In Croatia and with Family in Italy

I flew on Iberia Airlines over the Atlantic to Rome via Madrid. Once again, the actual traveling part of traveling was quite exhausting. The Madrid to Rome leg was a full business commuter flight where everything to eat or drink cost money, even water. On the other hand they gave away free papers like the Financial Times. I had already booked round trip flights to Rome (months in advance) when I decided to take advantage of the opportunity to visit my friend Michael in Dubrovnik, Croatia. He had come to the reunion of The Land community in June and when we talked had graciously invited me to visit him in Europe. As Croatia is just a hop across the Adriatic from Italy I booked a round trip flight from Rome to Dubrovnik not realizing what a pain it would turn out to be. The flights were on Croatia Airlines and, while the ticket claimed one stop, there were actually two stops. First on entering Croatia (and last on leaving it) the flight went through Split, in what was called a technical stop, for Croation customs; then Zagreb, then Dubrovnik. At each stop we had to exit the airplane and go back through security. On the way back it was even worse as their computers were down so we not only had to get re-screened by security each time, but also had to pick up and recheck our bags.

The Croatian airports were charmingly small, straight out of the 1950s; boarding via stairs out on the tarmac. The security personnel all wore very plain, light green Eastern European uniforms. The men all had crew cuts. Men and women alike tended to be stern looking blonds. Everything seemed spare, sparse and humorless. Funny thing though, at one of these never-ending security screenings the alarms went off when I went through the gateway. ``Oh!'' I said, ``I forgot to take these coins out of my pocket,'' pulling coins out of my pocket and showing the guard. ``OK, go ahead,'' said the guard and waved me along without rechecking me. On the flights they served a small traditional Croation pastry, the Pap Rentak, and offered to sell me cartons of cigarettes.

Michael was kind enough to meet me at the airport. As we were waiting for my luggage he asked, ``So, what brings you to Dubrovnik?'' ``I have a friend here,'' I replied. ``Who's that, then?'' he said. I looked him up and down for few seconds with a quizzical look and then he realized I was talking about him and gave a laugh.

He had a very nice apartment with a grand view of the old walled city. His fiance Kati and her sister Ewa had also come in from Berlin with him. Lots of talk, talk, talk which I enjoyed very much. There is an island just off the coast that can be plainly seen from Michael's window. One morning I watched a huge cruise ship maneuver into position, blocking a surprising amount of the view, and then send wave after wave of boats full of tourists to the docks by the old city. There must have been thousands of the tourists.

That day we spent a lot of time in the old walled city, seeing the sights and enjoying the feel of it. We ate outside at a friendly restaurant off a winding stone stairway, and enjoyed fresh fish (which the waitress carved into a dog's breakfast) and watched the tourists stumble by. At dusk, after the tourists had gone back to their cruise ship, we sat in Dubrovnik's nice main square and drank coffee while families strolled by. A wedding party burst upon the scene loud and laughing. The bride looked so happy.

On Saturday we went north to a marina where Michael kept his boat. The plan was to visit an island or two and enjoy a day on the Adriatic. Unfortunately, someone had used the boat in Michael's absence and brought it back with no gas. Michael was pretty upset because the only extra keys were at the marina office which meant that the marina staff had to be in on it. But, being the weekend in Croatia meant that the marina office was closed and so was the gas station! So no complaining to the authorities and no boating without gas. Instead we toured the coast a bit by car after breakfast in the marina restaurant.

We visited a villa that Michael was negotiating to buy. It was a centuries-old convent and one of the first places built outside the city walls. It had much potential and Michael and Kati were full of plans for renovating it. One of Michael's dreams is to establish a Dubrovnik Shakespeare Festival and the villa will partially be used as home for this.

