Home from Italy

The trip home from Italy was ... long. That one word describes it all.

We had everything packed the night before. In the morning, we got up at 3:50 am (local time) and hit the road by 4 am to make it to the airport. Our flights from Naples to Rome, and then Rome to Chicago – while somewhat bewildering because of the language barrier – weren't bad overall.

Unlike our flight to Europe, the return flight was conducted in daylight, and we could see out the window. Much of the trip was cloudy so there was nothing worth photographing. But then ... we flew over Greenland.

I never realized how mountainous the interior of Greenland was. Gorgeous!

The northeast corner of Quebec was very flat and looked marshy, though of course at this altitude it was impossible to tell.

In Chicago, we arrived a few minutes late. This meant we had just a one-hour layover, during which we were required to reclaim our luggage, go through customs, re-check our bags, and then go through security once again. Everything – everything! – seemed to delay our attempts to reach the right gate in time, and of course Chicago is a famously huge airport.

Unlike what a lot of people have experienced this week, the TSA line wasn't especially long. However, Older Daughter got delayed at airport security because the airline-issued water bottle she was given ON THE PLANE was ONE OUNCE greater than permitted while going through security, so she was held back while her bag was searched. She urged me to run ahead to the gate and beg the plane not to leave without her.

So I ran for the gate and did just that, panting. Believe me, I wasn't the only one panting and arriving late. Still, by the time Older Daughter arrived (panting), we were literally the last passengers onto the plane.

We dropped into our seats and caught our breath, glad to be on our final connection at last. And then here's the thing: Apparently there were some complex calculations the pilots had to make concerning the amount of fuel necessary to combat the headwinds we would be facing for the duration of the cross-country trip. Then we had to wait to be fueled. We also had to wait to be de-iced. The delay was originally predicted to be ten minutes, and then it was lengthened and lengthened, with frequent explanations and apologies from the pilot.

Here are the wings being de-iced:

Eventually passengers were urged and encouraged to deplane for the duration of the delay to stretch our legs, or at the very least to move around the cabin. Everyone took this in good grace and started chatting with fellow passengers, and the plane hummed with conversation. Also, lots and lots of people used the lavatories (which were right behind us, so we should know). The plane was supposed to depart at 3:30 pm, but it didn't end up leaving until closer to 5:45 pm, well over a two-hour delay. At the very least, we didn't have any connections to make. I don't think a lot of people did, which is why everyone seemed to handle the delay without a problem.

After the plane was reboarded and secured, we had to wait for other airport traffic behind the plane to clear before the plane could back away from the gate. Then there was another delay of unknown origin lasting 15 or 20 minutes before we could even taxi to the runway. And of course, there was a long line of planes waiting to taxi.

The cross-country flight was smooth, with the only turbulence hitting as we were descending into Spokane. The delay in Chicago put us in Spokane around 9 pm instead of 6 pm, but oh well. We claimed our luggage and headed for the parking lot.

The moment we stepped foot outside the airport, we were slammed with wind. It was howling at about 50 mph with gusts probably at 70 mph. No wonder the pilots had to calculate for extra fuel. No wonder we hit turbulence as we descended.

At one point, pausing to zip my jacket higher, the wind caught my suitcase (on wheels) and sent it whizzing away. I had to run to catch it.

We got the car loaded up and hit the road. We still had a five-hour drive ahead of us, and we were starving. We stopped for some food and kept driving, switching places when one of us got too sleepy to drive. The wind slammed into the vehicle all the way home, sometimes pushing us onto the side of the road before we were able to correct our course.

We limped home at about 1 am, greeted our grateful husband/father and the frantically happy animals, took late-night showers, and collapsed into bed, having been up and traveling for 30 hours total. Let that sink in: 30 hours of travel to get home.

And this, by the way, is one of the reasons why we're not frequent travelers. To address a European reader's comments on an earlier post:

"It's always a small shock to realize how little you Americans travel. I have been in 10 countries on 3 continents and that is really very mediocre on European standards. I get that your own country is big and there is plenty to see, but it seems to me that most of you still never visit the states that are further away. I mean here in Europe it is very common to pop for a weekend to other country. With foreign language, foreign culture etc. People even have their weddings and anniversaries in other countries."

Aside from travel costs (and remember, Younger Daughter paid for our plane tickets) and livestock obligations, the time and effort and planning to even reach an airport from our remote location is unfathomable by most Europeans' standards. The reasons we live where we live is because we enjoy rural life and living on a homestead, but it comes at a cost; namely, the inability to "pop for a weekend to other countries." Thirty hours of travel is, by no stretch of the imagination, a "pop."

Our Navy daughter has been blessed to experience easy and inexpensive travel to various European and Asian destinations, and we're so happy she's had this opportunity. But for us, this is why we're homebodies.

