So today's blog isn't happy. It isn't witty or clever. It isn't insightful or historically full of facts. It's not even on time.
While I was on the way back from dinner last night I got a phone call. Yesterday (August 19th) was my Mum's birthday and I'd phoned her earlier in the day. Her number flashed up on Henry's phone which was odd... I answered but I couldn't really hear anything.
Then the line became clear and I heard her sobbing. Dad took the phone off of her and said with devastation in his voice... 'your Grandad has died'
The world stopped.
It's an odd saying, 'the world stopped' isn't it? Obviously it didn't, but what feels like hours go past while your brain tries to process the information it's just been given. It was probably only seconds but it felt like an age.
I didn't even know what to say. What to do. Where to go...
I froze and listened to Dad tell me what had happened. I don't even really remember what he said. It wasn't until he's said 'died' again that it really struck me. I started to cry.
The tram was full and all I was doing was sitting there on the phone crying my eyes out in front of all these strangers.
What the fuck was I supposed to do? What do I say to my Dad? What do you say to a man, to your father, who has always been the big strong one whose looked after you all your life, when all you can hear is hurt and pain in his voice? What do you say to a man who, at 50, has just lost his Dad whom he adored?
I sat in silence. We both did.
Eventually I blurted out through the tears that I'd ring him when I got back to the hotel. I hung up and that's when it hit me. I was 1400 miles away from the place I needed to be and from the people I needed to be with. Unless it's happened to you, you have no idea what that even begins to feel like. To be away, supposedly having fun, seeing the world, having the time of your life and then in a heartbeat it's gone. The happiness, the excitement, the fun. I felt selfish for being away. For not being where at his bedside. For not saying goodbye.
It took me all of five minutes to tell Henry what had happened. Good job he was there really. The thought of being isolated in a foreign country alone utterly petrified me.
The tram ride seemed to go on forever. It normally takes about forty minutes to get back to the hotel but it felt like twice that. We got back and I phoned Mum. She sounded worse than Dad.
My Grandad was 83. His name was Michael Sidney Cavner. He lived through World War Two, in the aftermath of which he met my Nan, Doris. They married and they raised two children together who have each had two grandchildren whom they adore. He founded a business that has supported both his family and his son's families for more than 50 years. He bought a farm in 1991 and bred cows, pigs, sheep, chickens, ducks, geese, turkeys and rabbits. On August 19th he was making a cup of tea for my Nan and himself when he collapsed. He was rushed to hospital but he died of an aortic bleed in his heart. He passed away quietly and peacefully with his family around him.
All of them, except me of course.
Now, some might question why I feel it necessary or important to write a massive blog when someone so close to me has passed away.
I say this to those people.
It's funny how different people grieve. For me, writing things down and making literal sense of things whether on physical paper or on that of a word document is what, right now, is helping.
I'm going to book a flight home in the morning for the funeral. I'm going to stay for about 10 days and help my Nan and family. To stay away would be selfish. I'm missing out Israel on my trip and I'll just skip straight to Moscow. It's probably my mindset right now, but there is a real chance I could just stay at home. I don't even know why.
Now, a word for my boy. Imagine being on holiday having a lovely time with your boyfriend and then all of a sudden him being in tears in the middle of a tram. Without doubt, without him I would be lost. A hug was all I needed. He made me feel safe instantly. I'd have been lost without him.
My Grandad died today. His name was Michael Sidney Cavner. He was 83 years old and I loved him.
I will miss him a lot.
Everything is going to change now, isn't it...
Monday 20 August 2012
Saturday 18 August 2012
Day 21 - Athens: Piraeus
Piraeus is a bustling port about half an hour outside of Athens city centre. It used to be a city in it's own right but the urban sprawl between here and the capital has brought the two cities together.
It's one of the busiest ferry terminals (national, local and international) in Greece and boasts 8 harbours on either side of the headland. We got the metro to Piraeus station and walked past the massive ferries loading Greek families and their cars to go to one of the many Greek islands.
Surrounding the headland is a row of stadia that were used for the 2004 Olympics. I say used and not built because many of them date from the 70's and 80's and were 'refurbished' (painted) for the Athens games. One in particular, the Stadium of Peace and Friendship, looks like it's been abandoned for 8 years when it's actually the home of the Athens basketball team. In fact, it was believed that once the games had ended many of the stadia and venues fell into a state of disrepair. While this aesthetically is the case, many of them have new users despite looking like they've simply been forgotten about. The Olympic stadium is the home to a football club, the diving and swimming aquatics centre is a public swimming pool, the velodrome has hosted 19 international competitions since 2004, and most of the other stadia were bought by football and basketball clubs.
While the infrastructure has remained in place, the legacy has sadly dissipated. Many of the outside basketball, tennis and football pitches go unused. This was only echoed in the Greek medal tally in London this summer.
Had a quick drink at this beautiful cafe called BayWay which overlooked the yachts and boats for sale. Naturally Henry and I boat shopped. We found a lovely one, a bargain at half a million. We'll have two please.
We tried to be all cultural and go to the Greek Maritime Museum but it was closed due to 'holidays' and wouldn't be open again until 27th August. No matter. The yachts were keeping us company well enough.
This marina was called Limani Zeas and then we walked around the headland to a small harbour which was where many of the locals went at night. However, it being day time, it was dead. We stopped for lunch; I had squid and Henry had a Caesar salad (no anchovies) and then went back to the hotel for our afternoon nap.
On the way back we witnessed what I can only describe as public signs of Greek bad temper. While waiting at a station, an old Greek lady went mental, and I mean mental, at the driver. Obviously it was in Greek and we had no idea what she (or he) was saying, but she did say 'tourist' a few times.
Making friends with the locals as always.
The second was when an old man was standing at the door ready to get off and an Asian man stepped straight in front of him with buckets and a squeegee (obviously a window cleaner) and nearly pushed him over. While the old man just moved, another Greek lady had to be physically restrained by her friend while she had a go at this Asian man. She was repeating the same thing in a Catherine Tate 'am I bothered though?' tone. I had to look away for laughing but it was quite amusing to see.
Eventually dragged ourselves out for dinner and decided to go where the guide book said and went to a seafood restaurant called 'Jimmy & the fish' which was apparently famous for it's clam spaghetti. Obviously, neither of us had that... I ordered the seafood ravioli (which was stuffed with crab, prawns, mussels and squid) in a tomato and prawn sauce; it was incredible. Even Henry liked it, and he doesn't eat seafood. He had the steak, which I was a little jealous of because the chips that came with it we're exactly like my Mum's chips. So much so that I could have sworn my Mum was in the kitchen cooking them... Scary.
A bottle of wine later and Henry and I had resorted to guessing the password for the wifi, which he assured me was the phone number of the restaurant (it wasn't) until we decided to go home. On the tram back we sat opposite a boy, probably our age... Picture attached... Very pretty...
Back at the hotel and Henry decided to have a shower. During this quite routine exercise he managed to pull down the shower curtain, not once, but 4 times. I mean come on now. After fixing it for him he finished showering and here we are, me writing this blog, him slightly drunk falling asleep... Awwww they grow up so fast...
So until tomorrow (which is more of the beach) I shall bid you goodnight. I am aware that it's two hours ahead here and by the time many of you read this, we'll be fast asleep in the land of nod.
Much love, my lovelies.
It's one of the busiest ferry terminals (national, local and international) in Greece and boasts 8 harbours on either side of the headland. We got the metro to Piraeus station and walked past the massive ferries loading Greek families and their cars to go to one of the many Greek islands.
Surrounding the headland is a row of stadia that were used for the 2004 Olympics. I say used and not built because many of them date from the 70's and 80's and were 'refurbished' (painted) for the Athens games. One in particular, the Stadium of Peace and Friendship, looks like it's been abandoned for 8 years when it's actually the home of the Athens basketball team. In fact, it was believed that once the games had ended many of the stadia and venues fell into a state of disrepair. While this aesthetically is the case, many of them have new users despite looking like they've simply been forgotten about. The Olympic stadium is the home to a football club, the diving and swimming aquatics centre is a public swimming pool, the velodrome has hosted 19 international competitions since 2004, and most of the other stadia were bought by football and basketball clubs.
While the infrastructure has remained in place, the legacy has sadly dissipated. Many of the outside basketball, tennis and football pitches go unused. This was only echoed in the Greek medal tally in London this summer.
Had a quick drink at this beautiful cafe called BayWay which overlooked the yachts and boats for sale. Naturally Henry and I boat shopped. We found a lovely one, a bargain at half a million. We'll have two please.
We tried to be all cultural and go to the Greek Maritime Museum but it was closed due to 'holidays' and wouldn't be open again until 27th August. No matter. The yachts were keeping us company well enough.
This marina was called Limani Zeas and then we walked around the headland to a small harbour which was where many of the locals went at night. However, it being day time, it was dead. We stopped for lunch; I had squid and Henry had a Caesar salad (no anchovies) and then went back to the hotel for our afternoon nap.
On the way back we witnessed what I can only describe as public signs of Greek bad temper. While waiting at a station, an old Greek lady went mental, and I mean mental, at the driver. Obviously it was in Greek and we had no idea what she (or he) was saying, but she did say 'tourist' a few times.
Making friends with the locals as always.
The second was when an old man was standing at the door ready to get off and an Asian man stepped straight in front of him with buckets and a squeegee (obviously a window cleaner) and nearly pushed him over. While the old man just moved, another Greek lady had to be physically restrained by her friend while she had a go at this Asian man. She was repeating the same thing in a Catherine Tate 'am I bothered though?' tone. I had to look away for laughing but it was quite amusing to see.
Eventually dragged ourselves out for dinner and decided to go where the guide book said and went to a seafood restaurant called 'Jimmy & the fish' which was apparently famous for it's clam spaghetti. Obviously, neither of us had that... I ordered the seafood ravioli (which was stuffed with crab, prawns, mussels and squid) in a tomato and prawn sauce; it was incredible. Even Henry liked it, and he doesn't eat seafood. He had the steak, which I was a little jealous of because the chips that came with it we're exactly like my Mum's chips. So much so that I could have sworn my Mum was in the kitchen cooking them... Scary.
A bottle of wine later and Henry and I had resorted to guessing the password for the wifi, which he assured me was the phone number of the restaurant (it wasn't) until we decided to go home. On the tram back we sat opposite a boy, probably our age... Picture attached... Very pretty...
Back at the hotel and Henry decided to have a shower. During this quite routine exercise he managed to pull down the shower curtain, not once, but 4 times. I mean come on now. After fixing it for him he finished showering and here we are, me writing this blog, him slightly drunk falling asleep... Awwww they grow up so fast...
So until tomorrow (which is more of the beach) I shall bid you goodnight. I am aware that it's two hours ahead here and by the time many of you read this, we'll be fast asleep in the land of nod.
Much love, my lovelies.
Friday 17 August 2012
Day 20 - Athens: To the Acropolis
Lovely sleep. Woke up and went to breakfast again, stuffed ourselves silly and then headed out, this time away from the main road we had navigated by, across to what I thought was the closest tram stop.
On the way we went through a street market. It was brilliant. It was mainly selling fruit but there was also a fishmonger and someone selling eggs. It was lovely.
The fruitiers were selling only one or two different varieties of fruit each. One sold tomatoes and peaches, while the next one sold aubergines and courgettes. It was lovely, and so cheap... Big watermelons, and I mean big, like the size of a fat baby, we're 60cents each. You got 8 big beef tomatoes for €1 and two bunches of huge grapes for 50cents. The fish was equally as cheap, and a big octopus was €2 (so big that you wouldn't want one in your eye for a bit of grit).
So got to the tram and headed to the centre of the city. We got off at Parliament Square and had a look at the tomb of the unknown soldier. This is where the Athens riots had centred around since 2010.
The riots have been on and off for the past two years. It's probably fair to call them protests rather than riots as most of them are peaceful. The most recent one was April 5th and in two years, only 5 people have died. It sounds harsh but you should remember than Greek police carry loaded guns. The general reason people protest, obviously, are the austerity measures and general hatred towards the political party. Two months ago a new coalition government was elected and it is hoped Greece's problems are not now over, but certainly on the improvement. It is thought tourism is the only way out of the crisis for the Greeks... We'll see.
We watched the changing of the guard (which was highly hysterical). The guards have a ridiculous walk, silly little pom poms on their feet and stupid hats with tassels going down to their waist. Afterwards, as they aren't allowed to move, another guard in an army uniform came and wiped their brow and sorted their tassels out and then said, in an incredibly British accent "pictures, one by one, do not touch". So we joined the queue obediently and had our photo taken with them (Henry's choice, I didn't even want to....) (I did)
So then we went into the sprawling city and headed in the general direction of the acropolis.
The acropolis is known as 'the sacred rock' of Athens and rises 275metres above street level. Acropolis actually means 'High City' and that's what is up there; a small city.
Sticking to stereotypes, Henry and I headed around to the back entrance of the hill to see if we could slip in undetected, successfully so. I didn't pay because I had a student card, Henry did pay. He doesn't have a student card as 'you can never use them, they always say they don't accept them and you never actually save any money with them' (He has a hatred of the NUS)
We climbed to the top (a good 30 minute hike) and the views were outstanding. There is so much history here, I'm going to try and cram it in to a few minutes for you.
The Partheon (the centre piece of the acropolis) was built in 450BC however the site has been in use since the Neolithic times and has changed and transformed many times. It's construction is unlike any other temple in the Greek or Roman empire. The columns at the front of the temple are slightly thicker at the base than at the top, and the entire temple sits, not level on the acropolis, but follows the curvature of the earth.
During Athens' golden age (400's BC) it was home to a 10 metre high pure ivory and gold statue of Athena (the goddess after which the city is named). This was stolen many years ago and the remaining marble friezes are held in the British Museum (much to the annoyance of the Greeks). The biggest catastrophe was in 1697 when the Venetians fired upon the Turks (the rulers at the time) who were occupying the Partheon. The Turks were using the Partheon as a gunpowder store and the resulting explosion essentially destroyed the side of the temple. Since 1975, the entire acropolis has been residence to huge cranes and scaffolding as the Greek government are slowly (they've run out of money) restoring the acropolis.
After we'd climbed down the hilariously steep slope we headed into the air conditioned and brand new Acropolis Museum. It features all of the statues and marble that has been removed from the summit while the restoration takes place. It was free for students (Henry waited while I bought the tickets this time) so we went in and wondered around. It's a little underwhelming and the marble statues have mainly been cast into plaster so you can see what they would have looked like... After an hour or so we got bored and left.
One thing that strikes me is how loving of children the Greeks are. Even teenagers show affection towards toddlers and babies. It's lovely how important family is. We stopped for lunch and our waiter was beautiful. I had a Cesar salad and Henry had spaghetti. Very Greek.....
We went to the district of Plaka which is very pretty and full of little souvenir shops. We wondered around the streets for hours then nipped back to the hotel for a nap before going out to dinner.
Earlier we had walked past a restaurant and the owner had given us a card and folded the corner saying that we could have a free glass of wine if we came back later. Never one to pass on an offer for free wine, we went there.
We had a lamb and potato dish, a chicken dish and a Greek salad. It was delish!
Another beautifully hot day... More of the same promised for tomorrow, thank god. I think we're going to go to the harbour and look at the old Olympic stadium which apparently is in ruins. That'll be nice!