On to Italy

``Rome reminds me of a man who lives by exhibiting to travellers his grandmother's corpse.'' James Joyce

On Sunday I bid farewell and took my circuitous journey back to Rome, arriving late in the afternoon. I took the train from the airport into Rome. I had read in the guidebooks that one should time-stamp one's train ticket at one of the machines on the platform. The guidebooks said that technically there was a fine for not doing so but it had never been known to be imposed on a tourist. In the compartment where I settled was an American family from South Carolina just arriving in Europe. I got to talking with the father and found out it was their first trip overseas. As the conductor made his way down the aisle towards us I showed him my ticket with the time-stamp upon it and asked if he had stamped his. This was all news to him. "Oh no," I said, shaking my head, "That's a hundred euro fine!" He began to panic at the thought that he'd made this mistake and that it was going to cost him. As the conductor got closer he began to ask others hurried questions, but received only Italian or broken English answers. When the conductor arrived he began explaining rapidly that he hadn't known about having to stamp his tickets, and began apologizing. The conductor looked at him like he was crazy and waved him off, punched his tickets and continued on down the aisle. He looked over at me to find me laughing. "You," he said, "are a very bad man."

As I walked out of the train station, trying to get my bearings, a young Italian walked up to me and asked if I needed a cab. I looked over at the curb where there were a long line of people apparently waiting for taxis and said, ``Don't I have to go over there?''

``Oh no,'' he said, ``I've got my own cab. Where do you want go go?''

``The Mimosa Hotel,'' I said and showed him my copy of the emailed confirmation which had the address on it.

``No problem, 25 euros complete,'' he said.

Alright, so off we went. The Mimosa hotel was located on Via di Santa Chiara a few blocks from the Pantheon. My cabbie didn't know where it was, of course, but he did drop me off on the right street, if a few blocks away at another hotel. At least he got me to the street. Comparing notes with my brother later, he had the same thing happen to him at the airport except he was taken for even more euros. Experience taught us that taxis in Rome are extraordinarily reasonable and a cab ride from the train station to the hotel should have cost us less than 10 euros. Ah, live and learn. And his taxi driver didn't even take him to the street but dropped him off at Corseo Vittorio Emanuelle, the large boulevard some blocks away.

At the wrong hotel, where I was dropped off, I wandered up and down the street for a few minutes and then entered the lobby and---trying out my smattering of Italian---asked where the Hotel Mimosa was. The hotel clerk took me outside and, while pointing up the street, unleashed a stream of incomprehensible Italian. I had to confess, in my memorized Italian phrases, that I didn't speak Italian very well. ``English?'' he asked and then told me where the hotel was.

I wandered by it the first time and at the end of the via was a booth staffed by a uniformed Italian police officer. These are dotted all over Rome. Using the same phrases that got me help from the hotel staff I asked where the hotel Mimosa was. He looked up from his reading, peered at me over his glasses, and looked at me like I was from another planet. I made a second try, but after he just continued to look me up and down saying nothing, I left and wandered back down the via where this time I found the door with the hotel's plaque, pushed the intercom and was buzzed in after explaining I was a guest.

The hotel was 57 steps up to the third floor, no lift, so up I trudged where the gentleman at reception signed me in and showed me down the halls to the room my brother Paul had already checked into. A note waited for me saying he had gone to our see our sister and brother-in-law, Mary and Don, at their hotel and would be back soon. And sure enough, very quickly my brother Paul along with my brother-in-law Don showed up. We decided to walk back over to see Mary at her hotel. This was a route my brother Paul and I would come to know well. This first time was a great savoring experience. First we stopped at Piazza della Rotunda and admired the Pantheon. The square was very crowded. My brother asked if I had eaten and I said no but I'd love to. Rome has all these lovely outdoor cafes in their piazzas, with many tables and umbrellas. He and Don had both eaten but we asked at a crowded ristaurante about getting a table, explaining that only I was eating and the waiter shook his head no. I explained I eat a lot though, and then his face lit up, ``Oh, I forgot about the little table,'' he exclaimed. And led us over to a small table at the very edge on the piazzo.

