That's Amore (Italia Part 2)

Postcards from Napoli:

At the train station taxi wranglers shouting and gesticulating in rapid Italian - apparently it takes five guys to tell taxis where to pull up - all giving wildly conflicting instructions to those queuing for cabs and the drivers who are trying to pick them up.
They make liberal use of the universal language of the eye roll and rude hand gesture,
"Why would you stop there? Why would you do that??? 
You are interfering with our finely tuned machine, you are breaking the flow, you are an idiot of unparalleled and hitherto unheard of proportions"

Yet somehow it all works and people and taxis are united with phenomenal speed.


In a tiny Pizzeria a young American couple are at the table next door.  The guy is covetously eyeing a bright red Vespa which is parked outside.
The restaurant is cash only (common in the smaller places, they don't want to pay those nasty card fees) and the Americans are caught short.
No problem says the waiter, I take you to cash machine.  He jumps onto the Vespa and signals the temporarily financially embarrassed one to jump on the back.
When they come back the guy is beaming from ear to ear. 
His girlfriend takes photos of him on the back of the bike, much to the amusement of the waiter. 
They will remember the encounter for a long time, for Vespa-dude it was simply the logical thing to do.
When they leave the owner discovers that they have left half a carafe of red wine on the table.  He tuts, rolls his eyes and unceremoniously deposits it on our table.
"Wow thanks" 
"But of course, why would we waste it".


There are dogs everywhere, little dogs, big dogs, colossal dogs.  How do they fit them into those tiny inner city apartments?  Do the larger dogs fold down at night like Ikea sofa beds?


The coffee in Italy is amazing but getting my order right proves challenging.

I try out various permeations.  A latte is too milky and if you order one after 10am the baristas think you are bonkers.  It's like ordering a milkshake before lunch to them.
I move on to Americanos but they make them with cold milk and they are not hot enough. I like my coffee to stop just short of removing a layer of skin from the roof of my mouth.

So I switch to Espresso but it leaves me spinning around like Zebedee from the Magic Roundabout...on speed

On day three I find my drink, an Americano with hot milk...hooray!  I learn to order it in Italian, successfully negotiating World Peace could not have made me any happier.

I fall in love with the phrase "Grazie Millie" which literally translated means "a thousand graces".  It's a catch-all phrase for expressing gratitude and the Italians say it all the time.  It doesn't matter if you return your empty wine glass to the bar or rescue their child from a burning building.  They are grateful....a thousand times.

It is like being verbally kissed by butterflies wherever you go.

On a walking tour of Naples with Barbara, a local guide with a encyclopedic knowledge of the city.

"Look up, she advises, in Naples always look up, that is where the most beauty lies"

She pauses... "but perhaps also look down, and left and right, all at the same time, because everyone else is looking up and then...you crash"

She is right, amazing frescos and most beautiful statuary are located high above the streets.  I walk along with my head in the clouds while Barbara guides me to avert collisions like an extremely chic Italian sheep dog.

Presepi, nativity scenes, are everywhere in Napoli - there is even a street dedicated to them. They are an eclectic mix of the traditional and the kitsch.  Elvis and famous soccer players rub shoulders with the holy family.  
"I had no idea that Maradona was present at the Nativity"  I tease the stall holder. 
"But of course" he responds, "Maradona is a God".  
His response is unsurprising, they worship Maradona in Naples, it could be that they are confusing him with The Madonna, but I don't think so.
I am also rapidly learning that "but of course" is the Neapolitan equivalent of " well duh!"

Another scene has Trump, Nixon and George Bush adoring the Magi.  "Oh look  I quip, it's the Three Wise Guys".

Barbara shakes her head and looks pained "ahh Trump, in Italia we have an expression for people like him"

'La madre dei cretini é sempre incinta" 

"The mother of the idiots is always pregnant"

I instantly write it down so I don't forget it


"Well at least you guys don't have to apologise for Berlusconi anymore" I say comfortingly.

She laughs "Oh we will never stop apologising for Berlusconi!"   

Somehow having the Mediterranean sun on your shoulders makes even getting lost feel like an adventure.  Naples is full of random acts of directional helpfulness.  Stop moving for a few minutes and someone will come up to you and ask if you need help finding somewhere.  And if they are not sure where it is they will flag down another person and ask them for you.  And then disagree with that person about the fastest way to get to the place that they hadn't heard of until two minutes ago.