So until then, goodnight sexy people.
On the way we went through a street market. It was brilliant. It was mainly selling fruit but there was also a fishmonger and someone selling eggs. It was lovely.
The fruitiers were selling only one or two different varieties of fruit each. One sold tomatoes and peaches, while the next one sold aubergines and courgettes. It was lovely, and so cheap... Big watermelons, and I mean big, like the size of a fat baby, we're 60cents each. You got 8 big beef tomatoes for €1 and two bunches of huge grapes for 50cents. The fish was equally as cheap, and a big octopus was €2 (so big that you wouldn't want one in your eye for a bit of grit).
So got to the tram and headed to the centre of the city. We got off at Parliament Square and had a look at the tomb of the unknown soldier. This is where the Athens riots had centred around since 2010.
The riots have been on and off for the past two years. It's probably fair to call them protests rather than riots as most of them are peaceful. The most recent one was April 5th and in two years, only 5 people have died. It sounds harsh but you should remember than Greek police carry loaded guns. The general reason people protest, obviously, are the austerity measures and general hatred towards the political party. Two months ago a new coalition government was elected and it is hoped Greece's problems are not now over, but certainly on the improvement. It is thought tourism is the only way out of the crisis for the Greeks... We'll see.
We watched the changing of the guard (which was highly hysterical). The guards have a ridiculous walk, silly little pom poms on their feet and stupid hats with tassels going down to their waist. Afterwards, as they aren't allowed to move, another guard in an army uniform came and wiped their brow and sorted their tassels out and then said, in an incredibly British accent "pictures, one by one, do not touch". So we joined the queue obediently and had our photo taken with them (Henry's choice, I didn't even want to....) (I did)
So then we went into the sprawling city and headed in the general direction of the acropolis.
The acropolis is known as 'the sacred rock' of Athens and rises 275metres above street level. Acropolis actually means 'High City' and that's what is up there; a small city.
Sticking to stereotypes, Henry and I headed around to the back entrance of the hill to see if we could slip in undetected, successfully so. I didn't pay because I had a student card, Henry did pay. He doesn't have a student card as 'you can never use them, they always say they don't accept them and you never actually save any money with them' (He has a hatred of the NUS)
We climbed to the top (a good 30 minute hike) and the views were outstanding. There is so much history here, I'm going to try and cram it in to a few minutes for you.
The Partheon (the centre piece of the acropolis) was built in 450BC however the site has been in use since the Neolithic times and has changed and transformed many times. It's construction is unlike any other temple in the Greek or Roman empire. The columns at the front of the temple are slightly thicker at the base than at the top, and the entire temple sits, not level on the acropolis, but follows the curvature of the earth.
During Athens' golden age (400's BC) it was home to a 10 metre high pure ivory and gold statue of Athena (the goddess after which the city is named). This was stolen many years ago and the remaining marble friezes are held in the British Museum (much to the annoyance of the Greeks). The biggest catastrophe was in 1697 when the Venetians fired upon the Turks (the rulers at the time) who were occupying the Partheon. The Turks were using the Partheon as a gunpowder store and the resulting explosion essentially destroyed the side of the temple. Since 1975, the entire acropolis has been residence to huge cranes and scaffolding as the Greek government are slowly (they've run out of money) restoring the acropolis.
After we'd climbed down the hilariously steep slope we headed into the air conditioned and brand new Acropolis Museum. It features all of the statues and marble that has been removed from the summit while the restoration takes place. It was free for students (Henry waited while I bought the tickets this time) so we went in and wondered around. It's a little underwhelming and the marble statues have mainly been cast into plaster so you can see what they would have looked like... After an hour or so we got bored and left.
One thing that strikes me is how loving of children the Greeks are. Even teenagers show affection towards toddlers and babies. It's lovely how important family is. We stopped for lunch and our waiter was beautiful. I had a Cesar salad and Henry had spaghetti. Very Greek.....
We went to the district of Plaka which is very pretty and full of little souvenir shops. We wondered around the streets for hours then nipped back to the hotel for a nap before going out to dinner.
Earlier we had walked past a restaurant and the owner had given us a card and folded the corner saying that we could have a free glass of wine if we came back later. Never one to pass on an offer for free wine, we went there.
We had a lamb and potato dish, a chicken dish and a Greek salad. It was delish!
Another beautifully hot day... More of the same promised for tomorrow, thank god. I think we're going to go to the harbour and look at the old Olympic stadium which apparently is in ruins. That'll be nice!
So until then, goodnight sexy people.
Thursday 16 August 2012
Day 19 - Athens: to the beach, each, let's go get away
Was awoken this morning by Henry telling me that someone was playing Goyte - Somebody that I used to know in the street. Swiftly went back to sleep and pretended he didn't wake me (it was 5.30am)
When we eventually got up we went down to breakfast (just made it) and stuffed our faces. Bacon, eggs, sausage, crossiants, toast, tea and (crap) coffee, ham, cheese, cake, cereal, you name it, we had it. Henry also did the age old British thing and wrapped a biscuit thing up and took an orange for later. Oh how he conforms to stereotypes... I've only been out of the country for three weeks but I'm quite used to the heat, Henry however was sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish market; 'it's not like British heat is it?' 'It's hot isn't it? Might be too hot' etc
So got the tram to the beach, a whole hour away ( 39 stops) from the hotel to a beach on recommendation from the hotel receptionist. You watch, we'll get there and it'll be run by the receptionist brother in law and be incredibly expensive....
So finally got to the beach and my god, Stavros (I've decided to name our receptionist Stavros) wasn't wrong. The beach was stunning. You had to pay, as you do on all beaches, and lounger hire was extra but it wasn't expensive. The 'resort' was called South Coast and my favourite feature was the boys walking around with Buzz Lightyear communicators on their wrists taking drinks orders.
Went for a lovely swim and sunbathed for a few hours. It was fab. Henry got sunburnt. I did try and tell him.
Anyway, it was quite nice to just do nothing for a day. It's kinda been two and a half weeks in a row of non stop sightseeing, so just to swim and sit and drink and eat was lovely.
Ordered room service again. Henry paid. Going to be a cheap week for me ;)
Lovely. So my gorgeous' I shall say goodnight. Quite a short blog today, I'll put more effort in tomorrow. Henry's told me I can have an hour every day to write it :)
Much love x
When we eventually got up we went down to breakfast (just made it) and stuffed our faces. Bacon, eggs, sausage, crossiants, toast, tea and (crap) coffee, ham, cheese, cake, cereal, you name it, we had it. Henry also did the age old British thing and wrapped a biscuit thing up and took an orange for later. Oh how he conforms to stereotypes... I've only been out of the country for three weeks but I'm quite used to the heat, Henry however was sweating like a blind lesbian in a fish market; 'it's not like British heat is it?' 'It's hot isn't it? Might be too hot' etc
So got the tram to the beach, a whole hour away ( 39 stops) from the hotel to a beach on recommendation from the hotel receptionist. You watch, we'll get there and it'll be run by the receptionist brother in law and be incredibly expensive....
So finally got to the beach and my god, Stavros (I've decided to name our receptionist Stavros) wasn't wrong. The beach was stunning. You had to pay, as you do on all beaches, and lounger hire was extra but it wasn't expensive. The 'resort' was called South Coast and my favourite feature was the boys walking around with Buzz Lightyear communicators on their wrists taking drinks orders.
Went for a lovely swim and sunbathed for a few hours. It was fab. Henry got sunburnt. I did try and tell him.
Anyway, it was quite nice to just do nothing for a day. It's kinda been two and a half weeks in a row of non stop sightseeing, so just to swim and sit and drink and eat was lovely.
Ordered room service again. Henry paid. Going to be a cheap week for me ;)
Lovely. So my gorgeous' I shall say goodnight. Quite a short blog today, I'll put more effort in tomorrow. Henry's told me I can have an hour every day to write it :)
Much love x
Day 18 - Naples to Athens: TAXI
Got up at 5.30am, showered and got my stuff together. The other 9 boys in the room were away in the land of nod, but as they'd woken me up at 3am (bastards) I made sure I made a bit of noise when I closed the door.
Got downstairs and the receptionist was asleep. What the hell?! I waited for a couple of minutes while I decided what to do, but then his alarm went off. He sat bolt upright and said morning as if he hadn't been asleep. He put his flip flops on and walked behind the desk, ordered me a taxi and then promptly went back to sleep (after giving me the key deposit and opening the door). Italians hey!
The taxi ride, was... Well....
In the immortal words of Sheldon Cooper, when your 'check engine' light is on, you should check your engine.
His check engine light was on. And not in amber. In red. He didn't seem too bothered by this... But then he also didn't seem bothered by red lights, other road users, pedestrians, indicators, road tolls, curbs, me, himself or the brake pedal. The list could go on...
We got to the airport, I paid my €19, and then waited for my check in counter to be announced. I asked, but it seemed they wouldn't open until 8am. It was now 6.45am.
Piss it.
Bought a paper, read that. Bought a kit kat (breakfast), ate that. Bought some gum, chewed that. Finally, the minutes ticked past and I threw my bags at the same woman who in fact hadn't done anything since I first arrived (I watched) and joined the back of the longest security queue I've ever seen.
Now, I should remind you at this point that Europeans in general do not queue like the British. We see a line and courteously join at the back... Alas, my fellow passengers thought this wasn't for them, and instead just walked to the front. Once the third person had gone past, I tutted loudly (as Brits do) and shook my head. A Liverpudlian lady saw me, and said 'they're so rude'. Between me and her family of four we made a human barrier in the queue. The irate Italians behind kept saying excuse me in English but we pretended we couldn't understand them... Awwwwww.
Gate A9 for my flight... Lovely. My favourite gate number...
As I sat and waited for my boarding to start I watched the other flights line up to depart. I tried to guess where each line was going without looking at the departure board.
Totally pale skinned and a few ginger people... Obviously the flight to Dublin... YES!
Fake tanned, despite being in southern Italy for a week, massive hoop earrings, skin tight jeans three sizes too small... Liverpool... YES!
Two for two.
Slightly 'out of it', long shaggy hair, look like they've had a late night and an early start... Amsterdam... YES!
Going well.
Olive skin, not really 'queueing', talking with their hands... Milan... YES!
Towels over the suitcases... Berlin... YES!
Easy one.
Moody, beret, carrying a baguette... Paris... YES!
Okay, so I made the last two up but you get the general idea. Airports are the funniest places ever, you see the best and worst of humanity.
Oh! And there was a man wearing crocs. I don't care what anyone says; there is NEVER an excuse. Don't wear them.
'Those crocs look really nice on you' said no one, ever.
When I was checking in, a Norwegian family were at the next counter; a mother and father and their three sons. All perfectly blonde. They're sat opposite me right now. Watching them restores my faith in the world a little.
Their eldest son, about 17, is playing with his little brothers, perhaps 9 or 10. The mother and father are sitting looking into each others eyes. They all look so happy. It was very cute. Not really sure why I'm telling you this... Another little anecdote for you all to read while you're going to bed.
Got on the plane. It was... Well tiny. Only four seats across. Arrived in Athens and the tiny plane decided to park (do planes park?) at the furthest point from the terminal so off the plane onto a bus to the baggage reclaim. Brilliantly my bag was first so grabbed it and walked through arrivals and who should I see....
Henry.
The little shit of a boyfriend had surprised me and was spending a week with me in Athens. Cutie pie.
No hostel living for me. The four star hotel that Henry had booked was in the city, so we got a taxi that took us straight there. Lovely
This is going to be a good week.
We crashed at the hotel and unpacked. Naturally I did my washing in the bath so I have clothes to wear for the week.
Anyway. We went for a walk and stumbled across the original Olympic stadium. It's €1.50 to get in and has a free audio guide.
It was and still is the biggest structure in the world made purely out of white marble and can hold 60,000 people. It's very impressive. We climbed to the top and looked out into the distance. The Acropolis stands high above the city in the background. Henry said we're doing that in the morning because it gets crowded in the afternoon; who's the worldy traveller now.
So walked back and went to bed.
Yup. 9.50pm and I was fast asleep.
So join us tomorrow for more Henry and Olly adventures!
Loves x
Got downstairs and the receptionist was asleep. What the hell?! I waited for a couple of minutes while I decided what to do, but then his alarm went off. He sat bolt upright and said morning as if he hadn't been asleep. He put his flip flops on and walked behind the desk, ordered me a taxi and then promptly went back to sleep (after giving me the key deposit and opening the door). Italians hey!
The taxi ride, was... Well....
In the immortal words of Sheldon Cooper, when your 'check engine' light is on, you should check your engine.
His check engine light was on. And not in amber. In red. He didn't seem too bothered by this... But then he also didn't seem bothered by red lights, other road users, pedestrians, indicators, road tolls, curbs, me, himself or the brake pedal. The list could go on...
We got to the airport, I paid my €19, and then waited for my check in counter to be announced. I asked, but it seemed they wouldn't open until 8am. It was now 6.45am.
Piss it.
Bought a paper, read that. Bought a kit kat (breakfast), ate that. Bought some gum, chewed that. Finally, the minutes ticked past and I threw my bags at the same woman who in fact hadn't done anything since I first arrived (I watched) and joined the back of the longest security queue I've ever seen.
Now, I should remind you at this point that Europeans in general do not queue like the British. We see a line and courteously join at the back... Alas, my fellow passengers thought this wasn't for them, and instead just walked to the front. Once the third person had gone past, I tutted loudly (as Brits do) and shook my head. A Liverpudlian lady saw me, and said 'they're so rude'. Between me and her family of four we made a human barrier in the queue. The irate Italians behind kept saying excuse me in English but we pretended we couldn't understand them... Awwwwww.
Gate A9 for my flight... Lovely. My favourite gate number...
As I sat and waited for my boarding to start I watched the other flights line up to depart. I tried to guess where each line was going without looking at the departure board.
Totally pale skinned and a few ginger people... Obviously the flight to Dublin... YES!
Fake tanned, despite being in southern Italy for a week, massive hoop earrings, skin tight jeans three sizes too small... Liverpool... YES!
Two for two.
Slightly 'out of it', long shaggy hair, look like they've had a late night and an early start... Amsterdam... YES!
Going well.
Olive skin, not really 'queueing', talking with their hands... Milan... YES!
Towels over the suitcases... Berlin... YES!
Easy one.
Moody, beret, carrying a baguette... Paris... YES!
Okay, so I made the last two up but you get the general idea. Airports are the funniest places ever, you see the best and worst of humanity.
Oh! And there was a man wearing crocs. I don't care what anyone says; there is NEVER an excuse. Don't wear them.
'Those crocs look really nice on you' said no one, ever.
When I was checking in, a Norwegian family were at the next counter; a mother and father and their three sons. All perfectly blonde. They're sat opposite me right now. Watching them restores my faith in the world a little.
Their eldest son, about 17, is playing with his little brothers, perhaps 9 or 10. The mother and father are sitting looking into each others eyes. They all look so happy. It was very cute. Not really sure why I'm telling you this... Another little anecdote for you all to read while you're going to bed.
Got on the plane. It was... Well tiny. Only four seats across. Arrived in Athens and the tiny plane decided to park (do planes park?) at the furthest point from the terminal so off the plane onto a bus to the baggage reclaim. Brilliantly my bag was first so grabbed it and walked through arrivals and who should I see....