After we ordered, the waiter said, ``And some bruschetti.'' No, I said, we don't want any. But he brought it anyway and it was the best bruschetti I have ever had. Delicious. Ever since then I've been trying bruschetti to find any as good. No luck yet. Don ordered only a drink, a Dram Bowie on the rocks. The waiter said, ``Don't you want a man's drink, instead?'' Don declined.

The Pantheon itself sits erect, brooding over the piazza. I found it's interior uninspiring, but its simple exterior was quite effective. From the Pantheon we walked by the house of parliament building (where there was a changing scene every time, including protestors and TV cameras from time to time) and by the column of Marcus Aurelius to the Trevi Fountain. This was the first time I saw the famous fountain, which was lit up beautifully with crowds of people around and vendors working them. The water sounded soothingly and the crowd was happily chattering away. I threw a coin in the fountain in the modern ritual making a wish to visit again with my true love.

From Trevi fountain it was out to Via del Tritone and up the via to Piazza Barbarini, which contains Bernini's wonderful Fountain of the Triton. From there it was a short block to the King Hotel where Mary and Don were staying. Paul and I were in a one-star, this was a three-star and much more comfortable than our digs. And it turned out to be not that much more money. While the Mimosa had a great location, that was all it had. My bed was short, narrow, lumpy and uncomfortable. The window opened out onto a noisy alley and the blinds were broken so that street lights poured in all night. On reflection, I don't think the savings were worth the misery.

After visiting my sister, we retraced our steps home to our uncomfortable, but well situated hotel.

Next day, we wandered a bit in the morning, going over to the Piazza Navone, quite a nice square (oval, actually which the ancients would flood and hold boat races in) with lots of interesting architecture and fountains and much going on. Every time I came to it, which was often, it came as a surprise. That morning we sat at an outdoor cafe. The waiter brought us menus, but we said just coffee: a cappuccino for Paul, double espresso for me. Sitting in the sun on the piazza, sipping coffee and people watching was great. With the bill though came the shock---12.5 euros for coffee? After that we always looked at the prices in the menus before we ordered. And, of course, we learned about all the coffee bars where excellent coffee could be had for a euro or two. To the south of the Piazza is the Pasquino, one of Rome's ``talking statues'' where you can post comments, witticisms, etc. When we were there it was covered in papers as there was a heated election going on.

I asked around for a laundromat as I had been on the road a week now and needed to wash my clothes. Paul stayed at the hotel for a snooze while I found a laundry near the Piazza Navone. The Roman running the laundromat was most amusing. He held court there, crowing and gesturing and talking to everyone passing by, paying particular attention to the women. He told me that to be Roman was something very different and very superior to just being Italian. He taught me some useful Italian phrases like, ``You have a beautiful ass,'' and ``How about it?'' etc.

Next day we joined up with Mary and Don (taking our usual Pantheon-Parliament-Aurelius-Trevi route) for some sightseeing. Mary is not the most mobile tourist and so we took a few bus tours. At St. Paul's I stopped to give a gypsy with child a few coins. I asked how she was doing (in Italian) and she responded, ``Mal.'' ``Bad?'' I said, ``how can that be, the sun is out and you have a beautiful baby.'' They may have been renting the children, but it became such a habit for me that Paul made me turn around in Sorrento once telling me I had passed a begging mother and child without giving them anything. One nursing mother even pursued me through the train station wanting more.

One bus tour picked us up at Mary's hotel and took us around some sites and then dropped us at a nice travatoria for lunch before resuming the tour. The lunch was fun and very good. I had learned a smattering of Italian and always tried to speak it when I could. It's funny, some waiters seemed to only want to speak English and seemed bored with the tourists. Others, the best ones, like here, would play a bit with me in their language. And I really love Italian expressiveness, talking as much with the hands and the inflections as the words. The food I tasted in Italy was, with only a few notable exceptions, fantastic.

