone gets up, food disappearing from the fridge, someone turning on the heating when someone else opens the doors for fresh air, clutter, someone moving the clutter….

Nonetheless it’s a fascinating opera that I’m living in. Gigi keeps saying he’d rather live in Naples with it’s drama, tragedy and comedy, highs and lows, where the people live precariously on the edge than in the north where things are orderly, calm and sometimes deathly quiet. So, having made the decision we find ourselves not only looking for a house, finalising bureaucratic processes for work and residency, considering buying a car, quietly planning some weekend getaways but also counselling those with whom we share space, and each other, working towards a goal that we can’t yet fully articulate but aware that it’s there regardless. I guess the trick will be making sure that we don’t find ourselves in a soap opera.

New hobbies

11 April 2006, Napoli

It seems that my hobbies have evolved. In Australia life is a little busier with work, AFS volunteering, family and friends, maintaining a house and car etc. However, with less demands on my time and changes to living space my hobbies in Naples are somewhat different.

As some of you know Gi and I have an aversion to making beds, and one of the first house rules for any exchange student we host is that making beds is not an expectation. At the moment we are sleeping in my sister-in-law’s bedroom, so each morning I feel obliged to make the bed in an attempt to keep our mess looking a little less messier.

Similarly, in Australia I like to wash Friday nights, fold and iron Sunday night in front of ‘Law and Order’ to have all clothes ready and available for the coming week. Getting up ten minutes earlier each morning to iron whatever I want to wear to work is my idea of a bad start to the day. Two things have changed; I tend to wash every few days in Naples and haven’t ironed anything since we left Brisbane. With more time available, no real place to put our dirty laundry, a smaller washing machine and limited drying space on the balcony I wash much more regularly. I could iron but the ironing board and iron are such monstrous looking things (and a few creases don’t matter when it’s under a jumper or jacket) that I couldn’t be bothered. Doing it in front of the TV on Sunday night would also certainly raise a few eyebrows I’m sure.

I’ve also taken to painting my nails. It always seemed like the greatest waste of time to me, and in fact I’ve confirmed that I can easily waste at least 2 hours preparing, applying and drying finger nail polish. I’ve bought a bright red polish, something like a prostitute might wear. I’m now fighting the urge to go out and buy a bunch of other colours, thinking that I should match my nails polish to my daily outfit!

My other hobby is that of observation. Gi’s sister Irene is unemployed, apart from a few hours on a Saturday night as a cashier in a pizzeria, and spends the majority of her time at home. In an effort to use my time more effectively I’ve been observing how she fills in the day, and night, doing very little. The key seems to be obsessive house cleaning - dusting, vacuuming and then mopping floors, wiping down kitchen benches without actually ever washing up anything, and cleaning the bathroom. Now, I’m not in a position to take over any of these roles here (and anything I have done has been re-done a matter of minutes later) but I am taking notes for when we have our own space. The other thing is spending at least 2 hours in the bathroom bathing and doing whatever happens in bathrooms. Sometimes she emerges in fresh pyjamas to spend the rest of the day at home, and occasionally she squeezes herself into some jeans and goes out to meet friends or her father.

Stay tuned.

Thanks to everyone for their encouraging comments. I had photos to load but having problems with the internet page. Also trying to remember to log onto MSN to chat so if you are in Australian and still on line between 9 pm and 1am that's when you are most likely to catch us.
Stay tuned. Love to everyone. Will let you know when the house hunting has a positive outcome. The Easter bunny is coming soon....

Via Roma strolling

8th April 2006, Napoli

Saturday afternoon, we are strolling down Via Roma, Naples oldest shopping street. The street is full of locals, partaking in a traditional post lunch promenade, window shopping, meeting friends and enjoying the warmer spring weather. The street is closed off to traffic, but the plain-clothes police on big all terrain motorbikes cruise up and down the pedestrian zone. We walk past a drum group on the sidewalk led by a large vibrant African, the rhythmic beat echoing through the alleys. Chalk artists sprawl out recreating religious paintings, only to have the images disappear tomorrow.