Henry.
The little shit of a boyfriend had surprised me and was spending a week with me in Athens. Cutie pie.
No hostel living for me. The four star hotel that Henry had booked was in the city, so we got a taxi that took us straight there. Lovely
This is going to be a good week.
We crashed at the hotel and unpacked. Naturally I did my washing in the bath so I have clothes to wear for the week.
Anyway. We went for a walk and stumbled across the original Olympic stadium. It's €1.50 to get in and has a free audio guide.
It was and still is the biggest structure in the world made purely out of white marble and can hold 60,000 people. It's very impressive. We climbed to the top and looked out into the distance. The Acropolis stands high above the city in the background. Henry said we're doing that in the morning because it gets crowded in the afternoon; who's the worldy traveller now.
So walked back and went to bed.
Yup. 9.50pm and I was fast asleep.
So join us tomorrow for more Henry and Olly adventures!
Loves x
Tuesday 14 August 2012
Day 17 - Naples: Final day
So today I did... Nothing...
No seriously
Well I ate. And packed. And talked to the guys on the front desk for a bit and then tweeted loads.
Looking forward to Athens tomorrow :)
No seriously
Well I ate. And packed. And talked to the guys on the front desk for a bit and then tweeted loads.
Looking forward to Athens tomorrow :)
Monday 13 August 2012
Day 16 - Naples: Pompeii
You guessed it. I went to Pompeii.
For those of you who don't know, or never listened in history, Pompeii is a Roman town which was devastated by the eruption of Mount Vesuvius in 79AD.
It isn't quite the disaster that is made out, from what my guide told me. Several years earlier, a massive earthquake had ruined the city, and many of the 20,000 residents had been evacuated; only 2,000 remained and when the eruption happened, the city had just finished rebuilding itself to it's former glory, hence the beautiful state of the city.
Many people (including I) think that the city is so well preserved because it was covered in lava. This isn't the case. Pompeii sits just a top a small hill, and so the lava didn't reach the city limits. The ash, and the gasses, are what put Pompeii to bed.
Many people left the city almost instantly once the ash began to fall. The eruption happened at noon and by 4pm, all but 50 people were left in the city. Those 50 people were town officials and business men who could not leave. Within two days the ash had covered the city in up to 6 metres of ash. The sheer weight of the ash on roofs made the weak wooden structures collapse; the walls obviously still remain.
Believe it or not, Pompeii remained undiscovered until 1594 when an archeologist found what is now a very small house outside the city which turned out to be the office of the city cemetery. He reported the find, but not until 1687 did the entirety and scale of his discovery become apparent. The city fills nearly 100 hectares with only about 40 unearthed, or unashed.
Archeologists have excavated over the years and essentially found a perfectly preserved Roman city. There are perfect paintings (frescos) on walls and ceilings, and pots and pans left exactly how they were when the eruption happened.
It's quite like someone just all of a sudden made all the people disappear in the middle of their lives. Regular people just going about their business and then all of a sudden they were told to pack their things, get on chariots and leave.
Indeed as I mentioned before, some people did not leave and their fate has since become famous world wide. When, in 1925, archeologists were surveying the ground, they found voids under the ash. Luckily, for they did not know what these were, they injected liquid plaster into these voids, let it set, and then removed the surrounding ash. What remained were bones, I'm exactly the same position they had fallen. While the flesh decomposed over thousands of years, the imprints of their faces are horrendously human. One even shows a look of pure panic. The most memorable of these plaster casts is one woman, which lays, on her front with her arms out in front of her as if she has just fallen over running away. She is now turned over and you can see how she has one shoe on, not two. Her face is detailed enough to show that she has succumb to the poisonous gases which suffocated anyone who dared not to leave.
The rest of the excavations are incredibly beautiful. Many of them have been restored to exactly the way they would have looked in 79AD. The bakers shows the ovens and grindstone in the courtyard. Outside the public baths there is even a 'fast food joint' with a marble counter with holes in which still had their lids. They found wood remains found under these holes which indicates that they had food in which was kept warm to sell. Sort of like McDonald's.
Except not shit.
The incredible thing about the shops and houses is that you can still see perfectly how people lived. Small sinks in corners of butchers shops and little marble counters in the fishmongers. Even the grooves in the door way where the shutters were pulled across.
The only purely brick building, which hence survived the weight of the ash, was the theatre. It remained perfectly preserved, candles included. It was something. It held 5,000 people when full and many reckon this is where the city folk would have assembled to be told of the evacuations.
The roads, as my tour guide in Rome had told me, were exactly the right width. 5 steps. However, Pompeii was different. It was one of the major cities along the coast which didn't have an underground sewerage network. Because of this, the Romans adapted the roads to suit. The roads were set half a metre down into the earth so water could flow along them, and at cross roads there were stepping stones for pedestrians to cross the roads, similar to zebra crossings. The stepping stones we're the same size all over the empire, two inches smaller than the width of the wheels on chariots. There were perfect grooves either side of the stones where the chariots ran over the stones.
Such a lovely place, but incredibly hot. Definitely didn't help my sun burn
That's be all blogged out tonight... See you tomorrow!
X
For those of you who don't know, or never listened in history, Pompeii is a Roman town which was devastated by the eruption of Mount Vesuvius in 79AD.
It isn't quite the disaster that is made out, from what my guide told me. Several years earlier, a massive earthquake had ruined the city, and many of the 20,000 residents had been evacuated; only 2,000 remained and when the eruption happened, the city had just finished rebuilding itself to it's former glory, hence the beautiful state of the city.
Many people (including I) think that the city is so well preserved because it was covered in lava. This isn't the case. Pompeii sits just a top a small hill, and so the lava didn't reach the city limits. The ash, and the gasses, are what put Pompeii to bed.
Many people left the city almost instantly once the ash began to fall. The eruption happened at noon and by 4pm, all but 50 people were left in the city. Those 50 people were town officials and business men who could not leave. Within two days the ash had covered the city in up to 6 metres of ash. The sheer weight of the ash on roofs made the weak wooden structures collapse; the walls obviously still remain.
Believe it or not, Pompeii remained undiscovered until 1594 when an archeologist found what is now a very small house outside the city which turned out to be the office of the city cemetery. He reported the find, but not until 1687 did the entirety and scale of his discovery become apparent. The city fills nearly 100 hectares with only about 40 unearthed, or unashed.
Archeologists have excavated over the years and essentially found a perfectly preserved Roman city. There are perfect paintings (frescos) on walls and ceilings, and pots and pans left exactly how they were when the eruption happened.
It's quite like someone just all of a sudden made all the people disappear in the middle of their lives. Regular people just going about their business and then all of a sudden they were told to pack their things, get on chariots and leave.
Indeed as I mentioned before, some people did not leave and their fate has since become famous world wide. When, in 1925, archeologists were surveying the ground, they found voids under the ash. Luckily, for they did not know what these were, they injected liquid plaster into these voids, let it set, and then removed the surrounding ash. What remained were bones, I'm exactly the same position they had fallen. While the flesh decomposed over thousands of years, the imprints of their faces are horrendously human. One even shows a look of pure panic. The most memorable of these plaster casts is one woman, which lays, on her front with her arms out in front of her as if she has just fallen over running away. She is now turned over and you can see how she has one shoe on, not two. Her face is detailed enough to show that she has succumb to the poisonous gases which suffocated anyone who dared not to leave.
The rest of the excavations are incredibly beautiful. Many of them have been restored to exactly the way they would have looked in 79AD. The bakers shows the ovens and grindstone in the courtyard. Outside the public baths there is even a 'fast food joint' with a marble counter with holes in which still had their lids. They found wood remains found under these holes which indicates that they had food in which was kept warm to sell. Sort of like McDonald's.
Except not shit.
The incredible thing about the shops and houses is that you can still see perfectly how people lived. Small sinks in corners of butchers shops and little marble counters in the fishmongers. Even the grooves in the door way where the shutters were pulled across.
The only purely brick building, which hence survived the weight of the ash, was the theatre. It remained perfectly preserved, candles included. It was something. It held 5,000 people when full and many reckon this is where the city folk would have assembled to be told of the evacuations.
The roads, as my tour guide in Rome had told me, were exactly the right width. 5 steps. However, Pompeii was different. It was one of the major cities along the coast which didn't have an underground sewerage network. Because of this, the Romans adapted the roads to suit. The roads were set half a metre down into the earth so water could flow along them, and at cross roads there were stepping stones for pedestrians to cross the roads, similar to zebra crossings. The stepping stones we're the same size all over the empire, two inches smaller than the width of the wheels on chariots. There were perfect grooves either side of the stones where the chariots ran over the stones.
Such a lovely place, but incredibly hot. Definitely didn't help my sun burn
That's be all blogged out tonight... See you tomorrow!
X
Day 15 - Naples: BOAT BOAT BOAT BOAT
Yeah, you guessed it. Today, I went on a boat.
The tour started in Sorrento, about an hour from Naples on the train, I had to get up at 6.30am. Eurgh. Got to the train station back at Garibaldi for the 8.13am train, or as I like to call it, the carriages of mayhem. They were packed, the train was made up of 4 carriages and was utterly crammed. Needless to say, for €2 I couldn't moan too much. The train is run by a small company who run the trains back and forth to Sorrento and Naples and no where else. It is the only way to get to Sorrento and the track is probably 60 years old.
It dips in and out of valleys and through towns along the way, until about 10 minutes from Sorrento, it dives into a tunnel about 1/2 mile long. At the end, it emerges into what I shall now call the Valley of Death. The train goes over the valley, across a bridge no wider than the train itself. Even the locals on the train made a noise resembling what my head was saying .... I.e. 'oh my fucking Jesus Christ, Mary mother of God, Joseph and the donkey they rode in on'. But you'll be glad to know I kept my cool.
Alas, at the next station, the carriage went from crammed to disgustingly revoltingly crammed. The only way I can describe it, is imagine you're a foetus... In the womb... Without oxygen... And with 2,000 other people... None of whom speak English. Basically, imagine your worst nightmare and times it by 36,000,000... Then you're close to how I felt in that train; sardines have more room in a can.
Finally got to Serrento (after what felt like 9 months) and we exited the train (in much the same fashion as a baby exits a vagina - that is, slowly and painfully) onto the platform. I lingered to let the crowds pass before leaving the station, but as it got to a safe point to leave, another train arrived and just as many, if not more people got onto the platform.... I ran for it.
I was meeting my skipper at 10, and the train got in at 9.36 so I lingered at the station and then a very attractive young man walked up to me and said 'Sebastiano' who was the guy taking the tour, and lead me half way through Sorrento to a small courtyard and said 'you wait, with me, soon we go'. It was like something out of a film.
Needless to say, the young man didn't speak a word of English beyond what he has already said..... Sebastiano soon arrived with the rest his family; I had already met Ronaldo, his eldest son and he had another son and daughter (twins - Enrico and Tamo) and his wife.
Following behind were the two other people who were coming on the tour with us; two Brits, from Ilford in East London, one of whom I later found out had been to Loughborough Uni; small world hey!
We walked through the town to the harbour and jumped on the boat, a 30ft ribbed speed boat. I jumped on the front, the other two Brits at the back and the elder son who'd met me at the train station sat down opposite me with his brother (who was equally as beautiful) and their sister sat next to me.
We set out from the harbour along the coast with Sebastiano pointing out things to the other Brits and Ronaldo, Enrico and Tamo telling me things. It was lovely. So anyway, we pulled up in a tiny cove and dropped anchor. All of a sudden, the entire family were stripping off and getting ready to swim... Enrico and Ronaldo wore the smallest shorts I have ever seen and Tamo's breasts were crammed into her bikini top and looked like two ferrets in a bag. Once stripped, they jumped in and I swiftly followed.
We swam towards a cliff face and then Ronaldo, took my hand and said 'breathe, under, follow me' and he dragged me under the water just as I took a deep breath. He pulled me up into a tiny cave which glistened green and orange... It was the most beautiful thing. I was speechless.
Had I have had a waterproof camera, you'd have been able to see, but I guess this one is just for me...
We were treading water while Sebastiano told us that this was the cave of lovers, and it was good luck to kiss twice the person on each side of you. On my left I had the Sebastiano's wife and the other, I had Enrico. We kissed on each others cheeks and then one by one headed out to the boat.
I'll remember that cave for ever. So quiet and peaceful...
Back on the boat we headed to Capri. Said like cap (as in the hat) and ree (as in, the world split up, not said like the car.... If that makes sense). It's a small island off the mainland in the Bay of Naples crammed full of Italian families on holiday.
Across the open water, Enrico taught me to drive the boat, it was a little choppy, but nothing me and my co-captain couldn't handle. We docked and headed for lunch.
Sebastiano was clearly well known on the island, he already had a table booked at a restaurant and we all sat down. He explained that we didn't have to order, because they were going to have the best food and we could pick and choose what we liked. It was beautiful. Seafood and fish and pizza for Enrico (who sat next to me and kept trying to force feed me anchovies)
After we'd eaten, the two Brits headed into the town and I decided to stay with the family (purely for cultural reasons - the little red shorts the boys were wearing class as cultural right?) and drink more wine in the restaurant.
So while we were there, the boys tried to teach me some Italian words. I learnt 'bingenarto' not sure on the spelling, but it means, basically 'your mum' but it means the same for brother and sister. And also learnt 'ajen werto' which means, touch me quickly (basically masturbation).
Their dad kept telling them off in Italian. So I taught them some English words. I was cheeky. Taught them rimming and cottaging (got the same reaction as when I told Mary from work) and showed Ronaldo Grindr. He thought it was hilarious, his brother Enrico seemed more interested though. Once we had eaten we headed to the beach and Enrico and Ronaldo introduced me to their friends, we sat and sun bathed (I just burnt) for an hour or so. They were all hilarious. Doing impressions of each other and 'taking the piss' out of each others girlfriends. I learnt that Ronaldo didn't have a girlfriend or boyfriend, (he was definitely straight) and when asked, Enrico didn't answer, although his reaction to Grindr already told me all I needed to know.
We headed back to the boat after saying goodbye to their friends and they let me drive again. This time Enrico insisted on putting his hand on top of mine when it was on the throttle. I found this flattering.... But once I'd told him about Henry, he stopped doing it but continued to press himself against me and point things out on the coast.
When we were crossing back to the mainland we were going full pelt and Sebastiano reached up and stopped the engines. He pointed out of the boat and said 'Tuna'. Instantly the boys got excited and got their nets out. Sebastiano rowed us closer and you could see the 18inch or so tuna jumping out of the water feeding on sardines. As we just got close enough, a tuna jumped straight over Enrico's net and then they were gone. From what I could get, the family wound him up about it all the way back.
We got back to the harbour and I paid my (now vastly reduced price, from €80 to €30 which covered the food and fuel Sebastiano said) and bid my fair wells.
Back on the train to Naples (two hours) and straight to bed once I got back. I was so tired....
Best day on the trip so far. Without a doubt.
Must get me some red shorts.
Until tomorrow :)
P.S I have attached a picture of Ronaldo for you. Enrico wouldn't let me take a picture, but they're bothers, you can imagine it yourself.