At one point, much to Mary's chagrin, our tour bus broke down outside the Piazza Navone and we walked by foot over the Tiber across the Ponte Sant'Angelo with its Bernini angels, past the looming papal fortress, the Castel Sant' Angelo, and into the Vatican. We walked past a long row of vendors selling souvenirs, trinkets, jewelry, books, clothes, etc. The Vatican itself is as ostentatious as advertised. As a fallen away Catholic I'm sure I'm prejudiced, but I found St. Peter's to be much too big and many artworks there, notably The Pieta, were too far away to enjoy. The Vatican museums were quite an exhibition of treasures (``gallery upon gallery''), but I couldn't help thinking about the poor. For example, there were room after room of ornate gilded cabinets whose sole purpose was to hold the gifts given to the popes over the centuries. We made a tourist mistake of falling for a pitch and engaging a guide for a few euros. I suppose it's because we are soft hearted. He was a sweet old man, dressed in faux professor garb, but his exposition consisted of things he'd learned by rote that could be found in any ordinary guidebook. (He also made the unforgivable error of recommending to us a restaurant run by a friend of his which turned out to serve terrible Americanized food [beef and potatoes] and vinegary wine.) The Sistene Chapel was quite charming, however, and well worth the time spent there. I was glad to see the Delphic Sybil among the ceiling's images.

From our hotel near the Pantheon Paul and I took a number of walks through the city. Here are a few of them:

Crossing the Piazza Venezia, Rome's principal hub of traffic, on foot was great fun and really gave me a feeling of fluidity as I paced myself and threaded my way through the small cars, trucks and scooters and they threaded their way around me. We walked past the looming Victor Emanuel Monument and ended up on the Capitoline Hill which has Michelangelo's beautiful and serene facades. In the center of the square is the ancient equestrian statue of Marcus Aurelius. Well, there is a copy of it, you can see the original in the museum.

The museums occupy the two side palazzi and are connected by a tunnel. They contain thousands of works of classical antiquity. Rooms full of them and hallways crowded. Such a wealth of riches. Almost any one of them, if loaned to the Met or British Museum, would have its own room and docent. Take for example, {\it The Dying Gladiator}. I had read Byron's account of it (in the fourth canto of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage:

Well, we found it in the hallway of the second floor of the Capitoline Museum just in with a jumble of other ancient works.

From the Capitoline hill we went exploring the Forum. The Senate House was much more modest than I expected, a long rectangular building with several low tiers on each side. Truth is, I found it hard to make sense of all the bits and pieces of ruin that were sticking up here and there in the Forum. I took their audio tour, but remember almost nothing. From the Forum we went up the Palantine hill and had a look at the high-rent district of ancient Rome, that is, the imperial housing. There was a partially restored villa that was interesting to see, but what I remember most was the greenery, the gardens, the light breeze, the dappled sun. It all seemed very pleasant.

We walked over to the Coliseum which is a magnificent wreck. It's so desolate and ruined that it cries out something. What, I can't say, but it's definitely crying. I felt almost meditative touring within it, even with the noisy crowds.

After, we looked for the "golden palace" of Tiberius which is located near the Coliseum. He had built this obscenely huge and ornate palace for himself which was allowed to go to ruin the moment he died. We walked through one inviting gate, up some steps, and along a walk only to find ourselves in a park populated by numerous sallow young men, clustering together, casting dark glances at us and everything else. Ah, it turned out that we'd found the drug dealers. We walked through the park and asked directions from a bus driver. The driver spoke only Italian and I failed to make a meaningful connection. He had an interesting zig-zag kind of hand motion though and undoubtedly that's the way we should have gone. We didn't though, walking back through the park to Via Nicola Salvi and the up a very inviting drive called Via Della Domus Aurea. This turned out to be a family park with benches along the drive and a small piazza with the ever present Roman fountain at the end. In the park was a great family scene, from the oldest grandparents walking with canes and assistance to the youngest babies. The boys were chasing each other with sticks and the girls were playing hopscotch on chalked outlines. As we sat on a bench and rested I received a disapproving look from a Roman matron, as if we tourists were invading their private space.