A large crowd surrounds a multicultural group practicing the Brazilian martial art/dance of ‘capeira’ until a more local tradition impinges on its space. Young men costumed in matching blue and white outfits carrying large hand stitched banners bearing images of the Madonna are clearing the way for the following procession. About a dozen men are carrying a large Madonna icon on a platform, swaying back and forth. Behind them is a haphazard band belting out the requisite holy music. The procession consists of boys and men, but around the fringes are women with bowls, collecting donations from the passing crowd.

The local bars are overflowing with people savouring a coffee, pastries or perhaps an aperitif. Children are well catered for with street side vendors selling freshly prepared popcorn, sugar coated peanuts and white fairy floss. Gelato is also a favourite on such an afternoon, but it’s wise to keep one eye on the footpath to avoid the one that got away. Small stands with strings of lemons and oranges hanging from the eves are selling cold drinks, freshly squeezed juice and crushed ice flavoured with syrup.

At the end of Via Roma we enter the Piazza del Plebiscito, one of Naples largest piazzas, and certainly one of the most beautiful. It’s an open space, encircled by the royal palace, an imposing church and the headquarters for the Carabinieri (state police). The afternoon sun is starting to slide behind the dome of the church, throwing its light directly into the faces of the three Neapolitan musicians playing underneath a king’s statue adorning the palace. A group of boys mark out a soccer field in the piazza, throwing their jackets down as goal posts. We watch as a blonde woman in a red jacket wanders across their ‘soccer’ field. The fiercely competitive game doesn’t stop however, especially for a tourist preoccupied with the architecture. A bride and groom stroll across the wide expanse followed by their photographer and attendants. In stark contrast, two heroin addicts scurry past in the opposite direction; their strange speech patterns, foggy eyes and habitual face scratching giving them away. On the other side of the piazza, across from an Irish pub we pause to view the freeway passing under the bridge. The whole city is layered like this to accommodate the steep slope that Naples is built on. Young lovers gather in this area, one of the pair sitting precariously on the edge of the overpass, legs and arms, and lips, wrapped around the other. The religious band is behind us playing a time-loved hymn, and the bride has settled herself in the get away car, ready to go to the next photo location for the sunset shots.

Ahead of us the view of the bay unfolds. The Vesuvio, an ever present, ever impressive backdrop, stands guard over the city as the afternoon haze settles. The sweeping blue sky merges with the Mediterranean and the islands of Ischia and Capri are visible, reminding us to visit on springtime day trips.

It’s a perfect way to spend an afternoon, spending as much or as little as you like, taking in the street entertainment, the colours, aromas and the passing fashion parade.

Nasal assaults

7th April 2006, Napoli

I didn’t sleep last night. Gigi has developed some sort of blocked nasal passage thing that results in chronic snoring. Ordinarily, a push to roll him over, or a desperate jab with the elbow wakes him up enough to stop the acoustic disturbance. It seems though that the cigarette smoke, traffic pollution and sleeping in a bedroom with creeping mould on the ceiling (Gi has been diagnosed with a mould allergy) has only worsened the snoring and last night was bad. It also means he sleeps badly because I toss and turn, get up, wander around, put on my earphones, change positions, trying to will myself to a state of exhaustion or the snoring to stop long enough for me to doze off. I was awake until 8am this morning, and then only went to sleep because Gi got up to take his mother to work. Needless to say he returned to bed a couple of hours later and reduced what could have been four hours of sleep to only two.

It must be an inherited condition though because his lovely mother was rocking the house last night as well. It was like being in the middle of a snoring orchestra.

When we finally roused ourselves this afternoon we decided to do something productive as the house hunting efforts have stalled until the weekend. We drove into the centre to our preferred Internet place. Last time we lived in Naples I used an Internet café in Piazza Bellini, which was a bit expensive, and later paid a rather steep annual fee to join the British Council where Internet use was free provided you could secure a computer workstation. Five years later, Internet access is still not as convenient as you’d expect but this Internet Point is like a gift from the gods. It’s in Piazza Cavour, which is in the centre of the city, near the famous archaeological museum. Surprisingly, we can usually find parking around the piazza but it also has a metro stop, which is convenient for public transport usage.

Across the road from the piazza is a ‘bar’ (read place that serves coffee and alcoholic beverages) that serves great coffee and croissants. Nearby is a good photo lab. Polite, friendly and helpful people run both businesses. I tend to notice things like this being a creature of habit that appreciates locals that won’t try and rip me off.