The upshot being that you often end up more confused than you were to begin with but it doesn't matter because five minutes later someone else will ask you if you are lost and the adventure begins all over again.

Scenes from an Italian Restaurant (Italia Part 1)

The love affair begins on the plane.  Waking from a fitful nap in that fugue state that is peculiar to long haul travel, it occurs to me that we are an hour from landing in Rome.  Why has no one handed me that vital piece of paper upon which I need to declare my intentions towards Italia.
Personally I have always thought that Arrival Cards are something of an exercise in futility.  It's not as if anyone is going to decide to save immigration time by writing "Drug Mule" in the "Occupation" field.  "Why thank you for your honesty Sir, now if you wouldn't mind going back the way you came in".
Likewise people smuggling in other illegal items do not actually write down the fact that they have a hotel fruit basket, a medium sized ferret and 2000 Rothmans concealed in their faux Louis Vuitton luggage.
Anyway I digress... 

"I may have dozed through the documentation distribution part" I think and flag down a passing crew member.

"Excuse me, I appear to be missing an Arrival Card"

"It's OK, you don't need one for Italy"

Huh'???? 

The good vibes continue when I hit immigration and the officer smiles warmly as he takes my passport.

"Benvenuto in italia signora". 
Good grief - anyone would think that they actually want people to visit their country. 

One very fast train later we are in Napoli. 

There is a famous expression:  "Vedi Napoli e poi muori", which translates as "See Naples and die", the idea being that once one has seen Naples there is nothing else worth seeing, comparatively speaking.  And whoever said it had a point because it is utterly lovely.

And there is a Volcano in the back yard of the hotel.

We wander into the centre of town and find a restaurant on the plaza, in other city this would be a tourist trap with mediocre food and a 20% surcharge.  In Naples it is full of regulars and each new arrival is greeted by the owner like long lost family. 

The Italians don’t do gratuitous drinking.  If you order an adult beverage it arrives accompanied by complimentary snacks.  It is responsible hosting at finest and something we need to get better at in NZ.

When the mains arrive they are delicious, and elephantine, I manage less than half of my pasta.  The owner, who seems to be everywhere at once comes to take the plates.  His brow furrows in consternation “you have finished?”.  I feel guilty “it is molto bene”  I assure him “just…a lot”.

“Eh, not so much” he says, “where are you from?”. 

“New Zealand”

“How long in Napoli?”

“Arrived this morning”

“Ah…sei stanco!!” he announces triumphantly.

Satisfied that he has identified the source of my disappointing appetite he takes the plates away.  I imagine him consoling the chef “It’s OK, she loved it, she was just very tired”

The European Champions League Soccer final is on and there is a TV outside the restaurant.  A crowd has been steadily gathering while we eat.  There isn’t enough room for everyone so the locals crowd around the perimeter to watch the game and the owner is happy for them to be there.

They are happy and friendly and vocal, a lot of good natured jostling for position ensues. 

I ask for the bathroom, the waiter starts to explain in Italian, it’s clearly not easy to find.  Seeing my perplexed expression he laughs “I show you”.

We go inside and I follow him through the restaurant, up two flights of stairs and through two huge sets of double doors.  I catch a glimpse of a busy kitchen, staff charging in all directions.

And through the second set of doors we emerge into a scene from “Big Night”

A massive room with tables everywhere and waiters delivering huge plates of amazing looking and smelling food to Italian families.  Everyone is eating and drinking and laughing and gesticulating enthusiastically. 

Not a tourist in sight. This is where the real action happens.  And from the street you would never know it was all up there.

I am entranced, I lean against the wall and take it all in, every table has at least three generations talking and shouting over the top of each other.  Babies to great grandparents, Sunday dinner Italian style.

I catch the eye of a passing waiter and he grins at me "up here is better no?"  "Oh yes" it's wonderful".  He nods "Si, si signora, but of course".

Later the owner brings chocolates with the coffee "Dolce!!" he announces triumphantly.  

And gives me a look that I translate as "and I dare you to resist it"

So I don't, and they are little morsels of heaven.

When I go to pay the bill the owner is there again, just like American Express in those fabulous old ads from the 90's he is everywhere you want him to be.

"Everything was bene?" he enquiries "Si, molto bene, grazie mille" 

"Good, you come back again, we are always here"

And I don't doubt that they will be, and how lovely is that.