One day we wandered into the Jewish Ghetto. We went through the busy, crowded Largo Argentina, pausing to be entertained by a street beggar who was singing exuberantly and carrying a sign that translated as, ``I'm poor but I'm happy,'' then taking a look at the sunken excavation of four republican temples. Uncovered only in the twentieth century, Mussolini stopped new construction from destroying them. The day we were there, and probably every day, they were a refuge for cats. Heading south on the Via Arenula we found a neglected, unsigned park we immediately dubbed ``Pigeon Park'' because of the large amount of bird droppings covering every inch of it's benches. Winding our way to the left, we backtracked a bit until we found the Piazza Mattei with it's famous and lovely tortoise fountain, although it was looking a bit green. From here it was a short walk to the heart of the Ghetto with its many shops and curiosities. I thought it would be pleasant to have a bookshop there. At the end of the main street are the remains of the huge portico built by Augustus for his sister Octavia. Most of it is long gone and what remains has some unattractive medieval construction. For centuries it was the main fish market in Rome.

We were looking to enjoy a repast at Piperno's, one of the oldest restaurants in Rome. It had been known as Father Abrahams or more commonly, Pappa Abrams. Its specialty was Jewish artichokes. It was in a small piazza fed by a one-way alley with another leading away. The food was very good, and the waiters better. Jewish artichokes are roasted and so have some charring at their edges. Paul had left some of the outer leaves but the waiter told him to eat them up, that they were good for him. I'm not the neatest of eaters and after one course had left crumbs on the table. The waiter solemnly and meticulously scraped these crumbs off the table with a stiff card. It was all my brother and I could do to not laugh out loud. It was such fun that we brought my sister and brother-in-law by for dinner one night. That night our taxicab driver started cursing as he could not figure out how to maneuver through the alleys to deliver us to the front door and had to let us off at the wrong end of a one way alley and let us walk.

From Piperno's we walked under the shadow of the Synagogue to the Forum Boarium (cattle market) and admired its two 2nd Century BC temples: one round, one rectangular. We had to pay a visit of course to the nearby medieval church of S. Maria in Cosmedin where lives the Boca della Verite (The Mouth of Truth) which figured so in the film Roman Holiday. And then we went in search of another mouth and ventured out on the Ponte Palatino to get a view of the Cloaca Maxima, the mouth of Rome's ancient sewer, where the waste of the ancient rich had emptied into the Tiber.

We ventured into the Circus Maximus, a big serviceable grassy oval, where they were setting up for a political rally with sound trucks and equipment scattered about. And then up the Aventine Hill on a wide footpath called the Clivo di Rocca Savella. We walked up the hill, startling a family of gypsys that had settled in the shrubbery to the side, and soon reached the public garden, the Parco Savello, with its fantastic views of the city. Beautiful day, beautiful weather, beautiful views. Young lovers were entwined on stone benches, workers on lunch break were enjoying the park, a young woman stopped to drink from the fountain and used her hand to stop the flow of water which then came out an opening near her mouth. It was the first time I had seen that trick and it was one I used afterwards.

Rome is filled with fountains, all with good water and all architecturally interesting, from the huge Trevi Fountain to the humblest park fountain. One guide told us that Rome is a city of ruins, fountains and obelisks. The obelisks were taken from Egypt when it was under Roman rule.

Near the park was the Priory of the Knights of Malta with its gate and famous keyhole. We thought looking through the keyhole would be a bust. My brother told me later that he thought at the time, "Why is he dragging me all the way up here to look through a keyhole?" As we approached a private car pulled up and disgorged two pretty young women (Americans) and their guide, so we got in line behind them to look through the keyhole. They oohed and ahhed and told me they were having a great time. When I looked through the keyhole I was stunned to discover that it was like magic as the Dome of Saint Peter's appears to float in the air at the end of a garden path lined with trees.