The tour started in Sorrento, about an hour from Naples on the train, I had to get up at 6.30am. Eurgh. Got to the train station back at Garibaldi for the 8.13am train, or as I like to call it, the carriages of mayhem. They were packed, the train was made up of 4 carriages and was utterly crammed. Needless to say, for €2 I couldn't moan too much. The train is run by a small company who run the trains back and forth to Sorrento and Naples and no where else. It is the only way to get to Sorrento and the track is probably 60 years old.
It dips in and out of valleys and through towns along the way, until about 10 minutes from Sorrento, it dives into a tunnel about 1/2 mile long. At the end, it emerges into what I shall now call the Valley of Death. The train goes over the valley, across a bridge no wider than the train itself. Even the locals on the train made a noise resembling what my head was saying .... I.e. 'oh my fucking Jesus Christ, Mary mother of God, Joseph and the donkey they rode in on'. But you'll be glad to know I kept my cool.
Alas, at the next station, the carriage went from crammed to disgustingly revoltingly crammed. The only way I can describe it, is imagine you're a foetus... In the womb... Without oxygen... And with 2,000 other people... None of whom speak English. Basically, imagine your worst nightmare and times it by 36,000,000... Then you're close to how I felt in that train; sardines have more room in a can.
Finally got to Serrento (after what felt like 9 months) and we exited the train (in much the same fashion as a baby exits a vagina - that is, slowly and painfully) onto the platform. I lingered to let the crowds pass before leaving the station, but as it got to a safe point to leave, another train arrived and just as many, if not more people got onto the platform.... I ran for it.
I was meeting my skipper at 10, and the train got in at 9.36 so I lingered at the station and then a very attractive young man walked up to me and said 'Sebastiano' who was the guy taking the tour, and lead me half way through Sorrento to a small courtyard and said 'you wait, with me, soon we go'. It was like something out of a film.
Needless to say, the young man didn't speak a word of English beyond what he has already said..... Sebastiano soon arrived with the rest his family; I had already met Ronaldo, his eldest son and he had another son and daughter (twins - Enrico and Tamo) and his wife.
Following behind were the two other people who were coming on the tour with us; two Brits, from Ilford in East London, one of whom I later found out had been to Loughborough Uni; small world hey!
We walked through the town to the harbour and jumped on the boat, a 30ft ribbed speed boat. I jumped on the front, the other two Brits at the back and the elder son who'd met me at the train station sat down opposite me with his brother (who was equally as beautiful) and their sister sat next to me.
We set out from the harbour along the coast with Sebastiano pointing out things to the other Brits and Ronaldo, Enrico and Tamo telling me things. It was lovely. So anyway, we pulled up in a tiny cove and dropped anchor. All of a sudden, the entire family were stripping off and getting ready to swim... Enrico and Ronaldo wore the smallest shorts I have ever seen and Tamo's breasts were crammed into her bikini top and looked like two ferrets in a bag. Once stripped, they jumped in and I swiftly followed.
We swam towards a cliff face and then Ronaldo, took my hand and said 'breathe, under, follow me' and he dragged me under the water just as I took a deep breath. He pulled me up into a tiny cave which glistened green and orange... It was the most beautiful thing. I was speechless.
Had I have had a waterproof camera, you'd have been able to see, but I guess this one is just for me...
We were treading water while Sebastiano told us that this was the cave of lovers, and it was good luck to kiss twice the person on each side of you. On my left I had the Sebastiano's wife and the other, I had Enrico. We kissed on each others cheeks and then one by one headed out to the boat.
I'll remember that cave for ever. So quiet and peaceful...
Back on the boat we headed to Capri. Said like cap (as in the hat) and ree (as in, the world split up, not said like the car.... If that makes sense). It's a small island off the mainland in the Bay of Naples crammed full of Italian families on holiday.
Across the open water, Enrico taught me to drive the boat, it was a little choppy, but nothing me and my co-captain couldn't handle. We docked and headed for lunch.
Sebastiano was clearly well known on the island, he already had a table booked at a restaurant and we all sat down. He explained that we didn't have to order, because they were going to have the best food and we could pick and choose what we liked. It was beautiful. Seafood and fish and pizza for Enrico (who sat next to me and kept trying to force feed me anchovies)
After we'd eaten, the two Brits headed into the town and I decided to stay with the family (purely for cultural reasons - the little red shorts the boys were wearing class as cultural right?) and drink more wine in the restaurant.
So while we were there, the boys tried to teach me some Italian words. I learnt 'bingenarto' not sure on the spelling, but it means, basically 'your mum' but it means the same for brother and sister. And also learnt 'ajen werto' which means, touch me quickly (basically masturbation).
Their dad kept telling them off in Italian. So I taught them some English words. I was cheeky. Taught them rimming and cottaging (got the same reaction as when I told Mary from work) and showed Ronaldo Grindr. He thought it was hilarious, his brother Enrico seemed more interested though. Once we had eaten we headed to the beach and Enrico and Ronaldo introduced me to their friends, we sat and sun bathed (I just burnt) for an hour or so. They were all hilarious. Doing impressions of each other and 'taking the piss' out of each others girlfriends. I learnt that Ronaldo didn't have a girlfriend or boyfriend, (he was definitely straight) and when asked, Enrico didn't answer, although his reaction to Grindr already told me all I needed to know.
We headed back to the boat after saying goodbye to their friends and they let me drive again. This time Enrico insisted on putting his hand on top of mine when it was on the throttle. I found this flattering.... But once I'd told him about Henry, he stopped doing it but continued to press himself against me and point things out on the coast.
When we were crossing back to the mainland we were going full pelt and Sebastiano reached up and stopped the engines. He pointed out of the boat and said 'Tuna'. Instantly the boys got excited and got their nets out. Sebastiano rowed us closer and you could see the 18inch or so tuna jumping out of the water feeding on sardines. As we just got close enough, a tuna jumped straight over Enrico's net and then they were gone. From what I could get, the family wound him up about it all the way back.
We got back to the harbour and I paid my (now vastly reduced price, from €80 to €30 which covered the food and fuel Sebastiano said) and bid my fair wells.
Back on the train to Naples (two hours) and straight to bed once I got back. I was so tired....
Best day on the trip so far. Without a doubt.
Must get me some red shorts.
Until tomorrow :)
P.S I have attached a picture of Ronaldo for you. Enrico wouldn't let me take a picture, but they're bothers, you can imagine it yourself.
Saturday 11 August 2012
Day 14 - Naples: Saturday Sun
Another lie in today, obviously. The earplugs I bought are just fantastic. I didn't hear any of the 8 people in my room leave. Once they'd gone I stood up and did a huge stretch, only to find one guy still asleep in the bunk above me. I don't think I woke him up.... Awkward
Went to the National Museum of Archaeology just north of the Quatro Spagnoli (the Spanish quarter, home of the mafia) and on the way noticed many of the residents making gestures to each other. (I asked the guy at the hostel what they meant later)
The first is where they pull the skin under their eye down with their index finger and then let it go. This apparently means 'watch out'. The second is where they run their finger from one ear under their chin to the other ear; this means 'I will cut you' or 'you're dead' (I prefer the latter). And the final one I saw was where you kiss your index and middle fingers, shove it at the person you're talking to, (but together, not apart like the V's) and then point to the sky. This means 'I can't believe what you're saying'.
Needless to say, I didn't get any done towards me. I may have already mentioned this, but the mafia don't concern themselves with tourists... So I've been told.
The museum was a tad underwhelming. A lot of the exhibitions were closed due to staff shortages. The ones that were open we're mainly made up of marble sculptures dating to 1st century BC which was nice, but there was no explanation of anything.
I got bored and left. No waste... It was free to get in anyway....
Went back down to the sea again because it's so beautiful.... It was much calmer than yesterday, there was no wind, and it being Saturday, the harbour was full of boats, big and small. It was so full in fact that there were bigger boats anchored off shore, one of which was so beautiful it looked like it was out of a bond film. I've taken a (poor) picture of it, it really doesn't do it justice.
So lunch was a Parma ham and ricotta calzone (folded pizza, then fried) it was lovely. Followed by lemon sorbet in an actual lemon and washed down with two Nastro Azzurro (anyone who's been to Italy knows that this is their national beer). I sat and people watched for hours. It's fast becoming my favourite thing to do ever.
From what I can gather, Naples is an incredibly wealthy city, outside of the city. As in, the centre is one of the most heavily populated cities in the world, with 210,000 people crammed into less than 10 square miles, it's more populated than London. Only Hong Kong and Singapore boasts higher concentrations.
The other thing to say about Naples is the unending sound of horns and scooters. They are everywhere, more so than Rome. The main difference being that in Naples, while it is law to wear a helmet when riding a motorbike (for the driver, not the passenger) seldom people actually follow this rule. It is the only place in Italy where the Polizia won't stop you for riding without one.
To give you an idea of how the Neopolitans feel towards the Polizia, when, in 2005, it was made the law to wear seat belts in the front of cars, people quickly came up with t-shirts printed with a seat belt on them to fool bad sighted police. They made them for both drivers and passengers. Incredible.
That sums up the police's control over the city. They are more there for the aesthetics than to actually do anything. I haven't yet seem them doing anything other than playing on their phones, or hugging their friends while on patrol. It seems they have the easiest jobs in Italy.
Quite a short blog today, not a lot happens in Italy; including blog writing...
Ciao x
Went to the National Museum of Archaeology just north of the Quatro Spagnoli (the Spanish quarter, home of the mafia) and on the way noticed many of the residents making gestures to each other. (I asked the guy at the hostel what they meant later)
The first is where they pull the skin under their eye down with their index finger and then let it go. This apparently means 'watch out'. The second is where they run their finger from one ear under their chin to the other ear; this means 'I will cut you' or 'you're dead' (I prefer the latter). And the final one I saw was where you kiss your index and middle fingers, shove it at the person you're talking to, (but together, not apart like the V's) and then point to the sky. This means 'I can't believe what you're saying'.
Needless to say, I didn't get any done towards me. I may have already mentioned this, but the mafia don't concern themselves with tourists... So I've been told.
The museum was a tad underwhelming. A lot of the exhibitions were closed due to staff shortages. The ones that were open we're mainly made up of marble sculptures dating to 1st century BC which was nice, but there was no explanation of anything.
I got bored and left. No waste... It was free to get in anyway....
Went back down to the sea again because it's so beautiful.... It was much calmer than yesterday, there was no wind, and it being Saturday, the harbour was full of boats, big and small. It was so full in fact that there were bigger boats anchored off shore, one of which was so beautiful it looked like it was out of a bond film. I've taken a (poor) picture of it, it really doesn't do it justice.
So lunch was a Parma ham and ricotta calzone (folded pizza, then fried) it was lovely. Followed by lemon sorbet in an actual lemon and washed down with two Nastro Azzurro (anyone who's been to Italy knows that this is their national beer). I sat and people watched for hours. It's fast becoming my favourite thing to do ever.
From what I can gather, Naples is an incredibly wealthy city, outside of the city. As in, the centre is one of the most heavily populated cities in the world, with 210,000 people crammed into less than 10 square miles, it's more populated than London. Only Hong Kong and Singapore boasts higher concentrations.
The other thing to say about Naples is the unending sound of horns and scooters. They are everywhere, more so than Rome. The main difference being that in Naples, while it is law to wear a helmet when riding a motorbike (for the driver, not the passenger) seldom people actually follow this rule. It is the only place in Italy where the Polizia won't stop you for riding without one.
To give you an idea of how the Neopolitans feel towards the Polizia, when, in 2005, it was made the law to wear seat belts in the front of cars, people quickly came up with t-shirts printed with a seat belt on them to fool bad sighted police. They made them for both drivers and passengers. Incredible.
That sums up the police's control over the city. They are more there for the aesthetics than to actually do anything. I haven't yet seem them doing anything other than playing on their phones, or hugging their friends while on patrol. It seems they have the easiest jobs in Italy.
Quite a short blog today, not a lot happens in Italy; including blog writing...
Ciao x
Friday 10 August 2012
Day 13 - Naples: a grave mistake
It seems, my friends, I have judged Naples too quickly. For this was a mistake.
It seems the area I walked around yesterday was in fact the 'arse end', so to speak, of the city.
Today, I walked down to the Castel Dell'Ovo, which sits at the far south of the city on the sea. Surrounding it was a small island which hosted many bars, restaurants and pizzerias (which, by the way, are very different things). There were two American bars, a Scottish bar (presumably serving nothing but whiskey), and three Irish bars. The area was full of American backpackers. Bliss.
I settled in for lunch at a little Italian restaurant over looking the harbour. It was beautiful. As was the table of guys from Ohio sitting next to me. I ordered a pizza, a gran reserva peroni (yes!) and sat and watched the little boats ferry themselves and their families back and forward to the bigger boats and to the rocky breakwater out of the bay (to sunbathe). There was one woman who was acting as a ferry, and charged one euro per person each way. She was a dreadfully fierce, anyone who dared question her price would have been thrown overboard instantly. She continued back and forth for at least all of the time I was there, a good two hours, and her cold expression didn't change once. On one trip, she crammed so many people onto the boat that I genuinely feared for it's buoyancy, as did some of the passengers.
This end of Naples is sort of the 'Sophie Lauren' end of the city, beautifully understated and classy. The harbour has beautiful yachts (most of which I understand are owned by the mafia bosses) and the people are much nicer down here.
I understood 'prego' to mean 'there you go' or 'thank you very much', but it seems that it means everything. That is, it is shouted at you every time you do anything, ask for anything or make eye contact with anyone.
The waiter pointed at the biggest most beautiful yacht in the harbour and said prego. Was he offering me the use of his yacht, was he giving it to me, was he indicating that I had given it to him and he was saying you're welcome....? I had no idea. But when he said 'Sophie Lauren' I understood. The yacht was named for her and was so grand and magnificent that I have no more words to describe it. It was owned by her relatives apparently and is the biggest yacht in the harbour.
I'm rambling. Anyway
I passed a restaurant on the way, it was called 'Here; you will never die'' (in Italian). This is what I'm going to name my restaurant when I'm older. What a name!
In Italy, I'm slowly learning an artform. It is called the art of 'doing nothing'. It something the Italians have mastered beautifully. It's harder than it sounds. I challenge anyone to just sit and not fidget, check your phone, talk, scratch or itch for at least an hour. It's a horrendously peaceful way of being.
Didn't really do much history today. There seems a lack of it in Naples. The Castel Dell'Ovo dates from the 13th Century. It was built by Charles I of Anjou and Naples was the main city protecting, get this, all of Italy (ALL OF) and most of southern France. It's very imposing and has seen much history. In 1486, several Barons from Tuscany plotted against the King, Ferdinand I of Aragon (a relative of Catherine) and hence they were all slaughtered here. There is a hall (Sala dei Baroni) which commemorates them. It incredibly peaceful. Much of the three floors of the museum are in fact room after room of paintings. There is however, a door (facing the sea) which has a 15th century cannonball embedded into it. No matter how anyone has tried, it simply won't budge. It's sort of a Arthur and the sword in the stone affair; the person to pull the cannonball out of the door earns the rights to the castle. Sounded simple enough. I had a go.
Needless to say, I did not earn the rights to the castle. I think they've superglued, or no more nails'ed it to the door.
The castle owes its name to the Roman poet Virgil. Ironic. (I wanted to name my first child Virgil, many years ago) and apparently the castle sits on an egg. This egg, it is said, supports all of Naples. When this eggs breaks, so does the city.