My concluding thoughts from our time in Italy:

• The Italians live up to their stereotypes, and I mean that in the nicest possible way. They're loud, flamboyant, full of life, enjoy good food, and gesticulate like mad. (This spoof by a comedienne captures their mannerisms exactly.)

• Smoking is much more common. American smoking rates have been declining for decades, so it was a little bit of a culture shock to see the casual use of cigarettes in such high proportion.

• We saw very few disabled people in Italy. Not because they don't exist, but because there appears to be very little public accommodations available to help them get around. In many ways this can't be helped. It's impossible to retrofit centuries of accumulated infrastructure for wheelchair accessibility. 

• Strangers seldom meet your eyes or smile at you on the street. The general attitude is just to ignore you. As an introvert, I found this rather a refreshing change from American friendliness, though it took some getting used to. That said, when directly interacting with people, Italians were uniformly kind and pleasant.

Given the opportunity, would I return to Italy? In a heartbeat. The people were lovely, the cities are stunning, the history is amazing.

Thank you, Younger Daughter, for the trip of a lifetime.

Day Six in Italy

For our final day in Italy, Younger Daughter arranged for something a bit less physically taxing but just as interesting: A ferry ride and day-trip to the island of Procida on the edge of the Gulf of Naples. This island is less well-known than Capri, but equally beautiful.

The online ticket site for booking the ferry recommended we arrive an hour before the ferry was due to leave (mid-morning), so we loaded up into the car and prepared to drive to the coast. However YD's parking spot in her little apartment complex is behind a locked gate, and since the first floor of the complex has a bakery, it's not uncommon for customers to park right in front of the gate. We were stuck until this vehicle moved out of the way.

So what does Younger Daughter do when she's blocked in like this? Why, lay on her horn, of course. "The first few times this happened, my landlord told me I was being too timid with the horn," she said (she likes her landlord very much). "He told me to honk it louder and longer."

So she laid on her horn loud and long. And do you know what? It worked! A man came out of the bakery, waved an apology, and moved his van from in front of the gate. Ah, Italy.

We made our way into Pozzuoli to the ferry terminal. YD pointed out a massive edifice on a headland and said it was Aragonese Castle, built on a small tidal island east of the island of Ischia.

Arriving at the ferry terminal an hour early was probably a bit of overkill, but at least we got to watch the extremely interesting way vehicles were loaded and offloaded from various ferries.

Many of the vehicles were large work trucks, not always with the best clearance, and had to maneuver over a steep ramp onto the dock without bottoming out.

This was our ferry.

Having qualified to steer an aircraft carrier, Younger Daughter described the technique by which the ferry is angled toward the dock ("twisting," I think it's called).

Once the ferry was docked, we had to wait for vehicles to be offloaded before passengers could load.

We watched as one ferry worker casually flipped his cigarette into the water of the bay. Ah, Naples.

This heavy truck was actually backing into the belly of the ferry and having a hard time of it because of the vehicle's low clearance. It took some delicate maneuvering on the parts of both the driver and the ferry workers to get it safely inside.

While waiting for vehicles to load, we watched birds in the shallow water on the other side of the pier. This is a great cormorant.

A little egret splashed and dashed around, snatching up small fish. It moved so fast that it was difficult to get a clear photo of it.

At last, passengers were allowed to board. We entered through the belly of the ferry...

...then climbed a steep "ladder" (very steep staircase) to the upper deck where there was seating.

The trip took about 40 minutes and it was lovely. This is a view of Pozzuoli as we steamed away.

Here's a clearer view of Aragonese Castle.

We passed an area not far offshore with what looked like debris on the water. At that distance, I couldn't quite tell what it was even when I put my camera on maximum zoom.

Are you ready for this? This is the Underwater Archaeological Park of Baia. The "debris" I saw were buoys marking underwater Roman ruins popular with divers. The boat you see to the left in the above photo takes divers through "channels" marked by the colored buoys to dive in at various spots. How cool is that???

This is Cape Miseno...

...with its lighthouse on the headland.

This cape had some intriguing sea caves at its base. Notice the buoys in front, possibly designating more underwater ruins or possibly dangerous shoals.

Just makes you want to explore, doesn't it?

This little rock outcrop at the tip of the cape had some ruins on it, though I don't know if they were Roman or Medieval.

This is the Dominican monastery Santa Margherita Nuova at the tip-top of Procida (on the left). Interestingly, it's juxtaposed right next to a former palazzo that was converted into a prison in 1830 (it closed in 1988) on the right.

Here we're approaching the island. The little town where we docked is Marina Grande.

A statue of the Virgin Mary guards the harbor...

...with an inscription stating "Salve Madre e Regina" ("Hello Mother and Queen").

We disembarked from the ferry and set about exploring. We had no plans to go crazy doing things, but Younger Daughter recommended a climb up to the monastery for the spectacular views. We decided to do this before lunch (which, as it turned out, was a wise decision).