Late one afternoon we arrived at the bottom of the Spanish Steps and relaxed for a bit watching the tourists and locals at the flower stalls and around the ruined boat fountain, the Barcaccia. I had been warned by several people about the plethora of beggars at the Spanish Steps, but I saw little evidence of them. My brother and I climbed the steps to the church at the top and looked back across the city at the sunset, a golden-red delight. We walked back down and across the city toward the Tiber looking for the Via della Scrofa and the famous Alfredo alla Scrofa restaurant. There are two famous Alfredo restaurants in Rome, each claiming to have the gold fork and spoon presented to the original owner by Douglas Fairbanks and Mary Pickford, but this is the older one. When we arrived the staff was still dining together so we went next door for a coffee. After a time we went back and managed to squeeze ourselves in without a reservation. The food was fabulous. Not just the pasta, but everything, including the house wine. The deserts were to die for. This was another restaurant we visited again with Mary and Don.

Near our hotel was Rome's only Gothic church, S. Maria Sopra Minerva. A small Michaelangelo statue was next to the altar, but for me the best attraction was Bernini's sculpture of a small elephant carrying an obelisk on its back. Straight out of Disney, or actually vice-versa.

Rome offered many other sights and pleasures. For example, my brother and I wandered up the modern Via Veneto with it's fancy shops and restaurants, through the fortified Porta Pincians and into the beautiful and serene Borgese Gardens. We stayed there as long as we could until a storm chased us out and down the via to my sister's hotel and dinner. Another day we walked down the Via del Quirinale, past the corner with the four fountains, and into the baroque church Santa Maria della Vittoria in order to see Bernini's Cornaro Chapel and his orgasmic Ecstasy of St. Teresa. Then we elbowed our way through a political gathering at the Piazza della Repubblica across from the train station. One day we crossed the ancient Ponte Sisto and spent a few hours exploring the working class Trastevere district with its graffiti and litter. I don't think there are any 12.50 euro coffees there!

One thing that struck me in Rome was all the pairs of mothers and daughters. They were shopping, walking, talking, drinking coffee, just hanging out together. All in all I found Rome haunting and will return when I can.

South to Sorrento

My sister and brother-in-law were off to Venice, but my brother and I headed south. We traveled down to the coastal town of Sorrento and stayed in an inexpensive but very nice room (with a balcony where I managed to pen a letter home) on the street above the train station. Sorrento has a wonderful old town with winding cobblestone streets and lots of restaurants, shops, and other tourist attractions. One night we happened on a very nice restaurant which was packed with locals where my brother had the best pizza ever.

One day we took the boat out to Capri and wandered around this famous pleasure island. First, of course, we took a small boat out to the Grotta Azzurra, where we transferred into a little rowboat, just my brother, myself and the singing oarsman. Then, after waiting in a line of rowboats, the oarsman timed our entry with the waves and pulled us (via a handy rope) while we lay flat in the boat, into the Blue Grotto. If the tide's too high you can't get in and if it's too low the entry is uneventful. We came at just the right time as I wondered whether I should take off my glasses and thought my nose might end up a bloody pulp. It was indeed brilliantly blue in the grotto and our oarsman sang heartily as he rowed us around in circles before reversing our steps and taking us back to the larger boat. I thought, ``What a racket!'' You not only have to pay for passage on the boat that brings you out, but when we first got into the rowboat we were rowed bobbing up and down over to a government fee collector, looking every bit an Italian gangster as he held court on a small dock. Our oarsman assured us that he received nothing of this fee but hoped for a tip from us on our return. He was already a bit upset because usually they carry three or four people per rowboat, but my brother and I were of such proportions that he could fit only the two of us. But we tipped him very well at the end and he rowed away happy. So we had to pay three times to see the Grotta Azzura, but I'm glad we did.