All lies.... The only danger of the city breaking is when the wopping great big Mount Vesuvius blows. This is about due apparently, and now that the volcano has stopped giving off steam, it seems the eruption is imminent. Alas, the people living on the side of the mountain seem not to be bothered, and until they are, neither shall I be.
Not actually done a lot today. Walked about 7 miles along the front of the sea, shall go back there tomorrow. It's lovely...
Anyway. My mind hurts.... Any questions, please forward them to my agent, Sophie Lauren. Many thanks
Until our next meeting, ciao bella
It seems the area I walked around yesterday was in fact the 'arse end', so to speak, of the city.
Today, I walked down to the Castel Dell'Ovo, which sits at the far south of the city on the sea. Surrounding it was a small island which hosted many bars, restaurants and pizzerias (which, by the way, are very different things). There were two American bars, a Scottish bar (presumably serving nothing but whiskey), and three Irish bars. The area was full of American backpackers. Bliss.
I settled in for lunch at a little Italian restaurant over looking the harbour. It was beautiful. As was the table of guys from Ohio sitting next to me. I ordered a pizza, a gran reserva peroni (yes!) and sat and watched the little boats ferry themselves and their families back and forward to the bigger boats and to the rocky breakwater out of the bay (to sunbathe). There was one woman who was acting as a ferry, and charged one euro per person each way. She was a dreadfully fierce, anyone who dared question her price would have been thrown overboard instantly. She continued back and forth for at least all of the time I was there, a good two hours, and her cold expression didn't change once. On one trip, she crammed so many people onto the boat that I genuinely feared for it's buoyancy, as did some of the passengers.
This end of Naples is sort of the 'Sophie Lauren' end of the city, beautifully understated and classy. The harbour has beautiful yachts (most of which I understand are owned by the mafia bosses) and the people are much nicer down here.
I understood 'prego' to mean 'there you go' or 'thank you very much', but it seems that it means everything. That is, it is shouted at you every time you do anything, ask for anything or make eye contact with anyone.
The waiter pointed at the biggest most beautiful yacht in the harbour and said prego. Was he offering me the use of his yacht, was he giving it to me, was he indicating that I had given it to him and he was saying you're welcome....? I had no idea. But when he said 'Sophie Lauren' I understood. The yacht was named for her and was so grand and magnificent that I have no more words to describe it. It was owned by her relatives apparently and is the biggest yacht in the harbour.
I'm rambling. Anyway
I passed a restaurant on the way, it was called 'Here; you will never die'' (in Italian). This is what I'm going to name my restaurant when I'm older. What a name!
In Italy, I'm slowly learning an artform. It is called the art of 'doing nothing'. It something the Italians have mastered beautifully. It's harder than it sounds. I challenge anyone to just sit and not fidget, check your phone, talk, scratch or itch for at least an hour. It's a horrendously peaceful way of being.
Didn't really do much history today. There seems a lack of it in Naples. The Castel Dell'Ovo dates from the 13th Century. It was built by Charles I of Anjou and Naples was the main city protecting, get this, all of Italy (ALL OF) and most of southern France. It's very imposing and has seen much history. In 1486, several Barons from Tuscany plotted against the King, Ferdinand I of Aragon (a relative of Catherine) and hence they were all slaughtered here. There is a hall (Sala dei Baroni) which commemorates them. It incredibly peaceful. Much of the three floors of the museum are in fact room after room of paintings. There is however, a door (facing the sea) which has a 15th century cannonball embedded into it. No matter how anyone has tried, it simply won't budge. It's sort of a Arthur and the sword in the stone affair; the person to pull the cannonball out of the door earns the rights to the castle. Sounded simple enough. I had a go.
Needless to say, I did not earn the rights to the castle. I think they've superglued, or no more nails'ed it to the door.
The castle owes its name to the Roman poet Virgil. Ironic. (I wanted to name my first child Virgil, many years ago) and apparently the castle sits on an egg. This egg, it is said, supports all of Naples. When this eggs breaks, so does the city.
All lies.... The only danger of the city breaking is when the wopping great big Mount Vesuvius blows. This is about due apparently, and now that the volcano has stopped giving off steam, it seems the eruption is imminent. Alas, the people living on the side of the mountain seem not to be bothered, and until they are, neither shall I be.
Not actually done a lot today. Walked about 7 miles along the front of the sea, shall go back there tomorrow. It's lovely...
Anyway. My mind hurts.... Any questions, please forward them to my agent, Sophie Lauren. Many thanks
Until our next meeting, ciao bella
Thursday 9 August 2012
Day 12 - Naples: Going underground
So the room I'm in consists of five bunks in total and they were all full. The hostel was full in fact, so full that a guy, Stave from Russia, slept on an air bed next to me. When we woke up this morning, it was 8am and most of the people in the room had already left. He and I chatted for a while and he eventually got up.
Now, the thing about this room, this dorm, is that it shares a communal bathroom with another equally large dorm. There are male and female toilets though. The men's is about thirty feet long, has showers down on side, separated from each other but not from the room itself, and sinks opposite, with cubicles at the end. It's clean, but horrendously school like. Needless to say, European boys have no issues with getting entirely naked and flaunting EVERYTHING around. Everything.
After this dramatic and emotional experience, dominated by a 17 year old French boy called Claude, who had forgotten his shaving foam and asked to borrow some of mine (he wore nothing but flip flops, a pair of the smallest, tightest pants I'd ever seen and a smile) I got dressed and headed to the city to see some good old sights.
Now. Let me explain some things to you about Naples. Firstly, it has two underworlds. The first is the Roman archeology. The second is the Napoli version of the mafia. Yes. I shit you not.
The organised crime in the city resembles that of Gotham. A friend of mine, Stuart, should go around this city as masked crusaders being the heros. (I'm Batman and he's Robin) ..... And by god, don't they need it.
In 1999 the 'mafia' began systemically buying up certain public sector businesses and winning contracts; the garbage companies, primarily. In 2002, they made international news when they went on a strike (it wasn't an official strike, they just told the people who worked for them they would pay them twice their normal rate not to do their jobs). And so, for 5 months, rubbish accumulated in the streets. Lots of rubbish. Some mounds got as big as double decker buses. The rat infestation and maggots got so bad that the people of Naples couldn't last any longer.
You have to understand that in fact there was no reason for this strike. There was nothing demanded, nothing that needed gaining, just the 'mafia' showing how powerful they were and so there was no foreseeable end to the strike.
Finally, the Italian army was called in to clean the streets up and the contracts taken away from the 'mafia'. Normality restored, the city elected a new, female, mayor. Since then she has tried to (forgive the pun) clean up the streets of Naples, so far, unsuccessfully.
So anyway I shall get to the second half of the underworld later.
The guide book describes a 'four hour walking your of the Centro Storico. After consulting the guide book, and the talking to the incredibly good looking boy on reception, I found that there in fact wasn't that much to do in Naples. I decided to make the four hour tour last two days.
Unintentionally, it happened anyway.
I started at Piazza Gariboldi, named after the Italian national hero, not the biscuit (which ironically isn't named after him either). Opposite the piazza (which is closed for building works - another contract the mafia seem to have won) but leading off of that is the biggest street market I've ever seen. Stall (and I use that word loosely) after stall of clothes and books and fruit and veg and meat and fish, god, more fish stalls that Leicester market - all with live octopus and lobsters - and bread and cakes and sports wear and buttons. It felt like being at home, except I have never felt more vulnerable, scared and 'stick outish' in all my life. It was the first time in a long while (the last being in a very dodgy back street between Soho and Tottenham Court Road where I nearly got mugged) where I feared for my safety. There were no police here. No friendly faces. No one to turn to, even the fish sellers wives looked bloody scary.
I quickly made an exit, heading for the main road. And quickly is an understatement. I wasn't running, but as close as. Like that ridiculous 'sport' walking in the Olympics.
There is a small church on the left as you head down Via Forcella with a huge water mill like wheel that disappears into the building. This is where mothers would abandon their unwanted babies. They would put them in the wheel and turn it, where a Nun would be waiting on the other side to look after it.
Further along the street is Duomo, the cathedral. Apparently, three times a year dried blood is liquified here by nuns in the convent, namely May, September and December. Clearly I didn't go in the miracle season....
From here you go towards Dante (the metro station which everything is based around) and you are confronted by Chiesa di San Paolo Maggiore, a gothic church built almost entirely out of Roman ruins. The roman forum once stood on this place, and I was expecting the 'Napoli Sotterranea' to be a bit rubbish, but how wrong I was.
The Sotterranea is a vast underground network of nearly 30km of tunnels under the city itself. It was originally made by the Greeks who found the 'tough stone' here that the city sits on perfect for building. They would dig down until they met this stone and then begin carving out vast caverns under the bustling city above. It was used then by the Romans who incorporated it into their theatre, with the tunnels acting as passageways from one side of the stage to the other.
All of the Roman evidence of the city is either hidden below steer level, or gone, stolen by past generations.
For the next 17 centuries, the city was built in exactly the same fashion. Builders would dig down under the plot of land they wanted to build on, and carve out the stone in exactly the same way as the Greeks did. They would take out all the stone they needed and then connect the void left behind to the city's growing water system. It was fed from a spring outside the city and explains why Naples grew up where it did without a river.
This network was eventually joined together and the city got all of their water from here. Sadly the 'tough stone' is porous and when the city built a sewerage system just 8 metres above the top of the water line, the system quickly became troubled. In 1834 a cholera epidemic killed thousands of people, and a year later, the system was closed. Residents were told to fill the wells with garbage and rubbish from their homes and then cover the wells up with concrete. It remained this way for a 100 or so years until in 1940 war hit Italy and the city needed somewhere to act as a communal air raid shelter. The city quickly went down to the now dry caves but found years of rubbish, 100 years of rubbish in fact, blocking their entrance. Instead of moving it out, they simply spread it level and concreted over the top of it, effectively halving the height of the caves. Even now they're 50 feet high.
You enter through a tiny door and then into a surprisingly wide stair case with 126 steps (I counted) going straight down. They were spread not so you could walk, buy so when running, they were the right distance apart.
Scary thought...
Once at the bottom, the caves are literally, and unexplainably massive. To give you an idea of size, at one point during World War Two 4,000 residents lived down here nearly exclusively for 4 months. It was huge. Much of it not accessible on the tour.
There was running water, sewerage systems, rooms for sleeping, eating, partying and one, only one, for cooking. Because of the fumes and smoke, any cooking had to be done in one room, the only one with an open ventilation shaft. This shaft opened up directly beneath a church and the smoke escaping was only allowed out of the church windows and doors at night. Fantastic use of God's house I think.
On with the tour and they show you one of the old access tunnels that the cleaners used to use when it was a 'water tank'. The water would be upwards of 30 feet deep and the cleaners got around on foot and hand holes on the walls and long thin corridors just above the water level. We were to go down one of these corridors.
I'm not someone who gets claustrophobic, but Lord above, this was tight. The passage way is probably 50 feet high, but in fact is less than, and I mean this 10 inches wide. You don't walk, so much as push your way along the corridor sideways. The longest one in the network is 3km long, yes! 3km! The one we did was 125 metres (and back again), plenty far enough for me.
At the end they'd created a cute little room full of water showing you what it would have looked like in Roman times showing a case being lowered and lifted again from the ceiling. It was incredibly humid and dark and dank.
Back in the open part of the network, there was, I kid you not children, a weather and seismic activity station. The latter I understood, but the former?
The seismic map of Rome and Southern Europe was showing little activity. The guide said 'it's fairly quiet at the minute, we had 3.2 last week, which wasn't pleasant, and a 2.9 on Monday, but it seems fairly stable'. I notice they tell you this closer to the end of the tour. There was a small shake and the needle indicated that there has just been an earthquake of 0.9 magnitude... The guide casually looked at the computer and said 'not really worth getting out of bed for.... But consider yourself lucky. We never have them when people are down here'
The weather figures showed the following:
Temperature: 15 degrees (feels like 15 degrees)
Humidity: 100% (feels like 100%)
Pressure: 1015.0hPa (rising rapidly)
Rain fall: 0.0mm
Wind: no wind
I couldn't help but presume the total uselessness of the 'weather station' if indeed you can call it that...
The guide said 'I've been down here for 13 years, and that has never changed. Ever'...... I nearly said 'why, do you expect it to?' but thought better of it.
Finally before climbing the steps, there are 5 plants in the floor. These plants have artificial light for 8 hours a day, but are never watered, because the humidity keeps them alive. Fascinating. Kind of.
So, back out into the 35 degree heat.... Eurgh. Down a road called Via San Gregorio Armeni famed for it's nativity scenes and it's Christmas gifts. Did a bit of purchasing, presents for the Christmas tree in mine and Henry's flat, and for Mother too, she'd only moan if I didn't get her some kind of jovial apparatus to hang on her tree.
It was here, now 3pm that I called it a day. I headed back to the hostel, had a nap and wrote this massive blog out. Hope it's not bored you too much.
Until tomorrow children!
Now, the thing about this room, this dorm, is that it shares a communal bathroom with another equally large dorm. There are male and female toilets though. The men's is about thirty feet long, has showers down on side, separated from each other but not from the room itself, and sinks opposite, with cubicles at the end. It's clean, but horrendously school like. Needless to say, European boys have no issues with getting entirely naked and flaunting EVERYTHING around. Everything.
After this dramatic and emotional experience, dominated by a 17 year old French boy called Claude, who had forgotten his shaving foam and asked to borrow some of mine (he wore nothing but flip flops, a pair of the smallest, tightest pants I'd ever seen and a smile) I got dressed and headed to the city to see some good old sights.
Now. Let me explain some things to you about Naples. Firstly, it has two underworlds. The first is the Roman archeology. The second is the Napoli version of the mafia. Yes. I shit you not.
The organised crime in the city resembles that of Gotham. A friend of mine, Stuart, should go around this city as masked crusaders being the heros. (I'm Batman and he's Robin) ..... And by god, don't they need it.
In 1999 the 'mafia' began systemically buying up certain public sector businesses and winning contracts; the garbage companies, primarily. In 2002, they made international news when they went on a strike (it wasn't an official strike, they just told the people who worked for them they would pay them twice their normal rate not to do their jobs). And so, for 5 months, rubbish accumulated in the streets. Lots of rubbish. Some mounds got as big as double decker buses. The rat infestation and maggots got so bad that the people of Naples couldn't last any longer.
You have to understand that in fact there was no reason for this strike. There was nothing demanded, nothing that needed gaining, just the 'mafia' showing how powerful they were and so there was no foreseeable end to the strike.
Finally, the Italian army was called in to clean the streets up and the contracts taken away from the 'mafia'. Normality restored, the city elected a new, female, mayor. Since then she has tried to (forgive the pun) clean up the streets of Naples, so far, unsuccessfully.
So anyway I shall get to the second half of the underworld later.
The guide book describes a 'four hour walking your of the Centro Storico. After consulting the guide book, and the talking to the incredibly good looking boy on reception, I found that there in fact wasn't that much to do in Naples. I decided to make the four hour tour last two days.
Unintentionally, it happened anyway.
