Spring Break - Italy

I flew from Athens to Rome on Monday morning where I met Dad at the airport. I had not seen him since before the trip started, and now we were able to spend almost seven days together. He had flown into Rome about an hour before me, so the timing was almost perfect.

From the Rome airport, we took a train to Naples then caught another to Sorrento. In Naples we were both starving for lunch, so we set off in search of a particular pizzeria that Dad had read about in his guidebook. We thought we followed the directions, but we could not find this particular pizzeria. With our suitcases in tow we walked for blocks in search of this restaurant before finally conceding. We stopped at another restaurant, and the pizza was delicious. After this we realized that the many restaurants written up in guide books are often tourist attractions and cannot be better than any authentic Italian pizzeria. This was my first Italian pizza, and it was amazing. Dad and I talked about how pretentious we may be at the end of the trip so that we will never allow ourselves to eat American pizza again. I hope this isn’t true because I do love pizza, and I would like to be able to return to my favorite restaurant in Milwaukee, the Pizza Man. ☺ After our next train from Naples to Sorrento, we had an extended stop in Sorrento waiting for the public SITA bus to take us to our final stop, Positano. Little did we know that holdups at SITA bus stops would become a recurring theme. The bus did finally come, and we arrived safely in Positano and found our hotel, the Savoia.

Dad and I have a particularly great memory starting at the SITA bus stop in Positano, from which we hitched a ride into Sorrento. We were waiting at the stop in the pouring rain. Two scheduled buses never came, and it was nearing the time when the third bus should arrive, but we were losing hope. While we waited, a very nice Italian lady lent us her umbrella, and the three of us cowered under it. Then a passing car stopped to talk to her and ask if she wanted a ride. They were going to Sorrento, and she needed to go in the other direction, but she told them that we were going to Sorrento. The driver then offered to take us, and our friend pushed us toward the car, saying that they are her friends, her friends, her friends!, and we should ride with them. I looked at Dad, and he shrugged, so we hopped in the backseat. We were able to talk some to the relatively young man and his wife, and especially memorable about this ride was the moment when we almost hit an oncoming SITA bus. The road between Sorrento and Positano is very narrow and tortuous, and it always presents a problem when a SITA bus encounters another car. The bus honks its horn before it goes around every curve since because of its size it must cross the center line on these curves, and cars around the bend cannot see it coming. So approaching the curve, we distinctly heard the call of the SITA bus, but our driver pressed forward. Then he rounded the curve just as the SITA bus did, far on our side of the road. Our driver slammed on his brakes, and all was fine, but his wife got very upset with him. Dad and I cannot understand a word of Italian, but we knew exactly what she was saying. She raised her voice, gesticulated wildly, and even made the honking sound in imitation of the SITA bus. Perhaps shamefully, Dad and I really enjoyed this experience.

On Wednesday we visited Pompeii, which was fascinating. I will return to Pompeii with the classics group shortly before Easter, but it was the first time each of us visited. We had no conception of the size of Pompeii, and we spent over four hours at the site but still did not see everything. Most of the Pompeii mosaics have been removed to the National Archaeological Museum in Naples, which we visited on Thursday. We were able to learn and understand a lot more about Pompeii by seeing many of the best-preserved artifacts at the museum. We spent hours here too and did not get through everything. We were scholarly for all but about five minutes of this visit, and during these five minutes Dad and I just had to get some silliness out of our systems. We goofed off a little bit and took some very funny pictures of us imitating sculptures. After the Archaeological Museum, we visited the Diocesan Museum, which was also wonderful. The Diocesan Museum showcases Christian art of the region which consists mostly of paintings, altars, and sculptures depicting biblical characters or scenes. Dad and I were especially stunned by the graphic paintings of martyrdom. My life has been unbelievably painless, and I only caught a glimpse of that by looking at those paintings.

During our walk from the National Archaeological Museum to the Diocesan Museum, we were caught in a sudden and vicious thunder, lightning and hail storm. It may have been a slightly gloomy day, but the storm seemed to come out of nowhere. The hail that fell was the most intense hail I have ever seen. The hailstones were huge, and they bounced back up as they hit the ground, but soon the sidewalk was covered. This scene reminded me of the scene from Home Alone 2 when the robbers slip on the pearls that Kevin drops in their path. The hail on the sidewalk in Naples created a similarly perilous situation, and Dad and I hid under an awning as we watched the storm strike.