After, we rode the finicula up to the town and it's maze of narrow winding streets, did some window shopping, and then took the footpath off to Tiberius' Palace, known as Villa Jovis. We got wonderfully lost, missed our turn and walked to the edge of the island. I had a chance several times to ask directions in Italian and eventually we found the right turn and took the long path up to Villa Jovis. Along the way I took pictures of a few of the many shrines to Mary that were in alcoves of the walls of the houses along the path. After enumerable steps, we eventually arrived at the Villa Jovis where we paid a fee, got yelled at for going the wrong way, and wandered among the ruins. Capri was a gorgeous place and I would have liked to explore the other half of the island, away from tourist attractions.

Then it was off to Pompeii. We took the earliest train from Sorrento north. Our plan was to see Pompeii in the morning, go into Naples for lunch, then climb Mount Vesuvius and, time permitting, visit Herculaneum. Ha Ha! I don't know why we thought we could accomplish all that, as it turned out Pompeii took all day and left us exhausted. On the train travelling there we fell into conversation with a pair of Philadelphia lawyers (a married couple) who had been vacationing and were on their way to Rome and then home. When we said we were staying in Sorrento the woman exclaimed that we had to go to a restaurant they had been to last Saturday. ``It's the best restaurant in Italy!'' she claimed. And proceeded to tell us just how great the food was and how great the view was and how great the ambiance was, etc. So we filed that information away for our return to Sorrento.

Pompeii was big, vast, and well preserved. So many things to see. Walking down the wide streets past the houses made it very easy to imagine life there. And the preserved, restored buildings included everything you can imagine in a city: houses, shops, theaters, arenas, guardhouses, temples, baths, government offices, granaries etc. Quite something, but very tiring with lots of walking. We walked through the city and out to the city walls (near the Villa of Mysteries which has a well preserved fresco of a woman's marriage initiation rites). We walked outside the walls for a time on a broad stone walkway, then over to the Arena (small Coliseum) and gymnasium. I especially enjoyed their two theaters, large and small. It was easy to imagine myself watching a play there. 164 acres, 69 stops on the audio tour and an all day affair. I'm so glad I went. I'll have to return some time for those other sights I missed.

Back in Sorrento we determined to try out ``the best restaurant in Italy'' that had been recommended to us by the Philadelphia lawyers. The restaurant turned out to be high in the hills above Sorrento. When I asked the landlady's daughter how to get there she asked why we wanted to go. I told her it was recommended to us but she clearly thought we were crazy tourists. The only transport were some infrequent buses or a taxi so we walked down to the train station and hired Carlo and his taxi who assured us he knew right where it was. He didn't, of course, but we finally got there where he volunteered to wait for us in the parking lot. It was late October, tourist season was over, and I think he knew he wouldn't see our like again for awhile. We sent him home but took his phone number to call when we were done.

Of course, we were the only people in the restaurant. The food was nothing to brag about, in fact, when they brought out the fish for us to choose, one of them had a very cloudy eye. That's the one the Matre D' (no other waiter in evidence) kept trying to get us to pick. We didn't, of course. We got to talking with him a bit and found out that last Saturday had been a wedding and the place had been packed and a live band had played. He took us outside on the terrace to show us the tremendous view we could have had last Saturday. So, poorer but wiser we called Carlo and took our expensive trip back to Sorrento. That night we both got diarrhea.

On our final day we toured down the Amalfi Coast. Spectacular sights: the narrow winding road by the cliff, the houses clinging to the hillside. At one point there was a flag woman stopping traffic because the road was too narrow for two-way traffic. We ate at Amalfi at a remote restaurant up several flights of stairs where we surprised the staff who were watching soap operas on the TV. The food was authentic and good. Unfortunately, the weather changed and cut short our time. There's a walk I want to do next time that starts in Ravello (Gore Vidal's Italian home) and descends several thousand feet on ancient staircases to Amalfi.

All too soon, with so much left undone, it was time to wend our way home. I loved Italy and its people. I can't wait to go back.