Naples, the arrival

The flights were without great issue. First plane went up, bounced around above the storm system the whole time (the pilot, requesting that the flight attendants keep to their seats, tells us over the loudspeaker -- sorry, this is horrible!), I read my novel, plane landed, walk walk walk, across the crazy busy Atlanta airport (where are people going in midweek January?), in plenty of time for my Air France flight to Paris. How lucky to have grabbed a good seat on it at the very last minute! A glass of champagne (the norm on all Air France transAtlantic flights), a dinner, a mostly futile attempt at sleeping. Then walk walk walk from one terminal to the next in Paris and there, again, lots of people, but no lines on the transfer. American passports are now able to do automatic entry screening along with the EU passports which shortens the lines for us considerably. I even have time to grab the real deal at the airport!

The last flight's more or less on time, which is amazing given that today is a day of a Great French Strike and many transportation systems are affected. Still, I notice none of it. Indeed, I have an upgrade, which means not a whole lot as the seats up front are the same as in the back, but I am privileged to sit in front of an old Neapolitan couple who are of the old school, showing some of that bewilderment as the flight attendant attempts to convince us that a glass of orange juice and champagne would be just the ticket. Champagne and orange juice?? One other noteworthy event -- the skies clear as we fly over the Alps.

It's enchanting, really it is and I take out my big camera to photograph whatever we happen to pass outside my right-hand window. Still, the captain comes on to say the the views to the left are really impressive! Noting my interest in photography the flight attendant breaks all rules I'm sure by phoning the captain and gaining me permission to enter the cockpit. Which I do, but I am too awed and nervous to do more than take a random shot...

But I do wish the pilot  a bon appetit as he is eating a hearty brunch at the time of my visit. A remarkable moment, no matter which way you look at it.

*     *     *

We land pretty much on time, despite the greve (strike) and despite those aforementioned rains in Naples. In fact, it is only partly cloudy at noon. I think the only bits of sun for my whole trip are those that came through while we were landing. 

Taxi to the hotel. The usual conversation. Where are you from? Where is Wisconsin? Where are you from? Pompeii. Born and raised. Interesting. 

Picking place to stay here was tough. There's a lot of grumbling on the internet about most Neapolitan hotels. I wonder if people are just more grumpy or if hotels are really having a tough time keeping rooms clean and front desks staffed. When I finally picked a place, I wasn't yet sure if Bee would join me, so this had to be okay for her but also for a possibly solo me. In the end the Santa Lucia seemed like an obvious choice. The prices were so good that I asked for a view (it costs more). If all else fails, I'll sit by the window and watch the rain come down over the Bay of Naples. With Vesuvius just visible to the side.

(view from balcony)

(view from window)

Naples. I just finished a book about an American woman's experiences moving to Naples (The Mother-in-law Cure) and so I am a little under its influence. The Naples she discovered (fairly prosperous) was not the Naples described by Elena Ferrante. And yet, take these books and mix them with what you see before you and you think -- yes, I think I see a little of what you both want to convey. This is especially true since I am, of course, also Polish. Many have noted that Poles and Italians have a lot in common and I think those similarities come through especially in places like Naples. There is that stubborn adherence to tradition, often rooted in a very personal relationship with the church. And the Nonna in Naples is not unlike the Babcia in Poland. True, in Naples the discussion is how to make a good ragu and in Poland it will be how to make a bigos. Cabbage replaces tomatoes. Vodka replaces red wine. But the love of having a family recipe that's better than everyone else's -- not that different. 

So this is what I look for when I head out for my first walk in the Centro Storico (the old Naples) -- that evidence of all that I have read to be very real here -- that loud, gutsy ownership of space and time. A defiant belief that you can manipulate reality and come out okay at the end of the day. 

*     *     *

I mean to get myself eventually to my dinner choice for tonight. It's relatively far from my hotel -- some 50 minutes at a rapid pace. But, it's the place that woke me to the possibility of visiting Naples in January to begin with. Concettina Ai Tre Santi. Back in November, there was an article in the NYTimes about the awesomeness of pizza in this city. Everyone knows pizza was first made in Naples and this town is bursting with very excellent pizzerias. But the author of the article took it a step further -- she went to pizza places that were ostensibly beyond the beyond. Concettina was her first choice. Since it is a hefty walk from the hotel (walking an hour after dinner can be tiring), Bee and I decided to skip it during our time together. There are plenty of excellent pizzerias closer to us. But since I have before me this extra day and I am alone, I book a table for early eve and start a walk aiming in that direction at 1 p.m. 