After an excellent five nights in Positano and many adventures in Positano, Sorrento, Naples and Pompeii, we rode the train back to Rome on Saturday. We then spent a day and a half exploring in Rome. Among other things, we went to All Saints Anglican Church, visited the Vatican, saw the Fountain of Trevi and the Spanish Steps, and searched for towels (to be explained later). The visit to the Vatican and St. Peter’s Basilica was especially overwhelming, and I will definitely return for longer when the group goes to Rome. Over ninety popes are buried in the basilica, and the basilica seemed to focus even more on the popes than on Christ. While we were there, the guards came in to stop anyone from traversing the nave. We watched a procession in which a few priests led at least 100 people chanting something very beautiful. They chanted the entire way from the entrance to the left altar where they held some sort of mass. We were glad to see this take place, especially since we had just been wondering how often the basilica was actually used for organized worship.

Now to explain the towels. It is reasonably expected that I lose something on this trip since we are staying in so many hotels and traveling constantly for four months. Well, I had been doing very well and had not lost anything until Positano. Then, probably because it was Spring Break and I was with Dad, I finally let my guard down, and I left two things there. One was my towel and the other my iPod charger. I had only used the towel at the hostel in Athens, but I would need it after break because the group would be staying in another hostel for six nights. We thought that the next hostel might have towels at reception for borrowing, but we did not think it wise to risk that, so Dad and I scoured Rome for a towel. We saw monuments and enjoyed the scenery as we searched, but we nonetheless searched for a towel for hours. Dad kept expecting tourist shops to have them, but he finally accepted that Rome is not the North Carolina beach we are so used to. It was getting very late and we were getting desperate, so we practically gave up on the towel search and Dad said I could just take one from the hotel. Then on our way back we passed a towel store! We looked at each other with glee and jumped in. The store had many varieties and colors, free engraving, and it wasn’t even expensive. I chose a red towel with gold engraving, and I got my name engraved in black, to resemble Davidson colors. We had found me a towel, it was of my choosing, and even had my name stitched in it. But, to make the story even better, I used the towel for the first time at the hostel last night, and it doesn’t fit around me! It is definitely a kid’s towel, or just not a shower towel, because it is absolutely tiny. And the hostel does lend out towels for 2 euros, so I bought one this morning. Mary said such a story would only happen to me because “my life is an adventure.” Perhaps.

During our time in Italy, as a result of people-watching and conversation, Dad and I made many observations about the Italians. First of all, we were surprised by their short stature. I am not particularly tall, but I was taller than maybe every other or every third Italian man I saw. Second, the Italians are very passionate talkers, and they gesticulate constantly and loudly. During the hours that we spent at SITA bus stops, we made many such observations. Printed very clearly at the front of every SITA bus was a sign to not talk to the driver. However, almost every driver engaged in very passionate conversations with his passengers. As he drove and chattered, he still did not fail to use dramatic hand motions. I hope it does not sound like I am making fun of the Italians, because I do not at all intend to. I admire such passion and engagement in life.

All of this observation of the Italians and their gesticulation reminded me of my high school freshman English teacher, Mrs. Cicero. Mrs. Cicero had a profound effect on me for many reasons, and she is one of those people who I have always aspired to be like. Though this is probably one of the least significant things I learned from her, I distinctly remember her talking about the Italians’ hand gestures during the first few weeks of freshman year. Because of her almost overwhelming personality, I can now imagine that during these first weeks our class probably seemed overwhelmed and utterly confounded by her. One day as she spoke very passionately (and I don’t remember what about), she paused to explain one of the reasons why she uses so many hand gestures. She said that, though she was born and raised in Wisconsin, her family is Italian, and the Italians talk as much with their hands as with their mouths. She also said to not be intimidated by that. I don’t know why I have remembered this insignificant detail for so long. Nevertheless, I thought about it on my way to Italy, and I tested this theory during my stay there. As you can tell already from my writing, it is very true. The Italians gesticulate constantly, loudly and passionately, but I love it. ☺