I started at Piazza Gariboldi, named after the Italian national hero, not the biscuit (which ironically isn't named after him either). Opposite the piazza (which is closed for building works - another contract the mafia seem to have won) but leading off of that is the biggest street market I've ever seen. Stall (and I use that word loosely) after stall of clothes and books and fruit and veg and meat and fish, god, more fish stalls that Leicester market - all with live octopus and lobsters - and bread and cakes and sports wear and buttons. It felt like being at home, except I have never felt more vulnerable, scared and 'stick outish' in all my life. It was the first time in a long while (the last being in a very dodgy back street between Soho and Tottenham Court Road where I nearly got mugged) where I feared for my safety. There were no police here. No friendly faces. No one to turn to, even the fish sellers wives looked bloody scary.
I quickly made an exit, heading for the main road. And quickly is an understatement. I wasn't running, but as close as. Like that ridiculous 'sport' walking in the Olympics.
There is a small church on the left as you head down Via Forcella with a huge water mill like wheel that disappears into the building. This is where mothers would abandon their unwanted babies. They would put them in the wheel and turn it, where a Nun would be waiting on the other side to look after it.
Further along the street is Duomo, the cathedral. Apparently, three times a year dried blood is liquified here by nuns in the convent, namely May, September and December. Clearly I didn't go in the miracle season....
From here you go towards Dante (the metro station which everything is based around) and you are confronted by Chiesa di San Paolo Maggiore, a gothic church built almost entirely out of Roman ruins. The roman forum once stood on this place, and I was expecting the 'Napoli Sotterranea' to be a bit rubbish, but how wrong I was.
The Sotterranea is a vast underground network of nearly 30km of tunnels under the city itself. It was originally made by the Greeks who found the 'tough stone' here that the city sits on perfect for building. They would dig down until they met this stone and then begin carving out vast caverns under the bustling city above. It was used then by the Romans who incorporated it into their theatre, with the tunnels acting as passageways from one side of the stage to the other.
All of the Roman evidence of the city is either hidden below steer level, or gone, stolen by past generations.
For the next 17 centuries, the city was built in exactly the same fashion. Builders would dig down under the plot of land they wanted to build on, and carve out the stone in exactly the same way as the Greeks did. They would take out all the stone they needed and then connect the void left behind to the city's growing water system. It was fed from a spring outside the city and explains why Naples grew up where it did without a river.
This network was eventually joined together and the city got all of their water from here. Sadly the 'tough stone' is porous and when the city built a sewerage system just 8 metres above the top of the water line, the system quickly became troubled. In 1834 a cholera epidemic killed thousands of people, and a year later, the system was closed. Residents were told to fill the wells with garbage and rubbish from their homes and then cover the wells up with concrete. It remained this way for a 100 or so years until in 1940 war hit Italy and the city needed somewhere to act as a communal air raid shelter. The city quickly went down to the now dry caves but found years of rubbish, 100 years of rubbish in fact, blocking their entrance. Instead of moving it out, they simply spread it level and concreted over the top of it, effectively halving the height of the caves. Even now they're 50 feet high.
You enter through a tiny door and then into a surprisingly wide stair case with 126 steps (I counted) going straight down. They were spread not so you could walk, buy so when running, they were the right distance apart.
Scary thought...
Once at the bottom, the caves are literally, and unexplainably massive. To give you an idea of size, at one point during World War Two 4,000 residents lived down here nearly exclusively for 4 months. It was huge. Much of it not accessible on the tour.
There was running water, sewerage systems, rooms for sleeping, eating, partying and one, only one, for cooking. Because of the fumes and smoke, any cooking had to be done in one room, the only one with an open ventilation shaft. This shaft opened up directly beneath a church and the smoke escaping was only allowed out of the church windows and doors at night. Fantastic use of God's house I think.
On with the tour and they show you one of the old access tunnels that the cleaners used to use when it was a 'water tank'. The water would be upwards of 30 feet deep and the cleaners got around on foot and hand holes on the walls and long thin corridors just above the water level. We were to go down one of these corridors.
I'm not someone who gets claustrophobic, but Lord above, this was tight. The passage way is probably 50 feet high, but in fact is less than, and I mean this 10 inches wide. You don't walk, so much as push your way along the corridor sideways. The longest one in the network is 3km long, yes! 3km! The one we did was 125 metres (and back again), plenty far enough for me.
At the end they'd created a cute little room full of water showing you what it would have looked like in Roman times showing a case being lowered and lifted again from the ceiling. It was incredibly humid and dark and dank.
Back in the open part of the network, there was, I kid you not children, a weather and seismic activity station. The latter I understood, but the former?
The seismic map of Rome and Southern Europe was showing little activity. The guide said 'it's fairly quiet at the minute, we had 3.2 last week, which wasn't pleasant, and a 2.9 on Monday, but it seems fairly stable'. I notice they tell you this closer to the end of the tour. There was a small shake and the needle indicated that there has just been an earthquake of 0.9 magnitude... The guide casually looked at the computer and said 'not really worth getting out of bed for.... But consider yourself lucky. We never have them when people are down here'
The weather figures showed the following:
Temperature: 15 degrees (feels like 15 degrees)
Humidity: 100% (feels like 100%)
Pressure: 1015.0hPa (rising rapidly)
Rain fall: 0.0mm
Wind: no wind
I couldn't help but presume the total uselessness of the 'weather station' if indeed you can call it that...
The guide said 'I've been down here for 13 years, and that has never changed. Ever'...... I nearly said 'why, do you expect it to?' but thought better of it.
Finally before climbing the steps, there are 5 plants in the floor. These plants have artificial light for 8 hours a day, but are never watered, because the humidity keeps them alive. Fascinating. Kind of.
So, back out into the 35 degree heat.... Eurgh. Down a road called Via San Gregorio Armeni famed for it's nativity scenes and it's Christmas gifts. Did a bit of purchasing, presents for the Christmas tree in mine and Henry's flat, and for Mother too, she'd only moan if I didn't get her some kind of jovial apparatus to hang on her tree.
It was here, now 3pm that I called it a day. I headed back to the hostel, had a nap and wrote this massive blog out. Hope it's not bored you too much.
Until tomorrow children!
Wednesday 8 August 2012
Castles and the road to Naples
Day ten - Rome: last day in Rome.
Didn't do much today but packed my bag in the morning and then headed out for some lunch (a slice) and then to Castel St Angelo. It's the attraction I'd been dreading, and truly putting off because the queue usually stretches for a good hour in shade-less courtyards. I guess I'd timed it right as the queue was only 20 minutes. I joined and made my way in.
Castel St Angelo was made (relatively newly) famous by the film The Da Vinci Code. The scene were Tom Hanks walks down 'past the homeless' is actually part of the original structure, Hadrian's tomb (the Roman Emporer). It has changed little since then and still has the mosaics on the floor.
The outer building was added later, the year escapes me, but eventually the Popes began using Castel St Angelo as a fortress and hiding place. A wall running 800 metres straight to the Vatican was constructed so that the Pontif didn't have to walk in the streets with the masses and instead could escape the Vatican undetected.
As is with so many 'attractions' in Rome, tourist spoil them, myself included. Signs telling people not to take photos are ignored and the sanctity of some rooms, Pope Clementine V's bedroom for example, are ruined.
I class myself in that 'tourist' group simply because of the never ending need to take photos of everything, not because of the rude pushing, shoving and constant need to get to the front of the queue. I tell you, the world could learn a lot from the British; queuing being the principle skill.
Day 11 - Rome to Naples: Ciao Rome
Got up relatively early and finished packing. Had a quick bite of toast and once again put my rucksack on. I think it's heavier than before, despite my not buying anything particularly heavy. It was a long walk back to the station in the morning sunshine. At around 9am all the fountains get emptied and filled with fresh chlorinated water. Needless to say, this is the first time I had witnessed this.
Got to the train station and sat myself down and waited for my platform to be announced. As my arse cheeks hit the floor, the platform was given. 12. I dragged myself up and questioned my perfect timing. I headed to platform 12 and got on my train, carriage 1, seat 62.
The carriage is set out in groups of six seats, three on each side facing each other with racks above, a corridor to the left and a table to the right. Very Harry Potter-esque.
I was promptly joined in the compartment by a Chinese couple, an Italian man, mid 50's (his waist size and his age) and an Italian woman who insisted in chewing her sweets, which smelt like tar, so loudly that I think the driver could hear.
No matter. I put my ear phones in and settled down to listen to the Isles of Wonder opening ceremony soundtrack and stare innately out of the window.
Arrived in Naples and I knew straight away I was somewhere entirely different to Rome. No signs were in English, only Italian, and for the life of me I couldn't find another backpacker to follow.
It's got a bit of a bad reputation, Naples, due to it's scruffy nature. And didn't I know it. There was graffiti everywhere. And I mean everywhere. Even on the police cars.
The trip to the hostel was somewhat alarming. The metro is split into 5 lines, none of which have interconnecting stations, they instead have under street level walkways, sometimes half a mile long which connect the stations. The longest of these has 19, yes 19, travelators. And long ones too.
I should have known now that their infrastructure isn't thought through or planned.
Got the Salvator Rosa station which is my stop for the next week and I was the only person who got off. Not alarmed, I followed the signs for 'uscita' (exit) and headed up. Once off of the platform I instantly was shocked. Dead in the middle of this station was a piece of art work. Yes. On the metro. Seriously. What I was more shocked to find was the sheer size of the station. Probably as big, if not bigger than the underground station at Victoria. Vast and clean. It was huge. No less than 8 escalators to the surface (long long escalators too)
As predicted. Got lost from the station. A 100m walk from the station turned into a 25 minute hike up the steepest hill in the world.
Eventually found the hostel and the woman on the desk was of course wonderful. I had booked a 6 bed dorm, but they had over booked and offered me a €50 discount to go into the 10 bed dorm, which was fine. Rocked in to find only three beds occupied. Result I think.
Unpacked and headed out towards the sea.
It looked like a fair walk, but an hour later I had just got to the harbour. Bloody hell. Sublime views though. The city, the harbour, Mount Viseuvius in the background. It was nearly perfect.
Except for the dog shit. Everywhere. Seriously everywhere. There is a poster that says (in Italian) 'Don't be a bastard, pick it up'. It's brilliant.
Eventually found somewhere to eat, a proper restaurant in the back street and the first thing I notice was the price. In Rome, a pizza is maybe €12 plus tip and water. Here, I could have three courses and a beer for that. No joke.... The price difference is fantastic.
Also the beer is colder.
As is the air, there's a breeze.
The waiters are also cold, towards tourists that is.
The food however was, average, but the tomato sauce on the pizza was outstanding. Had a pizza Napoli with olives and anchovies. I regretted this almost as soon as I'd ordered it, but, when in Naples.
Walked back to the hostel and thought I'd call it an early night because of the travelling. How wrong I was. This hostel is all about nightlife. There is a roof bar where you get a bowl of pasta for free with your first drink. The laundrette has music playing and MTV on a screen above. The kitchen is open plan with sofas and been bags and rugs. Complete opposite to Rome in every sense.
Anyway, until tomorrow Bon Amis!
Oh, picture is of dinner (starter) nommy no?
Didn't do much today but packed my bag in the morning and then headed out for some lunch (a slice) and then to Castel St Angelo. It's the attraction I'd been dreading, and truly putting off because the queue usually stretches for a good hour in shade-less courtyards. I guess I'd timed it right as the queue was only 20 minutes. I joined and made my way in.
Castel St Angelo was made (relatively newly) famous by the film The Da Vinci Code. The scene were Tom Hanks walks down 'past the homeless' is actually part of the original structure, Hadrian's tomb (the Roman Emporer). It has changed little since then and still has the mosaics on the floor.
The outer building was added later, the year escapes me, but eventually the Popes began using Castel St Angelo as a fortress and hiding place. A wall running 800 metres straight to the Vatican was constructed so that the Pontif didn't have to walk in the streets with the masses and instead could escape the Vatican undetected.
As is with so many 'attractions' in Rome, tourist spoil them, myself included. Signs telling people not to take photos are ignored and the sanctity of some rooms, Pope Clementine V's bedroom for example, are ruined.
I class myself in that 'tourist' group simply because of the never ending need to take photos of everything, not because of the rude pushing, shoving and constant need to get to the front of the queue. I tell you, the world could learn a lot from the British; queuing being the principle skill.
Day 11 - Rome to Naples: Ciao Rome
Got up relatively early and finished packing. Had a quick bite of toast and once again put my rucksack on. I think it's heavier than before, despite my not buying anything particularly heavy. It was a long walk back to the station in the morning sunshine. At around 9am all the fountains get emptied and filled with fresh chlorinated water. Needless to say, this is the first time I had witnessed this.
Got to the train station and sat myself down and waited for my platform to be announced. As my arse cheeks hit the floor, the platform was given. 12. I dragged myself up and questioned my perfect timing. I headed to platform 12 and got on my train, carriage 1, seat 62.
The carriage is set out in groups of six seats, three on each side facing each other with racks above, a corridor to the left and a table to the right. Very Harry Potter-esque.
I was promptly joined in the compartment by a Chinese couple, an Italian man, mid 50's (his waist size and his age) and an Italian woman who insisted in chewing her sweets, which smelt like tar, so loudly that I think the driver could hear.
No matter. I put my ear phones in and settled down to listen to the Isles of Wonder opening ceremony soundtrack and stare innately out of the window.
Arrived in Naples and I knew straight away I was somewhere entirely different to Rome. No signs were in English, only Italian, and for the life of me I couldn't find another backpacker to follow.
It's got a bit of a bad reputation, Naples, due to it's scruffy nature. And didn't I know it. There was graffiti everywhere. And I mean everywhere. Even on the police cars.
The trip to the hostel was somewhat alarming. The metro is split into 5 lines, none of which have interconnecting stations, they instead have under street level walkways, sometimes half a mile long which connect the stations. The longest of these has 19, yes 19, travelators. And long ones too.
I should have known now that their infrastructure isn't thought through or planned.
Got the Salvator Rosa station which is my stop for the next week and I was the only person who got off. Not alarmed, I followed the signs for 'uscita' (exit) and headed up. Once off of the platform I instantly was shocked. Dead in the middle of this station was a piece of art work. Yes. On the metro. Seriously. What I was more shocked to find was the sheer size of the station. Probably as big, if not bigger than the underground station at Victoria. Vast and clean. It was huge. No less than 8 escalators to the surface (long long escalators too)
As predicted. Got lost from the station. A 100m walk from the station turned into a 25 minute hike up the steepest hill in the world.
Eventually found the hostel and the woman on the desk was of course wonderful. I had booked a 6 bed dorm, but they had over booked and offered me a €50 discount to go into the 10 bed dorm, which was fine. Rocked in to find only three beds occupied. Result I think.
Unpacked and headed out towards the sea.
It looked like a fair walk, but an hour later I had just got to the harbour. Bloody hell. Sublime views though. The city, the harbour, Mount Viseuvius in the background. It was nearly perfect.
Except for the dog shit. Everywhere. Seriously everywhere. There is a poster that says (in Italian) 'Don't be a bastard, pick it up'. It's brilliant.
Eventually found somewhere to eat, a proper restaurant in the back street and the first thing I notice was the price. In Rome, a pizza is maybe €12 plus tip and water. Here, I could have three courses and a beer for that. No joke.... The price difference is fantastic.