I'm curious about two things today -- what's via Toledo like? It's supposed to be a pleasant shopping street here. I should stroll there.  And, too, I want to veer off into the Centro Storico. The heart of old Naples. 

In fact, I do cover a significant chunk of both, but this is not where my meandering takes me first. Here, follow along.

Just a little way up via Toledo, I see a building with a sign indicating that it houses a funicular station. There are four cable rails in Naples and this one, the Funiculare Centrale, is the longest. That it goes way up (four stations total) is a good reminder that Naples has hills. You don't feel it in the heart of the old city, but walk a few steps to its boundaries and suddenly you're panting. 

(see the hills?)

Another thing that took me by surprise: the way people eat food. It could not be more different than, say, in France. There are a million pastry shops and a million fried pizza shops and a million cafes. Few of them offer sitting choices. People eat on the street, standing up. I saw exactly zero number of sidewalk cafes brimming with chatting friends, lovers, visitors, you name it. And I walked for more than four hours, crisscrossing the city's neighborhoods. Zero. On the other hand, Italians standing to eat or grab that espresso or fried pizza? Everywhere.

(the pastry: uniquely Neapolitan!)

And here's the other fact that I hadn't fully appreciated, despite reading Ferrante's novels: Naples is cut up into neighborhoods and the ones down the hill (poorer) have little in common with the ones up the hill (wealthier). They say that even thieves know that you should rob with a different attitude up the hill: break in and steal art and appliances. Down the hill? Snatch tourist purses and maybe a camera or two. 

So I hop on the Funiculare (that's the station in the above photo) and then I am at the top, in a somewhat wealthier neighborhood, but without the views I was expecting. This is when I start asking. Excuse me, but do you know where I can find a view? And eventually, with great warmth and sincerity, I am directed to the Castle Sant'Elmo. 

You have to pay to enter, but it's worth it. In walking the ramparts, you see all of Naples before you. Even on a cloudy and momentarily wet January day.

(to the north)

(Vesuvius and the Amalfi coast)

A small group of Italian women, taking in the views...)

(further north...)

(Centro Storico -- it's not where the wealth is...)

(The north hills and shore? For moneyed people...)

I find another funicular and go down.

I realize I've been walking already for several hours and my sole food intake has been at the airport, with an extra croissant thrown in on the plane. Time to pause and finally point a finger at one of those pastries. Along with a macchiato, because I would not dare insult anyone by admitting that I like cappuccinos even in the afternoon.

Standing up, by the counter. At least I'm inside. (Great wall art!)

And now for the Centro Storico walk...

(Passing a church with a musician and a pair of spontaneous dancers...)

Many many pastry shops. This one makes the Neapolitan rings ("taralli") -- they're salty.

But you can opt for some sweet ones. That's what I do.

(Kids, going home from school...)

(Naples is like the rest of southern Italy in at least two ways: the ubiquitousness of men talking outside, and laundry hanging over the streets; both are present here...)

Many produce stands, as I enter the less touristy district of Naples. (This is the district where I find homelessness, though in smaller numbers than I had been expecting.)

Finally, my pizzeria.

I can't decide which pizza would give me the best indication of the quality here. I take forever. Finally I take the one that has three parts to it: there's buffalo ricotta, there's Margherita with tarallo crumbs, and there's incredible veal sausage and some wilted greens that I do not recognize. All three are smothered with smoked provolone. Amazing. Truly wonderful.

Walking home...

Of course I'm going to have a Negroni at the hotel! Of course!

Tomorrow, Bee is arriving, though not until late in the evening. But I have an idea for my day! For now -- buona notte, with so much amore!

Naples

I'm leaving for Naples. Soon. To nowhere else. Just Naples.

I know what sparked my interest to visit Naples, but I can't really put my finger on what pushed me to go with it. I have many sparked interests, after all. Few ever turn into real trips. So what is it about Naples? 

In all my travels to Italy, up and down the coasts, the islands, the cities, the small villages, mountains, lakes, places of beauty and places of history, I have never wanted to pause in Naples. For years and years, I have had images of a chaotic, dirty, and yes, dangerous city. Not one for the solo female traveler, in clothes that flashed her American naïveté and a big camera that paraded her tourist vulnerabilities. Not during Covid. I've heard the rumors about Naples hospitals -- you don't want to wind up in one, not without relatives minding your care from the sidelines! 

So what changed my mind? 