Procida has the beautiful narrow and cobblestoned streets that typifies this part of Italy.

We were decidedly off-season tourists. This had benefits (fewer people about) and detriments (most shops and restaurants were closed).

We set off to climb.

Tucked into the walls were narrow staircases leading up to private homes.

We climbed up Via Principe Umberto. There is something about these narrow streets I find fascinating.

Equally fascinating was the transportation along these streets. Motorcycles and electric bicycles were popular options for obvious reasons, but we saw cars, buses, and trucks driving along with dazzling confidence, considering how extremely constricted the streets were. (Later, coming back down, we witnessed a bicyclist narrowly avoid getting hit by a car when the biker came barreling out of a side alley. It was entirely the bicyclist's fault, in my opinion.)

Via Principe Umberto opened up to a small plaza at the intersection with Via S Rocco and Salita Castello, giving a splendid view of the bay and breakwaters below.

Climbing further on the Salita Castello (huffing and puffing – it was steep!), we landed at the Belvedere Terra Murata and were presented with one of the most famous and sensational views in all of Italy.

Younger Daughter said the reason the houses are all painted different bright colors was so fishermen could identify their homes from the sea.

We draped ourselves over the balustrade, drinking in the view, agog at the beauty. Then we continued on the Salita Castello for the highest point on the island. At one point, the road went under an archway as some buildings bridged the street.

This was the view at the top, the Palazzo d'Avalos.

I noticed this barred window, presumably left over from its prison days.

We lingered at this top spot for about half an hour, drinking in the views, before we decided we were ready for lunch (since we hadn't eaten yet). We started down the Salita Castello. This is the archway from the other side.

Keep in mind this isn't a pedestrian walkway; it's a drivable street. Just after passing through, a tour bus cane by. We flattened ourselves in a doorway to let it pass, and let me tell you, it had to squeak through. The driver had his mirrors folded against the side of the vehicle, and he passed under the archway with – literally – a couple of inches to spare on either side. And yet he did so with confidence and decent speed (meaning, he wasn't creeping along). My hat is off to these drivers.

Later, walking down the Via Principe Umberto, I photographed this truck lumbering up. At least he had room on both sides.

The streets were not uniform in width. At one especially narrow point, I paused and looked across at the other side. "What do you think, ten feet across?" I asked the girls. "More like eight," replied Younger Daughter.

We made our way back down to the dockside and went in search of lunch. As it happened, we were too early and nothing was open, so we settled with having tea/coffee and a pastry on the Piazza Marina Grande. Once again, the pigeons were extremely assertive.

Interestingly, many of the pigeons we observed (here and elsewhere in Naples) had deformed feet. Older Daughter said it's an affliction of many urban birds in which they pick up hair or thread which wraps around their toes, which cuts circulation until the toe(s) fall off. I haven't been around enough pigeons to know if this is a universal problem, but it seems logical. One thing is certain, it didn't hinder their aggressive quest for food.

We admired this church (the parish church of Maria SS. della Pietà and S. Giovanni Battista), but unfortunately it was closed to visitors. However the bell tower had a clock which chimed the hours in a deeper tone and the quarter-hours in a higher tone, so we had no trouble telling the time even if we couldn't see the clock. It was a lovely sound.

After lunch (which made us glad we had climbed the hill before eating), we made our way to a small beach (the Spiaggia Lingua, "Beach Tongue") where we lingered and dozed on the gravelly sands for an hour or so. Older Daughter collected interesting shells, bits of tile, some obsidian, and other beach treasures. Younger Daughter scoured the shore for green sea glass with an eye toward drilling some fine holes and accenting a dress with it.

As we left the beach, some teen boys asked Older Daughter in broken English to take a photo of them with their phone, which she obligingly did.

Walking back from the beach, we admired the forest of masts from the sailboats.

The ferry didn't leave for another hour, so we stopped at the same pastry place we had stopped in before, and had another pastry. Ah, Italy.

Even though we were sitting inside this time, we still saw an adventurous pigeon.

With time left to kill before the ferry arrived, we visited one of the few tourist shops that was open. Younger Daughter said this style of pottery is made on the island, and we thought it was very handsome.

We boarded the ferry and started on the short voyage back to Pozzuoli, passing the Virgin Mary statue on the way out.

Inside the passenger lounge, I saw one of the few disabled accommodations I'd seen in Italy, a spot where a wheelchair could be strapped to the floor.

Of course, considering the steep ladder we had to climb to get to this passenger lounge, I have to assume there was some sort of elevator access for disabled passengers,

The ferry was passed by a hydrofoil going at (slightly) higher speed.

The sun was getting lower as we approached the mainland.

It burnished the city with a golden glow.

On the way home, we passed a prostitute sitting on a wall, waiting for a customer.

And that was our last day in Italy.

The next post will be our adventures coming home.