The Internet Point itself is inside a ‘palazzo’ (building) that requires two security doors to be released to gain access. This is good because I don’t really want to sit in view of the street when using my laptop. The two guys that run the business are great, courteous, attentive and professional. They charge in ten minutes lots, and it’s the cheapest rates we’ve found to date in Naples. There is a toilet (don’t take it for granted that it’s always easy to find these facilities), and they’ll order coffee or drinks from a local bar to be delivered. I always feel comfortable and safe and if they had beds I reckon we could just move in there.

The best thing about this Internet place though is the leaving. You exit and start to walk down the internal stairs of the building only to have your sense of smell assaulted with the aromas from the ‘pasticceria’ (read bakery / pastry shop) downstairs. It’s incredible, and if I could bottle it and send it to my closest friends and family I would. The waft of sweet pastry, chocolate, custard cream and warm biscuits floats up the stairs. As we walk down the stairs we both take in great breaths of the scented air, only to find ourselves shortly afterwards standing in the doorway of the bakery debating about what sweet nothings to indulge in.

It’s one of those heavenly experiences that I can’t fully describe or capture on film but it’s these sensory moments that make the transition we are going through worthwhile.

Self portrait

Ironic Naples

This is the ironic thing about Naples. It's is such an incredibly beautiful city; grand sweeping vistas of the Bay, Mediterannean islands and the impressive volcano standing guard. I took these photos a couple of days ago when we were looking at an apartment. This was the view from the street.

But this is the same city where the garbage collectors are on strike, you can't find a public phone that works and the heaving traffic takes on a personality of its own.

Ironically, Gi and I are both enjoying ourselves. Gi in particular is more comfortable in his home town than I have ever seen in the twelve years that we have been together. The traffic, the people, the bureaucracy, his family ... these are all things we've had to deal with on previous trips but he is handling everything differently. Unfortunately, I seem to have regressed slightly in my maturity levels with emotional outbursts, tantrums and bad behaviour. But it's now April, the weather has changed to blue skies, warm days and spring has arrived. I'm endeavouring to change my focus from the negative to the positive.

So, if you want to see the photos of the broken public phone and the piles of uncollected garbage you'll have to email my privately!

Thanks for the comments. I have a other blogs to publish but they need work...less negativity, more positivity. Stay tuned.

Friarielli and Pomigliano

5th April 2006, Naples

It was twelve years ago today that Gigi and I first met in a hostel in London.

I’m sitting in Rosa’s kitchen trying to understand her conversation with Gigi. They are discussing his dreams of running an “agritourism” (eco tourism in English) business (e.g. bed and breakfast / health retreat) in the Italian countryside sometime in the not-too-distant future. Rosa is preparing “friarielli”, a leafy green vegetable grown only in the local Neapolitan region that is part of the broccoli family. We bought six bundles of “friarielli” which will cook down to enough for two. It is cooked with pork sausages (sometimes distinctly flavoured with fennel seeds), garlic, and olive oil. The dish is a local speciality that is a delight to experience. True to Neapolitan style for ingenuity it has also been transformed into a pizza topping.

Rosa is also preparing “scarole” with beans (another vegetable that looks like frilly lettuce but has a bitter flavour and is never eaten raw except by inquisitive foreigners who don’t quite believe that it could taste like anything other than crispy lettuce!)

We’ve spent the last few days concentrating on house hunting, as it’s the current speed bump (or maybe pot hole would be a more appropriate metaphor) in the highway of our Naples life. The criteria keep changing, but I’m confident that something will show itself shortly. Gi and his mother seem to have settled some of their recent differences so we are once again considering living together (don’t send any telegrams!). It will be undoubtedly cheaper sharing the rent and utilities, and easier as they already have a kitchen (yes you take it with you when you move) and white goods (I’m not in love with the washing machine but it’s a damn sight better than washing by hand which is what I did for six months last time we lived in Italy!). The catch is that we need three bedrooms, a shared living space and/or another bedroom (for guests), close to public transport and two separate bathrooms, each with a shower. We looked at a lovely villa last night that met all the requirements except for the two showers. Unfortunately it’s one thing that we can’t share long term. Gi and I are accustomed to using bathmats; Rosa and Irene consider them unhygienic. Irene cleans the bathroom every day; it drives me nuts. I wouldn’t mind if she was our cleaning lady but I’d rather clean it once a week and eliminate the guilt. Four adults getting ready at the same time in the morning is the other problem with one shower, especially when some of us are not accustomed to quick preparations in the morning (not me obviously, who had perfected the art of getting out of bed and being in the office within 30 minutes).