Was it the promise of good food? Of warmer winter weather? Of color? Street noise, of the type that you would run to, rather than run from? An understanding that this is a city with a people who have compassion as well as passion? Who live by rules that are truly their own and who value a day well spent, especially now, but really, also decades ago, a thousand years ago? There's beauty in all of that.

Naples is like Italy once was, they say, but really, Naples is like no other part of Italy.

So I wanted to be there and see for myself. And taste their pizza and sip their espresso -- both have their roots here -- and watch the people go about their daily lives in this crazily beautiful city that is, they say, like no other. Anywhere.

Naples is the third largest urban center in Italy. After Rome and Milan. But it's no Chicago: it's a third its size, which explains why it's so easy to plan excursions outside of it. And with Vesuvius towering to the east and the Amalfi coast shooting due south, you've got choices!

What really sealed the deal for me though was that my Polish friend, Bee, who has traveled to spend time with me before, was willing to come to Naples to spend time with me there. In January, which, though warm-ish, is known to be right in the thick of the rainy season. (They say it rains all winter and then in April, the summer heat rolls in.)

So here I am, boarding the noon flight today, minutes before a snow event here in Madison, to Atlanta, then to Paris, and if all connections work for me, then, finally -- Naples.

Because I changed the departure date just last night, moving it up by a day, things are feeling a tad chaotic. But, it's chaos I am used to. The chaos of travel.

Still, I have a quiet and lovely pre storm walk to the barn...

And I have a most wonderful breakfast with my ever encouraging beloved Ed...

(who will miss me more -- Ed or Dance? can't tell....)

And then I'm off. I don't trust that I will have enough time to post between flights, so I'm posting early and hoping that my next one will be from...Naples.

with so much love...

Tuesday

You don't get many hither and yon days like this one! Scattered in every direction. Uncoordinated and with lots of loose ends. Or, maybe you do? Let's hope not too often. 

It was a day of good intentions. Nevertheless, when you tally up its gains, I'd say Ed moved forward, I moved who knows where, and in between, we had what felt to me like one long run-on sentence. Sort of like this:

Muddy paths, well that's okay but that means lots of soggy chicken poop to step into and I did it with both shoes as I entered the barn and saw that the coop had been left fully open at the roost overnight so that any predator could have had a field day with seven chickens huddled under an open space calling out to all chicken loving animals everywhere yikes oh well all chickens miraculously accounted for must wash chicken poop off of shoes and rush to pick up veggie for tonight's supper, and baguette for all day long, and may as well get cinnamon rolls because why not, and now turning downtown I see that I am completely out of gas how did that happen and oh my, Lake Monona is unfrozen even though it's January 15th, that is so weird, but breakfast is so yummy, oh Ed, come in from under the car let's eat even as the phone rings and his friend who lives by a frozen lake asks if we want to go ice sailing today hahahahaha no time and instead we sit down and try to move some retirement funds around because the market is weird and we get nowhere at all and no one can figure out why so we leave it alone and Ed goes instead to one of his pals who works in metals and can break through some part of the busted rusted car of hi allowing him to access some broken something or other within, "pick me up, would you" he asks as he leaves his car with his pal, then he takes the beat up truck and is off to get some glue, leaving me to wonder if he is gluing car bits together but that cannot be, and while he's at it he gets cat food but me I am still searching for a way to get Paxlovid for my forthcoming trips and the last absolutely last resort is to sign up for online med services with some strange doctor but hey, she gets 4.5 star ratings from the two people who bothered to rate her, and I know I'm going to be out like $100 for a two minute conversation but it will be worth it, except I wait forever and she fails to show up and the service asks me if I'd like to sign up for another appointment really truly, I mean, you've got to be kidding me and BTW they dont dispense Paxlovid prescriptions without a positive Covid test, I mean pain killers fine other medications why sure, but not the one that would help me not get very sick if I get Covid while I travel so please give me my money back for your services, and darn it, our drive way is sooooo muddy!

That was my morning. Some photos, to add glamor to the text!

In the afternoon I pick up Snowdrop who asks me to drive past the park in the new development. I should have guessed. She wants a few mins on the playground, while I freeze because I dont bother wearing a jacket when I drive to pick her up at school. The car is warm. The playground is not.

At home, her appetite soars (can I please have lots of baguette, a muffin, a part of croissant and some cookies in addition to the fruit?) and she picks up a book she's read already even though I put out some tempting (in my view, but clearly not in hers) new books.

This evening, on our drive back, she is feeling chatty. She tells me she and her mom are like sponges soaking it all in and her dad gives it a squeeze and they spill it out. Tonight I am the sponge wringer and she is the reporter: speculating, musing, assessing.

