Today we are going to Napoli on our way to Ischia.
Up early and back out for breakfast.
I ordered a cappuccino doppio, which is my new coffee of choice, while Gail tries an espresso macchiato, which is a small, bitter espresso with a spot of milk.
We have croissants and toast again.
Because of the rain it is a cool morning, overcast, but the city looks and smells clean. We are a little early today, but everyone seems slow to wake, even the barista is yawning as he makes our order.
We are tucked inside, in a corner booth lined with colorful pillows, our table is rough wood painted faded red. The ancient walls (for there is an old Roman arch in here) are covered with cheerful modern art, and soft indie rock plays on the stereo. The menu is handwritten on a blackboard, "menú del giorno."
We sit and listen as the regulars drift in to drop a euro and a tidbit of the latest news, in return they get an espresso or cappuccino and some news in exchange. We could sit here for hours.
But after an hour, it is time to move on.
When I look up, we are pushing 300kmh. That is 186 mph and the ride is smooth.
We are traveling secundo classe, the seats are huge, plush, with footrests, plugs, automatic window shades and huge trays. Way better than flying.
As we cruise south the weather gets worse, last night's storm must be moving south just with us. The green hills backed my medium mountains give way to a grey sky, mountains cut flat by the clouds.
Rain pounds against the windows.
We had planned to walk through Naples to the port, stopping along the way to see a sight or two and eat pizza, but the rain convinces us to take the tram instead. I pick up two tickets, and we walk out to the tram stop.
The #1 tram goes by in the opposite direction... then another, and another.
But none of them come our way.
I check with a policeman who is over directing traffic. "Yes, there."
So we wait, along with another Italian guy and his wife.
He looks at me, I at him, and so I ask, "Porto?"
"Si. Ischia."
"Anche." I point at us. Now we have traveling companions.
The traffic around here is intense, all choked up, blaring horns.
After about a half hour, the policeman comes over.
"Trouble, tram." He points up.
"Eee-leck-treeecety."
He points out a bus stop across the street. "Air-ay due."
OK. The R-2
So we go over there, Gail and me, the fat Italian and his wife, and a few others.
Nice of the cop to come tell me, I think.
No bus R-2.
A couple R-2 busses go the other way, but no R-2.
By now the crowd is growing, and when a bus finally comes lumbering around the corner, it is full. The crowd tries to push their way on anyway, but I look at Gail and shrug. No way.
About half the people manage to crowd on, they are literally hanging out the doors and the bus is leaning as it groans off down the street.
We have been off the train an hour now. I say, "Lets give it ten more minutes, then we'll get a cab instead."
The Italian guy is talking to another guy, and they are just having at it, "yada yada yada autobus!" waving their hands around. They are fed up as well.
Soon another bus shows up.
It is not the right number, but the one local guy says to the Italian guy to get on, it gets us close. The Italian guy motions for us to follow him, and like a bulldozer he plows ahead, his wife and Gail in his wake.
Gail is ahead of me, I am watching her back because of the high crime rate in Napoli. We have our money, passports and phones buried in our packs, I am carrying a little cash in one pocket, my wallet in another.
Gail gets on ahead of me, I am cut off by a guy coming off the bus, then another guy is cutting in from the side. Gail is about three ahead now, I can hardly see her, and I sure don't want her off on the bus alone. I am cut off by these two doing the squeeze play, but I push... squeeze on and the door shuts.
Well, the good news is that Gail and I did not get separated.
The bad news is that my wallet and I did get separated.
I look down and my wallet, which was just there (with my hand on it) is gone.
Brilliant.
So I swore a bit.
Goddamnfuckingsonofabitchassholemotherofgodwhatfuckerdidthischristalmighty.
Feeling better, I think it through. It was the jam at the door. I stopped thinking and instead concentrated on keeping with Gail. I know exactly who did it - the blocking guy. He must have blocked, when I grabbed the rail and pulled I bet he had the squeezer take the wallet, and they pushed past and left.
Damn it.
Six years now, two months each summer; twelve months and a week traveling and this is how we get get ripped off for the first time.
I am pissed.
My fault, I broke my own rules.
I should have remembered about any commotion - it is a distraction.
I should have buried the wallet, then found a safe place to get it out when I needed to buy the ferry tickets.
Maybe, in hindsight, we should have taken a taxi to the port. We just don't take taxis as a normal thing however, so that one is totally in the rear-view mirror.
I don't like Naples to begin with. Last time we were in Italy I swore we would not come back... but you have to pass through to get to some really great places.
So... will this be worth it in the long run?
We'll see.
Well, we got to the port, I got the ferry tickets for €48, and we sat down to do damage control.
Two credit cards, one for cash, the other for purchases. No big deal, we have several back-up cards.
I make the calls to VISA.
And they are already texting me with alerts: Am I charging $1600 at this place?
$895 here?
They have a great fraud unit.
We lost €20 in cash. I had the rest scattered around. No big loss there.
My favorite wallet, gone. Bummer. It was getting worn out anyway.