Also the beer is colder.
As is the air, there's a breeze.
The waiters are also cold, towards tourists that is.
The food however was, average, but the tomato sauce on the pizza was outstanding. Had a pizza Napoli with olives and anchovies. I regretted this almost as soon as I'd ordered it, but, when in Naples.
Walked back to the hostel and thought I'd call it an early night because of the travelling. How wrong I was. This hostel is all about nightlife. There is a roof bar where you get a bowl of pasta for free with your first drink. The laundrette has music playing and MTV on a screen above. The kitchen is open plan with sofas and been bags and rugs. Complete opposite to Rome in every sense.
Anyway, until tomorrow Bon Amis!
Oh, picture is of dinner (starter) nommy no?
Tuesday 7 August 2012
I want a Vespa
Spent the morning pretty much doing nothing hanging around for 4pm for my tour on my Vespa. Literally couldn't wait. Sat outside hostel on the pavement waiting for my tour guide. He turned up just on time, dead on 4pm. His name was George, a 59 year old Roman. He was incredibly polite and incredibly lovely. Shook my hand, checked my name and then gave me a helmet.
Nervous was not the word.
Didn't he want to check if I'd rode before? Didn't he want to tell me something important, like always lean into the bends? Didn't he want to tell me where to hold on? To him? To the bike? I had no idea what on earth I was doing, but just before he set off he said, hold on to the hook here (he indicated just in front of my crutch) and just as my hands gripped around it, he set off.
Good lord this was fantastic! I soon realised I in fact didn't need to hold on. George drove incredibly carefully, not slowly, but very considerately. I soon had my hands on my camera, not on the loop.
We shot out of Rome up the hills which I had only had nightmares of climbing. The Vespa was beautifully smooth.
George was taking me out of Rome to the Appian Way, the Roman road from Rome to the coast.
It's over 40km of straight road. And so beautiful. On the way, George took me through a small walled field which belongs to the Vatican. You go from the middle of the city to the countryside in seconds. It's beautifully peaceful. There's an abbey here where monks and nuns go to teach. There were young people sitting on the side of the road, reading bibles and making notes. It felt like Italy.
We continued onwards towards the 'best spot to walk from' which turned into the beginning of a 2 hour round trip, but I didn't mind; it was a beautifully warm afternoon.
George explained how the Romans always built roads exactly the same width. From India, to Rome, to Bath, they were all 5 strides from side to side. Incredibly, by the end of the Roman empire there were around 36,000 km of roads. This incredible feet was achieved legion by legion. A legion, or a group of soldiers, could walk 7 miles a day. The road workers made roads, and at every seventh mile mark, they built a fortress, for the legion to rest at night. They did this ALL across the empire. Outstanding. As George explained, the Romans were walking along the same road we were today, to the exact same scenery, minus the fancy cameras.
George's enthusiasm was incredible. He had a sort of beautiful optimism about the Romans. He was incredibly anti church, despite his Catholicism. He said 'the church decimated the Roman Rome. They destroyed it. They took away all that was Roman and replaced it with their rubbish like it didn't exist.'
He was such a lovely man.
We walked for probably an hour when we came to a bend in the road. As George explained, this was the only kink in any roman road anywhere in the world and was made so, so that it went past the burial ground of the three brothers of Roma. (Google it, it too George 40 minutes to explain)
This road has more history than I can blog about. You'll have to google it yourself, or come. Either way. It's beautiful
Back into Rome, and George asked me if I wanted to see all of Rome, I of course agreed.
He took me to a hill (picture attached) where you can see the entire beautiful city. Literally, the most beautiful sight I've ever seen. It was breathtaking. George and I stood and stared over the balcony for a good 40 minutes, with George pointing out all the sights, one by one.
There really is no comparison between a guide book and a guide. Really. There isn't.
The Vespa ride up the hill was incredible. I've used that word already about thirty times already but....
DAD. I know you're reading this, Mum makes you. I want a Vespa. Seriously. Automatic. White. Pretty. Start eBaying it. Consider it my homecoming present. Thanks.
(I'm being deadly serious, seriously)
That aside, the cobbles got to me. While I can't be crude, as my family and mother and father read this blog, I can tell you that my bum..... Well actually, perhaps we'll skip that one. Perhaps I've already gone too far
Sorry Mum.
I've decided I will keep a Vespa in the garage and ride it when Henry gets too much for me. It'll be my mid life crisis, at 23.
I got George to drop me in Piazza della Rotunda, outside the pantheon where I went to Cafeè Claudia again. Mainly because the waitress, Romana recognised me the other day and welcomed me in. The free limencello didn't have anything to do with it. I promise.
Dinner was meatballs. Oh my fuck, the best meatballs I've ever tasted. I can't even describe them...
And dessert. I had the special. No idea what it was but again, picture attached. Oh lord.
It was sensational.
Made friends with an American/Brazilian family (actually two families). We talked for hours about wine and food and me and them and their kids and what their kids wanted to do at university and what they were doing tomorrow and what I was doing tomorrow. I have them loads of hints, I felt like quite the guide. Perhaps I could do that as a job? In London obviously.... Hmm.
Their eldest son was starting college in the autumn, doing a hospitality management degree. We spoke for a whole hour about this and then his sister, who it turned out wanted to do the exact same trip as I was, started asking me thousands of questions about London and England in general. You'll all be very proud, I answered every single one... Naturally.
Anyway, tomorrow is my last day in Rome. Spending it packing and planning for Naples. No really, might pop out for lunch. Probably will.
Ta-ra sweeties
Nervous was not the word.
Didn't he want to check if I'd rode before? Didn't he want to tell me something important, like always lean into the bends? Didn't he want to tell me where to hold on? To him? To the bike? I had no idea what on earth I was doing, but just before he set off he said, hold on to the hook here (he indicated just in front of my crutch) and just as my hands gripped around it, he set off.
Good lord this was fantastic! I soon realised I in fact didn't need to hold on. George drove incredibly carefully, not slowly, but very considerately. I soon had my hands on my camera, not on the loop.
We shot out of Rome up the hills which I had only had nightmares of climbing. The Vespa was beautifully smooth.
George was taking me out of Rome to the Appian Way, the Roman road from Rome to the coast.
It's over 40km of straight road. And so beautiful. On the way, George took me through a small walled field which belongs to the Vatican. You go from the middle of the city to the countryside in seconds. It's beautifully peaceful. There's an abbey here where monks and nuns go to teach. There were young people sitting on the side of the road, reading bibles and making notes. It felt like Italy.
We continued onwards towards the 'best spot to walk from' which turned into the beginning of a 2 hour round trip, but I didn't mind; it was a beautifully warm afternoon.
George explained how the Romans always built roads exactly the same width. From India, to Rome, to Bath, they were all 5 strides from side to side. Incredibly, by the end of the Roman empire there were around 36,000 km of roads. This incredible feet was achieved legion by legion. A legion, or a group of soldiers, could walk 7 miles a day. The road workers made roads, and at every seventh mile mark, they built a fortress, for the legion to rest at night. They did this ALL across the empire. Outstanding. As George explained, the Romans were walking along the same road we were today, to the exact same scenery, minus the fancy cameras.
George's enthusiasm was incredible. He had a sort of beautiful optimism about the Romans. He was incredibly anti church, despite his Catholicism. He said 'the church decimated the Roman Rome. They destroyed it. They took away all that was Roman and replaced it with their rubbish like it didn't exist.'
He was such a lovely man.
We walked for probably an hour when we came to a bend in the road. As George explained, this was the only kink in any roman road anywhere in the world and was made so, so that it went past the burial ground of the three brothers of Roma. (Google it, it too George 40 minutes to explain)
This road has more history than I can blog about. You'll have to google it yourself, or come. Either way. It's beautiful
Back into Rome, and George asked me if I wanted to see all of Rome, I of course agreed.
He took me to a hill (picture attached) where you can see the entire beautiful city. Literally, the most beautiful sight I've ever seen. It was breathtaking. George and I stood and stared over the balcony for a good 40 minutes, with George pointing out all the sights, one by one.
There really is no comparison between a guide book and a guide. Really. There isn't.
The Vespa ride up the hill was incredible. I've used that word already about thirty times already but....
DAD. I know you're reading this, Mum makes you. I want a Vespa. Seriously. Automatic. White. Pretty. Start eBaying it. Consider it my homecoming present. Thanks.
(I'm being deadly serious, seriously)
That aside, the cobbles got to me. While I can't be crude, as my family and mother and father read this blog, I can tell you that my bum..... Well actually, perhaps we'll skip that one. Perhaps I've already gone too far
Sorry Mum.
I've decided I will keep a Vespa in the garage and ride it when Henry gets too much for me. It'll be my mid life crisis, at 23.
I got George to drop me in Piazza della Rotunda, outside the pantheon where I went to Cafeè Claudia again. Mainly because the waitress, Romana recognised me the other day and welcomed me in. The free limencello didn't have anything to do with it. I promise.
Dinner was meatballs. Oh my fuck, the best meatballs I've ever tasted. I can't even describe them...
And dessert. I had the special. No idea what it was but again, picture attached. Oh lord.
It was sensational.
Made friends with an American/Brazilian family (actually two families). We talked for hours about wine and food and me and them and their kids and what their kids wanted to do at university and what they were doing tomorrow and what I was doing tomorrow. I have them loads of hints, I felt like quite the guide. Perhaps I could do that as a job? In London obviously.... Hmm.
Their eldest son was starting college in the autumn, doing a hospitality management degree. We spoke for a whole hour about this and then his sister, who it turned out wanted to do the exact same trip as I was, started asking me thousands of questions about London and England in general. You'll all be very proud, I answered every single one... Naturally.
Anyway, tomorrow is my last day in Rome. Spending it packing and planning for Naples. No really, might pop out for lunch. Probably will.
Ta-ra sweeties
Sunday 5 August 2012
To the beach!
Had a lie in. Got up about 11am. So much for not being able to sleep..... Think I got 12 hours on and off.
So put on my best vest, applied the suncream and jumped on the metro to the beach. I might add at this point that because it was a Sunday, all the other residents of Rome were doing the same. The train was packed. I felt like I was on the London Underground at rush hour. It was dreadful. We got to 'Lido Centrale' and the train emptied. I guessed this was my cue.
I followed the hoards of people out of the station and down the hill, presumably to the beach. At the bottom you can either turn right or left. I chose right. I followed an Italian family for about a quarter of a mile to a bar called 'Sangria'.
The family was made up of a Grandfather, his son (by the looks of it) his son's wife and their six children (all boys ranging from 21-5). They paid their €15 for access to the beach and got their loungers and umbrellas. I did the same and positioned myself behind them, unavoidably as it was already packed. I figured they'd make for good entertainment.
I was not wrong. No less than five minutes after sitting down, they were naked. Albeit for their swimwear, speedos - for all of them (mother not included).
The eldest two boys were very handsome. Perfectly Italian with olive skin and toned stomachs. I sat there in my vest and shorts, absolutely not feeling inferior (but entirely being it).
I've learnt that no one I meet knows me and will probably ever meet me again. To this end, I don't give a crap what people think.
I think that's one of the things travelling is teaching me, that is, to not be bothered about anything. If you're hungry, eat. If you're tired, sleep. If you want to shower, shower. If you want to sit and stare, very obviously, at a gorgeous Italian family for six hours, it doesn't matter.
I sat in the shade, drinking, yeah you guessed it, sangria for a good two hours when the second oldest boy (probably 19) came over to me, and rather alarmingly started talking to me. The conversation went as follows: (he speaks first)
Hello, English?
Yes...
What's your name?
Olly, yours?
Benjo. You have very beautiful eyes. (he sits on my lounger)
Thank you. You have a very nice.... (pause) .... Pair of speedos (I'm literally lost for words) and you have a beautiful family.
Thank you. You got the train with us this morning from Rome, no? You are holiday?
Yeah, travelling by myself. I'm going round the world alone and Rome is the first stop.
That's amazing! You liking Rome? It's very hot, we had come to the beach to be cold.
The conversation goes on for several minutes and we talk about the weather and how nice the beach is, what I've been doing in Rome, what he does for a living (he sells air-conditioning units in the day and waits tables at night) and then he invites me to join him for lunch. I politely decline and say 'I'd love to, but I've eaten and Bill Bryson wants me to dive straight back into him, the dirty bastard' (a joke, I don't think he got)
He looked slightly heart broken but smiled anyway, stands up and says 'that's okay, you can sit there and read your book and stare at me while I sunbathe. You're very beautiful'
'Thank you, my boyfriend would agree with you.' I replied. He smiled a slightly sad smile and said:
'All the best ones are always taken. Have a good day, Olly'
And he wondered back over to his brother who was laughing at him and rolling around in the sand in stitches. I had it all to do not to laugh along with him. This sort of thing never happens to me. In Italy, I guess, I'm foreign, and we all know the mystique that adds to one's personality.
I sat reading Bill for a good six hours and didn't even get half way through 'Down Under' which I thought was ironic because I was in Italy, reading a book on Australia.
Anyway, at about 4.30pm I got up to start getting my stuff ready to go and Benjo walked over again. He handed me his phone number and email address and said 'can I have yours, for penpal'.
I gave him my spam email address and said I didn't have a phone with me, which is actually not a lie. He then packed up his stuff and him and his family walked with me back to the station.
On the train I learnt their names, and the eldest two (Benjo and Amine) taught me some very hilarious Italian swear words. If I remember, their names were; (in order of age) Fredrique, Dominic, Romana, Amine, Benjo, Adam, Saylo, Thomas and Hayfar.
They told me of a lovely little restaurant which I went to for dinner, a bit apprehensively as I presumed that was where Benjo worked, but it wasn't. They also told me that I would suit Italian life, as I didn't move too fast.
Wasn't sure how to take that really.
Either way, at the station I said Ciao and Benjo smiled and walked away with his head down, his brother patting his back.
I'm such a heartbreaker.
Also, it made me miss Henry. Loads.
Went straight to dinner rather than back to the hostel (so as not to bump into Benjo) and had a devine spaghetti puttanesca (Ragdale people will know already) it had olives, tomato, chilli, lime, onion, anchovies and capers.
Until another fun filled tomorrow.
Kisses and hugs
So put on my best vest, applied the suncream and jumped on the metro to the beach. I might add at this point that because it was a Sunday, all the other residents of Rome were doing the same. The train was packed. I felt like I was on the London Underground at rush hour. It was dreadful. We got to 'Lido Centrale' and the train emptied. I guessed this was my cue.
I followed the hoards of people out of the station and down the hill, presumably to the beach. At the bottom you can either turn right or left. I chose right. I followed an Italian family for about a quarter of a mile to a bar called 'Sangria'.
The family was made up of a Grandfather, his son (by the looks of it) his son's wife and their six children (all boys ranging from 21-5). They paid their €15 for access to the beach and got their loungers and umbrellas. I did the same and positioned myself behind them, unavoidably as it was already packed. I figured they'd make for good entertainment.
I was not wrong. No less than five minutes after sitting down, they were naked. Albeit for their swimwear, speedos - for all of them (mother not included).
The eldest two boys were very handsome. Perfectly Italian with olive skin and toned stomachs. I sat there in my vest and shorts, absolutely not feeling inferior (but entirely being it).