In the evening I scramble eggs, steam asparagus and fry up some mushrooms. And then Ed reads me the updated weather report for Thursday -- they day I am to head out for my brief trip. And boom! I know there is at least a 50% chance that my flight out of here will be cancelled. So I do what any person wanting to get to her destination not simply a day before it's time to come back -- I call the airline, wait the requisite hour to talk to an agent and change my reservation to -- tomorrow.

I don't really want to leave tomorrow. I have a meal planned for tomorrow. Snowdrop is to come here tomorrow. Ed and I are to watch a movie... Still, I make the switch. It's the sensible thing to do.

The rest of the waking hours are spent on changing everything, notifying everyone and packing. So, is there a reason why January is a tricky month for travel? Yes there is.

More on everything... tomorrow. 

with so much love...

Monday

Rain. A March-like, steady rain, the kind that gives life to the Creeping Charlie that should have gone dormant long ago. Sloppy, wet rain, over mostly frozen soil. 

Perfect for catching up: with my sister in Warsaw. With my friend, also in Warsaw. One likes Skype, the other Zooms. A cup of coffee for the first, a large cup of tea for the second. She comments -- that is one large cup. I smile. These days, you can have such conversations for free. Great distances away. And you can soak in the details of another person's life. Notice the yellow sweater that she's wearing, or the large cup that I always use for my teas.

Breakfast? Just before the calls. Ed is in and out, but comes back for the morning meal.

I can't even keep track -- did you go for more tools for your car or for granite samples at the quarry for your new machine? Can you tell that I live with a person who is mechanically gifted? 

The two older kids are coming here to the farmhouse this afternoon (no school, it's Martin Luther King Jr Day after all) and so I quickly bake up a tray of blueberry muffins. Snowdrop loves them and Sparrow claims to like them. Good enough!

(playing with the two of them is very different than playing with just one at a time!)

And after I drop them off at home, the rains really come down! In January, as if it were not even March, but April!

motivation

When I went out to feed the animals, we'd just crossed the freezing mark and the sun was definitely winning the battle against the clouds. Nice day -- I thought to myself and I extended my walk to survey the farmette lands beyond the barn.

When I looked past the photogenic (in my opinion anyway) landscape and focused my attention on what's growing here, I felt, well, overwhelmed. Two trees that fell during storms needed to be chopped up. Ed does this, but the trouble here is that it simply gets added to his list of projects. Apart from the fact that he is working hard to launch a redesign of a machine, he has, right now, a broken car (he worked on that all day yesterday and decided it probably cannot be fixed. Still, he's working away, pausing occasionally to pick up a new tool or part at Harbor Freight), and there is the stove project, which has now morphed into something else -- perhaps not a new stove, but instead an air filtration system. This means that he is reading every scientific publication of air filtration and the presence of particles in the kitchen that are produced by gas cooking. So, there are the felled trees and then there is everything else. 

Much needs to be cut down, raked away and reimagined. That last bit -- that's up to me, but I cannot quite get myself to plan something, when I see that I have a lot of work to do outside before I get to that point. Work that never got finished in the Fall and work that I wont be able to get to once I have my knee surgery. 

In other words, I better get to it now.

I propose, over breakfast, that we work on some of this today. The weather is decent, actually more than decent, considering it's January 15th. 

But the ground's frozen -- he reminds me. 

This is true, but we can snip away and clear some of the land. Like for instance around the baby peach trees. Or in the new orchard. Or around the 65 maples and nut trees that we planted two years ago. Or even in the flower fields by the sheep shed. 

It feels very much like the work is piling on and we are standing still.

Eventually he goes off to get those parts for his busted car (get a new used car! I tell him. There's none out there that appeals to me -- he retorts. A very old, cheap hatchback -- this is his preferred model). So I step out alone to do some small flower field clearing. But I'm not really motivated. January is any farmer's rest time, right? Not for us. We need to make a dent on our projects or else -- well, more will just pile on and we'll become one of those ancient couples, barricaded inside, while the weeds grow so dense that no one will reach us through the front or back doors.

In the evening, the young family is here for dinner. 

(the crackers and cheese station)

(oh, and beets and tomatoes...)

(wait, are three of you wearing Lilo & Stitch sweatsuits??)

(dinner)

(trying out a new look)

(just like mommy!)

(what she tries, he likes to try too...)

(too young to understand the importance of a fashion statement...)

Another January day... Low on gardening motivation, but high on so much that's good right now!