If something suitable comes along we will undoubtedly try and create two private areas where Gi and I can be a couple, and Rosa can smoke. However, we are also still looking for rentals that would suit only two, plus the odd guest. Interestingly, Gi has shifted his focus from the historical centre of Naples to the satellite villages, in particular Pomigliano. We drove through the town centre last night. It’s only a few minutes further out than Casalnuovo where we are currently staying. However it seems like another world. The streets are clean, the buildings are well maintained, the piazza was full of young people, the shops are well presented, and the rents appear to be more reasonable.
For now things continue to be on hold. I’m hoping that we’ll secure a place before Easter…. selfishly because I want my own space and I want to buy a bed. Gigi and I are sharing his sister’s single bed, reminding me of our first bedsit in London with its single beds. Twelve years has passed, and we find ourselves back in Europe not far from where it all started. Who could have imagined!

Big quiet things

3rd April 2006, Napoli

Big things happened today; quiet things, significant things, including a few firsts.

After yet another impossible night sharing a single bed with a mattress that is caving in at the middle, Gi left the house at 7:30am for his first appointment, with his first paying client. Apparently it went well. He was punctual; the client was impressed with the massage table and the treatment. He has a few other new clients to treat, and slowly the word will spread. In the meantime he’s started the slow process of converting his Australian qualifications, investigating working from a clinic or a spa, and attempting to determine which government agency to contact to arrange registration and insurance.

I caught the train into the city, unaccompanied, for the first time this morning. Gi has been keeping a close watch on me since we arrived in Naples, but last night when I suggested that I meet him in the city after his massage appointment it didn’t raise an eyebrow. I think after a month of becoming reacquainted with the local scene, demonstrating I can now safely cross the street and make my way through the central train station with some alertness he’s starting to relax. Now catching a train on your own may not seem like a big thing to most of you out there in the ‘real’ world but it is a sign that I can now claim back some independence and self sufficiency without having to rock any boats.

The other big thing was looking at apartments. We had a second viewing of a small apartment in the centre this afternoon including discussions with the landlord. He lives on the island of Ischia…I’m sure that’s a lovely place to set up home. My only real concern is that there is nowhere to put a washing machine, and we’d have to wait for the outlets to be put in place. It seems that finding a place to live in Naples, in a suitable location with access to public transport, clean, reasonable condition, with a kitchen installed (!!) for a reasonable price is an impossible task. We’ve extended our budget recognising that we need to spend a little more if we wish to accommodate any visiting friends and family. Similarly finding something that meets all of our criteria is probably going to be impossible, or take forever. So, for the sake of reclaiming our privacy and personal space we are going to have to compromise on something…like central heating. We looked at another place later in the afternoon; having been told it was ready to rent right away. The place was in a complete state, with restorations clearly underway, furniture turned up, and a shower cubicle that I wouldn’t be able to squeeze into…let alone a more portly visitor. It was just off street level and once inside the noise of the traffic was louder than when we’d been standing on the street. A common problem, Gi explained, due to the structure of the buildings where the noise resonates up a bit like sound entering the ear cavity.

The final big thing was that at 3pm we went back to the Immigration Office to collect my ‘Permit to Stay’. It’s only valid for twelve months but at least that’s now in order and I can work and stay without any complications. However, it was yet another crowd crushing experience as the office closes for lunch and everyone ‘queues’ up from about 2pm for the collection process in the afternoon.

Things do happen here, they just happen slowly. Once we find a place to live, then we can advise the local government of our place of residency. Once we have residency certificates then we can purchase a vehicle. Once we have a vehicle, then we’ll be able to get out of here! Of course, I mean to visit all of those friends living elsewhere in Europe.

It mightn’t sound like it, but we had a few wins, and with the beautiful blue skies of early spring giving the city a more relaxed feel, a warm chocolate filled croissant for breakfast, and a fantastic pizza for lunch it was a good day.