I've learnt that no one I meet knows me and will probably ever meet me again. To this end, I don't give a crap what people think.
I think that's one of the things travelling is teaching me, that is, to not be bothered about anything. If you're hungry, eat. If you're tired, sleep. If you want to shower, shower. If you want to sit and stare, very obviously, at a gorgeous Italian family for six hours, it doesn't matter.
I sat in the shade, drinking, yeah you guessed it, sangria for a good two hours when the second oldest boy (probably 19) came over to me, and rather alarmingly started talking to me. The conversation went as follows: (he speaks first)
Hello, English?
Yes...
What's your name?
Olly, yours?
Benjo. You have very beautiful eyes. (he sits on my lounger)
Thank you. You have a very nice.... (pause) .... Pair of speedos (I'm literally lost for words) and you have a beautiful family.
Thank you. You got the train with us this morning from Rome, no? You are holiday?
Yeah, travelling by myself. I'm going round the world alone and Rome is the first stop.
That's amazing! You liking Rome? It's very hot, we had come to the beach to be cold.
The conversation goes on for several minutes and we talk about the weather and how nice the beach is, what I've been doing in Rome, what he does for a living (he sells air-conditioning units in the day and waits tables at night) and then he invites me to join him for lunch. I politely decline and say 'I'd love to, but I've eaten and Bill Bryson wants me to dive straight back into him, the dirty bastard' (a joke, I don't think he got)
He looked slightly heart broken but smiled anyway, stands up and says 'that's okay, you can sit there and read your book and stare at me while I sunbathe. You're very beautiful'
'Thank you, my boyfriend would agree with you.' I replied. He smiled a slightly sad smile and said:
'All the best ones are always taken. Have a good day, Olly'
And he wondered back over to his brother who was laughing at him and rolling around in the sand in stitches. I had it all to do not to laugh along with him. This sort of thing never happens to me. In Italy, I guess, I'm foreign, and we all know the mystique that adds to one's personality.
I sat reading Bill for a good six hours and didn't even get half way through 'Down Under' which I thought was ironic because I was in Italy, reading a book on Australia.
Anyway, at about 4.30pm I got up to start getting my stuff ready to go and Benjo walked over again. He handed me his phone number and email address and said 'can I have yours, for penpal'.
I gave him my spam email address and said I didn't have a phone with me, which is actually not a lie. He then packed up his stuff and him and his family walked with me back to the station.
On the train I learnt their names, and the eldest two (Benjo and Amine) taught me some very hilarious Italian swear words. If I remember, their names were; (in order of age) Fredrique, Dominic, Romana, Amine, Benjo, Adam, Saylo, Thomas and Hayfar.
They told me of a lovely little restaurant which I went to for dinner, a bit apprehensively as I presumed that was where Benjo worked, but it wasn't. They also told me that I would suit Italian life, as I didn't move too fast.
Wasn't sure how to take that really.
Either way, at the station I said Ciao and Benjo smiled and walked away with his head down, his brother patting his back.
I'm such a heartbreaker.
Also, it made me miss Henry. Loads.
Went straight to dinner rather than back to the hostel (so as not to bump into Benjo) and had a devine spaghetti puttanesca (Ragdale people will know already) it had olives, tomato, chilli, lime, onion, anchovies and capers.
Until another fun filled tomorrow.
Kisses and hugs
Rome.... Well, outside of Rome
Went down to Ottica Antica this morning. It's about 40 minutes on the train outside of Rome and was once the largest port in the Roman empire, serving not only it's 4000 residents, but also Rome itself. It's perfectly preserved. Mosaics and the like all still as fresh as the day they were laid. The focal point of the complex is the market, theatre and temple which is located dead central to the main forum.
The theatre was able to fit all of the residents in and the stage was big enough for half of them again. It's where the leader of the council would address the citizens. Behind the temple is the main 'office' row. Instead of signs, the Atticians made mosaics in the doorway of their shops to depict what they traded in. There are elephants (for ivory and love animals) mill stones (for wheat and flour) and sheep (for livestock and meat).
The highlight of the ruin is the communal (and only) toilet. There are 20 holes around the outside of the room, with an aqueduct running below straight to the river. The pivot hole for the turnstile into the room still remains. Rich and poor would poo together. In Italian, there is actually no word for privacy. Ironic hey... Imagine having the runs. Lord above.
Being so far away from Rome, less and less people speak English. My Italian seems to be getting better though. Had a pepperoni panini for lunch. Lovely.
The train to and from Ottica Antica is the same train that the Romans use to get to the Lido (the beach). I'll be on it tomorrow, I think, but the highlight today was seeing a man, no younger than 65, showing his new speedos to his friend.
Got back to the hostel and fell asleep. This isn't good news. It's now 11.30pm and there is no way I'll be able to sleep tonight....
P.S. the picture is of Roman road.
The theatre was able to fit all of the residents in and the stage was big enough for half of them again. It's where the leader of the council would address the citizens. Behind the temple is the main 'office' row. Instead of signs, the Atticians made mosaics in the doorway of their shops to depict what they traded in. There are elephants (for ivory and love animals) mill stones (for wheat and flour) and sheep (for livestock and meat).
The highlight of the ruin is the communal (and only) toilet. There are 20 holes around the outside of the room, with an aqueduct running below straight to the river. The pivot hole for the turnstile into the room still remains. Rich and poor would poo together. In Italian, there is actually no word for privacy. Ironic hey... Imagine having the runs. Lord above.
Being so far away from Rome, less and less people speak English. My Italian seems to be getting better though. Had a pepperoni panini for lunch. Lovely.
The train to and from Ottica Antica is the same train that the Romans use to get to the Lido (the beach). I'll be on it tomorrow, I think, but the highlight today was seeing a man, no younger than 65, showing his new speedos to his friend.
Got back to the hostel and fell asleep. This isn't good news. It's now 11.30pm and there is no way I'll be able to sleep tonight....
P.S. the picture is of Roman road.
Friday 3 August 2012
Tridente
Friday in the eternal city of youth and love (it's not called that, I just made it up) and as per, it's hot. Again. Loving it. Apparently it's raining in England. Oh, such a shame.
Started the day at Piazza del Popolo which is the largest 'square' in Rome. It's actually an oval. I took some pictures for yous lot. It was lovely. And because of the lack of shade, it seemed to be quite empty. Might have been because it was so big. Either way, as you stand at the north end (the most northern point of the roman city wall that encompasses the capital) you look down at three roads, all leading off of Piazza del Popolo. This area is called Tridente, as in trident and these three roads have barely moved in place or direction for thousands of years. The main one, Via del Corso was used by chariot racers as it was the most direct route to the Colosseum. They would race there and back again. Last one back, died. Simples.
As I walked down this road, I could hardly not notice how modern Romans weren't too dissimilar from their ancestors. I nearly died. A lot. Six times. That is far too many times for one day.
This area is beautiful. But incredibly expensive. Via de Condotti boasts all the big names in fashion; Prada, Gucci, Bvlgari, Brioni, Dolce and Gabana... If it's high fashion, it's here. I saw a bag, Chanel (not even Italian) for €6,900. It was no bigger than my dog. In fact, my dog could probably just get in it. (For those of you that don't know, my dog is a Jack Russell, probably 18 inches long and 12 inches high)
If I were on holiday, not travelling, and I were a millionaire, I could easily and I mean EASILY spend thousands of Euros. I have such good taste. And I'm so modest too...
There is a back street running along Via del Corso called 'Via de Margutta'. It is said that if true lovers meet for the first time and kiss on this road they will live a happy, long and eternal love. It's such a beautiful place. Ivy and other plants grow up and down the houses, tiny restaurants offering private tables and sharing plates of food and the locals smile. First place in Rome I've known this to happen.
After a bit of photography, I went to Villa Borghese which is a park in the city, like Central Park in NY, except it's one of the highest places in the capital, and a bloody long climb. But my god, the views are well worth it. You can see all of Rome. Hills in the background, houses and churches rising above each other with the Vatican the highest dome and then directly below this 'balcony' is Piazza del Popolo. The few people you can see from here look like ants.
The park is huge. If you can call it a park. Due to the extremely hot Italian summers, the grass is dusty and scorched. The few trees are all umbrella trees, famous for being able to grow in droughts. The only saving grace is the breeze which doesn't exist down below in the streets. Up here, it's cleaner and more open, less frenzied and more about relaxing.
The National Gallery of Modern Art dominates the middle of the park. I didn't think I was much of an arty person, but I thought I'd give it a go anyway.
Turns out I was right. I'm not an arty person. At all. So much so in fact, I went for lunch. Ravioli, white wine and some focaccia bread. Lovely.
On the way out I recognised a word, which made a change. Warhol Exhibition stood high above a door way. Result! It was a huge display of Warhol paintings, prints, videos and photography. Really quite brilliant. It was only there for another few days, so I timed it right.
Walked down to the city via the old zoo, which is outdated and in need of closing down. From the road I could see lions pacing in the heat. There was a monkey so dazed I could have put his arms into the positions for YMCA and he wouldn't have flinched.
Had an afternoon nap, which is fast becoming the norm, and while I was laying in bed, planned out the last four days in Rome (that's actually made me sad even typing that)
Went for dinner and eventually chose a backstreet restaurant which, annoyingly had a table of rowdy teenagers. I know this, because all they were talking about was what colleges they're going to go to in the autumn. Even the waiters were getting annoyed and when I mentioned it to my waiter, he rolled his eyes and said 'Americans'.
To all the beautiful Americans reading this, and I know there are at least 14 of you, Blogger tells me, I still love you, despite this appalling representation of American Citizenship. My favourite part was when they tried to pay with dollars instead of 'this monopoly crap' (Euros). The manager then came out and told them to pay and leave.
They did. Eventually.
People like that really wind me up. Those waiters didn't do anything wrong and yet they get abuse. Rude rude rude human beings. (I'm thinking of you guys at beautiful Ragdale while typing that by the way)
Anyways. More happenings from the restaurant. 16 women showed up and demanded a table all together. Watching them be squeezed onto the smallest table I've ever seen made me think "wouldn't that have been better on two 8's next to each other." Alas, the waiters here are fantastic and suitably got all 16 of them shit faced within 20 minutes. What professionals!
Next to arrive. A beautifully blond German couple called Hans (I shit you not) and Neala. I'm getting good at striking up a conversation with strangers. It seems to be a skill you learn while drunk. No sober human being would speak to another unless absolutely necessary.
So on it went, the endless changing of tables. At about 11pm I got bored and decided to go back to the hostel. A long way home tonight as I wore flip flops. BIG MISTAKE. Blisters tomorrow!
And so, I'm tired. Time for beddy-byes.
Until tomorrow... Toodle-o-mother-f***ers
(Sorry Mum)
Started the day at Piazza del Popolo which is the largest 'square' in Rome. It's actually an oval. I took some pictures for yous lot. It was lovely. And because of the lack of shade, it seemed to be quite empty. Might have been because it was so big. Either way, as you stand at the north end (the most northern point of the roman city wall that encompasses the capital) you look down at three roads, all leading off of Piazza del Popolo. This area is called Tridente, as in trident and these three roads have barely moved in place or direction for thousands of years. The main one, Via del Corso was used by chariot racers as it was the most direct route to the Colosseum. They would race there and back again. Last one back, died. Simples.
As I walked down this road, I could hardly not notice how modern Romans weren't too dissimilar from their ancestors. I nearly died. A lot. Six times. That is far too many times for one day.
This area is beautiful. But incredibly expensive. Via de Condotti boasts all the big names in fashion; Prada, Gucci, Bvlgari, Brioni, Dolce and Gabana... If it's high fashion, it's here. I saw a bag, Chanel (not even Italian) for €6,900. It was no bigger than my dog. In fact, my dog could probably just get in it. (For those of you that don't know, my dog is a Jack Russell, probably 18 inches long and 12 inches high)
If I were on holiday, not travelling, and I were a millionaire, I could easily and I mean EASILY spend thousands of Euros. I have such good taste. And I'm so modest too...
There is a back street running along Via del Corso called 'Via de Margutta'. It is said that if true lovers meet for the first time and kiss on this road they will live a happy, long and eternal love. It's such a beautiful place. Ivy and other plants grow up and down the houses, tiny restaurants offering private tables and sharing plates of food and the locals smile. First place in Rome I've known this to happen.
After a bit of photography, I went to Villa Borghese which is a park in the city, like Central Park in NY, except it's one of the highest places in the capital, and a bloody long climb. But my god, the views are well worth it. You can see all of Rome. Hills in the background, houses and churches rising above each other with the Vatican the highest dome and then directly below this 'balcony' is Piazza del Popolo. The few people you can see from here look like ants.
The park is huge. If you can call it a park. Due to the extremely hot Italian summers, the grass is dusty and scorched. The few trees are all umbrella trees, famous for being able to grow in droughts. The only saving grace is the breeze which doesn't exist down below in the streets. Up here, it's cleaner and more open, less frenzied and more about relaxing.
The National Gallery of Modern Art dominates the middle of the park. I didn't think I was much of an arty person, but I thought I'd give it a go anyway.
Turns out I was right. I'm not an arty person. At all. So much so in fact, I went for lunch. Ravioli, white wine and some focaccia bread. Lovely.
On the way out I recognised a word, which made a change. Warhol Exhibition stood high above a door way. Result! It was a huge display of Warhol paintings, prints, videos and photography. Really quite brilliant. It was only there for another few days, so I timed it right.
Walked down to the city via the old zoo, which is outdated and in need of closing down. From the road I could see lions pacing in the heat. There was a monkey so dazed I could have put his arms into the positions for YMCA and he wouldn't have flinched.
Had an afternoon nap, which is fast becoming the norm, and while I was laying in bed, planned out the last four days in Rome (that's actually made me sad even typing that)
Went for dinner and eventually chose a backstreet restaurant which, annoyingly had a table of rowdy teenagers. I know this, because all they were talking about was what colleges they're going to go to in the autumn. Even the waiters were getting annoyed and when I mentioned it to my waiter, he rolled his eyes and said 'Americans'.
To all the beautiful Americans reading this, and I know there are at least 14 of you, Blogger tells me, I still love you, despite this appalling representation of American Citizenship. My favourite part was when they tried to pay with dollars instead of 'this monopoly crap' (Euros). The manager then came out and told them to pay and leave.
They did. Eventually.
People like that really wind me up. Those waiters didn't do anything wrong and yet they get abuse. Rude rude rude human beings. (I'm thinking of you guys at beautiful Ragdale while typing that by the way)
Anyways. More happenings from the restaurant. 16 women showed up and demanded a table all together. Watching them be squeezed onto the smallest table I've ever seen made me think "wouldn't that have been better on two 8's next to each other." Alas, the waiters here are fantastic and suitably got all 16 of them shit faced within 20 minutes. What professionals!
Next to arrive. A beautifully blond German couple called Hans (I shit you not) and Neala. I'm getting good at striking up a conversation with strangers. It seems to be a skill you learn while drunk. No sober human being would speak to another unless absolutely necessary.
So on it went, the endless changing of tables. At about 11pm I got bored and decided to go back to the hostel. A long way home tonight as I wore flip flops. BIG MISTAKE. Blisters tomorrow!
And so, I'm tired. Time for beddy-byes.
Until tomorrow... Toodle-o-mother-f***ers
(Sorry Mum)
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