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

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!

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?

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

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

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.

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)