Near as I can figure, the biggest thing is my driver's license. Now that is going to be a hassle. I checked the California DMV website, can't do anything about it via email, so I emailed a friend to ask him to check for me.
But this will throw a wrench in our rental car, four days in Sicily, later on.
I guess we'll just change it over to Gail.
I sure don't like it that someone has my ID.
The cards? They are useless now.
But I am mad about the license.
Our new friends moaned the loss with me. Then they got on the ship, right behind us, and as we found seat up front they moved to the back. I appreciated their help in taking the other bus.
The ferry trip over took about a half hour; when we docked I found the ticket office and bought two tickets out to Positano, for Sunday.
Now, we just need to catch the little red shuttle bus around the island, to get to Sant' Angelo on the other side.
I bought a couple tickets at the tabacchi, then we grabbed the first available Bus CD for the half-hour drive from the port to Sant' Angelo.
Half an hour on winding, narrow roads. So narrow that when one bus meets another, or we meet a truck, one has to back up to a wider spot. Often a whole chain of cars has to back up as well. When we do go, it is kind of lurching around, barely missing cars and rock walls.We notice most of the cars are missing the back brake light on the driver's side, obviously hit at some time by the cars and busses squeezing through.
Up, up we go, then down, then up higher still, the narrow road corkscrews around.
Purple bougainvillea is everywhere, neat houses, olive trees, lemons, cute places with little cars, more bougainvillea... this place is gorgeous.
We hang on.
Gail is almost flung out the door on one particularly hard corner when the driver slams on the brakes. We avoid a head on collision by inches. It is like a ride, but one in which we are standing, holding onto the bars, staring right out the front window.
We are getting close to Sant' Angelo, making pretty good time considering all, when we slam to a stop.
On the curve ahead, two cars are parked right in the middle of the damn road; two women are out of the cars yelling and pointing their fingers in each others' faces.
It is a fender-bender. Pretty obvious, the lady in back hit the corner of the lady in front.
Big fucking deal. Take a photo and move over out of the way...
Except.
Except they refuse to move.
Neither one is willing to admit they are at fault, and they are out there fighting in the middle of the street.
The bus driver honks and honks, and finally gets out to go join in the yelling.
We all crowd up at the front of the bus, fascinated.
More cars back up behind us, the smallest ones edge around with the scooters. Oncoming traffic is blocked when a big yellow truck shows up.
With each passing motorist angrily swearing at the two looney bins to move out of the fucking way, they wander out into the midst of the cars and plead their case to the non-caring drivers, then periodically join up again to go back at it, more angry than before.
Several people have gotten off the bus, a small circle forms, watching.
One guy takes a few photos; he almost gets punched by one of the women.
There must be twenty, thirty, fifty cars backed up now, honking and swearing, people walking up to watch the show.
The women circle the crowd now. They have real guts, these two, stopping an entire island for probably €100 worth of damages.
The yelling continues.
More honking.
It is getting hot.
Gail and I have been off the train over five hours now, and in that five hours we have not used the bathroom, have not had a drink of water, and I am starving.
We are about fifteen? minutes out from our little town and here we are, totally boxed in.
I am standing next to this Pakistani Guy who speaks Italian and some English. We look, shrug, smile.
I make the "cuckoo" sign swirling my finger. He laughs.
"Follow me, my friend. Next bus stop not far."
And with that he slings up his pack, and he and his cousin set off on foot.
Why not?
I yell at Gail, we grab our bags and set out after them.
We enjoy the walk in the sun. It is hot, but breezy, and the views out over the ocean are spectacular.
It just feels good to be doing something, and it is downhill.
We talk, they do not know California and barely know the United States.
They live several to a room, otherwise they cannot afford to stay... and they can't return home.
Have we ever been to India? It is beautiful there, "But Pakistan and India... cheeeechk!" so they can't go there either.
Well, it turns out that it is more than just "not far" to the next stop, but really, we don't care. All the traffic is totally blocked up, we can just walk right down the middle of the road.
Around the curves, a kilometer, two; we hear a siren in the distance and soon the polizia come swerving around the corner and head up the road. Still we walk.
After a while a car comes by. Then another and a scooter.
We have passed two bus stops and now we are at the fork in the road heading to Sant' Angelo.
There is a shade tree here, and we can wait and catch any of the next busses along: the CD, the CS or the #1. So we stand in the shade of the tree, the four of us. Gail, me, and two Pakistanis who sell trinkets on the beach because it is better to be poor in Italy than to be in Pakistan.
We take a group photo and laugh.
Wouldn't you know? The first bus along is our bus, and so everyone waves at us, the driver stops and we hop back on board for the trip into town, just five minutes now.
We almost walked the whole way.
The bus stop is at the top of San' Angelo, in the parking lot. Cars are not allowed into town, it is all a pedestrian only zone.
So we get off the bus, I shoulder my pack, Gail pulls out the handle of her suitcase, and we head down the hill, perhaps a kilometer into town.
Finally, six hours, SIX FULL HOURS after getting off the train, we stagger into our little slice of heaven.