Ruminations upon Friday September 20, 2024 moving from Rome, Italy to Naples, Italy
We woke up very early to catch our train to Naples where we stored our bags for the day before taking a train to Pompeii. As we waited in line for the baggage storage, we received multiple comments about how many children we had and how many bags we were storing. Apparently, we were a novelty.
After an obligatory (and kids go free) toilet break, we walked to a ticket machine and promptly fell in line behind a group of senior citizens who were struggling to figure out how to get the tickets they needed for their train. It should have taken about three minutes in total. After ten minutes of waiting, Chaim walked to a different machine to purchase our tickets. He still had to wait in line, but finished purchasing our tickets before this group of senior citizens had finished purchasing theirs. For their own sake, I hoped they would figure it out sooner rather than later.
We were particularly excited about our train to Pompeii because it was our hundredth train ride. As we waited on the platform, we huddled together so I could give them some insider information about where to sit. According to the cursory research I did the night before, we were supposed to sit on the left side of the train for the best views of Mt. Vesuvius. The views were a strange mix of gritty and stunning views as the train moved in and out of the smaller towns along the way. I couldn’t get enough of the Gulf of Naples and the coastline on the right side of the train. The water sparkled between the decrepit homes and graffiti. The boys were more interested in the looming Mt. Vesuvius and wondered if it was going to explode on us or why anyone would live so close to a volcano that could potentially kill them.
We exited the train quickly, but didn’t know where to go from there. There was a bus that could take us to Pompeii, but we didn’t realize we could buy tickets on the bus and ended up in the back of the line. Choosing not to wait for the next bus, we paid for a taxi service. When we first agreed, we thought it would be a private taxi. No sir. That driver crammed in as many people as he could, yelling at the boys to sit two to a seat. Our children were beside themselves. We’re American. It’s no surprise that they are very big on car safety – always wear their seat belts, choose boosters when they can, and never two to a seat. This would be the first of several car rides that would challenge their safety sensibilities.
Finally, we made it to the entrance of Pompeii Archeological Park. I had been there before, but didn’t remember so many vendors lining the streets. The boys were starving so we had the most expensive gelato we’d had so far for breakfast while waiting in line to enter. We had purchased tickets for Chaim and me online (kids go free) and thought we needed to wait in line for the children’s free tickets.
PRO TIP: You do NOT need to wait in line for those. Instead, just walk up to the online ticket entrance like you know what you’re doing and show them the tickets you did purchase. The park attendant will send you all through no problem. At least, this is what happened for us when I was tired of waiting and decided to try it out.
We had a great time exploring the city. The night before, I downloaded the Rick Stevens Audioguide and the My Pompeii Apps to help us take a self-guided tour of Pompeii. It was hard to hear, but Amichai enjoyed listening to the My Pompeii App as we moved from one location to the next. Not going to lie – there were several times where we were listening to a great explanation of a site that had nothing to do with where we were actually standing. Whoops!
As we explored, Amichai, ever the preteen, kept hoping to see “dead people.” It’s hard to know if he was excited or terrified. We had an important family conversation about how to show proper respect in a city ruined centuries ago by a volcano. Chaim also explained that the people we would see were not people, but 19th century casts made of the indentations left in the ash. When we entered the baths, we saw our first casts. Matanel grew sad and very sensitive. He said, “I feel bad for those people. This is sad.” Watching tourists, including his brothers, take pictures, he asked me, “Is it okay to take pictures?” We wondered aloud if that was a respectful thing to do even if it was for educational purposes. I didn’t have an answer, but he seemed to think not.
We stayed in Pompeii for two-and-a-half hours, and probably could have stayed longer if we weren’t worried about getting to Naples in time for Shabbat. After a quick bite to eat, we hopped on a train back to Naples.
We thought we would have plenty of time to pick up our luggage and then to our new Airbnb. Unfortunately, when we arrived in Naples we walked out of the station instead of through the station and ended up in the wrong place. Finally, we picked up our luggage and assumed we would still be fine. But, no. The stars did not align. First, we walked to the wrong line (again). Then, we couldn’t get a ticket for our station because we were in the wrong part of the station. Who knew!?! Why do the ticket machines not allow you to purchase tickets for or from different stations? It was mind boggling. And we only found out because I left the ticket machine to ask someone at the information desk about it. Then we had to walk back to the part of the station where we had first gotten lost after exiting the return train from Pompeii. Phew! We were finally on the right train and headed to the Toledo train station where we could then walk five minutes to our Airbnb.
PSYCH! First, exiting the train station took ten minutes on its own because the train let us off about three stories underground. The escalators were some of the longest escalators I had ever been on. It truly felt like we were emerging from the bowels of the earth. Then, our five minute walk took fifteen minutes up cobblestone streets and SO MANY STAIRS because we were walking up a gigantic hill the entire way.
Picture this: The streets of Naples are congested and narrow. All along, laundry is hanging across clothing lines high above, reminiscent of pictures from 1900s New York City’s Lower East Side. Small food markets and vendors abound, interspersed among the apartment complexes. Mopeds speed through the streets among the pedestrians. Some of the drivers are children, no older than ten or twelve years old.
When we arrived at our Airbnb there was a lovely, elderly woman, who I will endearingly call Nonna, watching us from her balcony. Nonna tried calling down to us to ask who we were, but the street was too noisy, and she was speaking Italian. After a few measly attempts at communicating with her by shouting and using my broken Italian, she came downstairs. Nonna spoke no English. I continued to use my limited Italian to let her know that “No, we were not hungry” and “Yes, our Airbnb host knows we are coming” and “No we are not hungry. We are tired.” “Yes, I have many boys” and “No, we do not want pizza right now.” Nonna was determined to make sure we were taken care of even though I told her multiple times that our Airbnb hostess was on her way. A man came by on a moped to take out the trash. Before he left, Nonna grabbed him and asked him to call our Airbnb hostess for us. He obliged. The phone call lasted ten seconds. Only when he confirmed that our hostess was coming did she let him leave. We waited about ten minutes for our hostess to arrive. As soon as our hostess arrived and confirmed she was indeed our hostess, Nonna disappeared. Nothing else could have felt more Italian in that moment.
Now with our Airbnb hostess, we entered the lobby to find an elevator about the same size as our elevator in Prague. Except, this time one required a fee! Our hostess gave us ten cents for the elevator. Eitan volunteered to ride it with our bags. Well, he tried. The elevator accepted the money but wouldn’t move. I may or may not have pinned him in with the bags even though he told me it would be too many. The poor kid couldn’t get out of the elevator himself. He was really mad at me for that and stared at me angrily while I maneuvered in the strangest of ways to get all of the bags out of the elevator so that we could lug them up the stairs.
Our hostess, whose name we learned was Suzy, didn’t speak English either. Her sister was on the phone providing English support. When she realized I could understand some of her Italian she was relieved. She resumed by speaking very slowly and VERY LOUDLY as if I was cognitively impaired or hard of hearing. I couldn’t help but note how weird it is that our natural human response to someone who doesn’t speak the same language is to speak in such a way that suggests the listener has a lower IQ. Something I am sure I have done in the past and hope I never do again.
Suzy kept looking nervously around the apartment, then at our boys, and then at the apartment again. Eventually, she let me know she was very nervous about the boys breaking something in the apartment because her own child (who was with her) couldn’t be trusted not to break anything. I proudly let her know that our boys are very conscientious about other people’s belongings and then silently prayed nothing would happen.
By the time Suzy left the apartment, Chaim had missed most of his meeting and there were only forty-five minutes left before Shabbat started. That was forty-five minutes to kasher some utensils, find a market, buy vegetables and fruit, and cook. I was able to get it done within the eighteen-minutes, barely.
Walking in the streets in the evening was an experience in and of itself. Although I was rushing, I tried to savor the moment of being alone and experiencing something new. The street was packed with locals visiting markets to purchase their dinner items while tourists explored the street most famous for the Diego Maradona mural. I found a small market with vegetables and fruit outside and what looked like a small warehouse for snacks and pasta inside. There was only one tiny refrigerator with a liter of milk available. Thank goodness I had thought to buy some rugelach and cakes for shabbat. Cereal was a non-starter. They would be our breakfast for the next two days. Once I chose my vegetables, I waited in what one might call a line if a line is a group of people huddling together waiting for the cashier to notice them. Meanwhile, individuals who are purchasing only one or two items and have exact change are throwing their money down on the counter while calling to the cashier to let him know they had bought something from him. He would acknowledge them with “Si”, a nod, or a grunt and then continue what he was doing. What might have appeared as chaos to the casual observer was clearly a symphony of organized mayhem that was likely part of centuries-old tradition.
After an incredibly long day, we enjoyed a delicious dinner with sauteed zucchini, broccoli, and a little onion mixed with white rice and one of the meat options I had bought in Rome. Chaim, Matanel, and Amichai passed out around 9:00PM while Eitan and Shai stayed up to play cards with me before settling in and finally going to sleep.
