A Tale of 3 Cities, with Kissing Obligatorio

Since the day after Easter, our trip has been a tornado of experience. Our sweet routine of 'Ride, See, Sleep, Repeat' ended on Easter Monday, as we reached Palermo and treated ourselves to a ferry back to the mainland. 

Our last day bicycling on Sicilia was along the coast; we passed harbors with blue and white fishing boats that looked cute as large toys, stone walls draped thick with wisteria, castles sitting ancient-ly on hilltops. During a fueling break we sat by the water, while an older man in a sweater and cap intently surveyed our bicycles. He padded off, then returned with a phone and a selfie stick. While we messily ate oranges, he took photos of the coastline through the spokes of the wheels, experimented with landscape and portrait, and was so enraptured with his project that he even asked if we would move the red bike for better lines. This tickled us immensly. Then I realized we had an opportunity; "e possibile NOSTRA photo?" and handed him my phone. We stood there like dumb posing tourists, but he cawed at us and waved us into positions to better suit the light. It felt like our wedding photos again; how fun! 

We got back on the bikes and tootled through the remainder of the sweet coastal town. We passed a sign at a particularly beautiful cove that read in Italian, "kissing here OBLIGATORIO." Just then a miniscule white Fiat drove passed and started tooting furiously at us. It was Senior Camera! He waved his arm out the tiny window, we must pull over. What synchronicity! Our photo shoot continued to everyone's glee. Many moments on this trip we felt physically tired and with unmet needs and like adventurous explorers but those moments felt just like a characteristic honeymoon. 

Rolling into Palermo had us dodging rain drops and with no plan or direction for the city. We had hours to use before we could become un-homeless by boarding the ferry. Where should we go? A turn down a side street vaguely towards city center had us immediately enfolded in that magical passage of balconies, flower boxes, cobbles, and tiny restaurants with umbrella'd tables. The rest of the old city was beautiful, fountains and monuments, queer and intricate buildings, a Moorish church. After a monochromatic experience of Italians thus far, we saw people of all colors. We heard Arabic, smelled Indian restaurants, saw women in burkas, navigated a gaggle of Asian boys in the grocery. There were little bodega type shops, all seemingly selling the same bottled sodas, statues, bracelets and fruits, one after the other down the street. 

We felt like we'd gone from Montana to NYC's lower east side. Palermo buzzed with an urban energy that we hadn't felt for a long time, pulsating with people, zesty, positive. It was far less crowded with tourists than Syracuse or Ragusa, but the whole city of Palermo is so ancient and so full of gorgeous buildings and Moorish influence that the city itself is a UNESCO site. We loved being a part of it. In Palermo we saw Europe's oldest fig tree (planted 1845) and this living thing was so massive and so akimbo with aerial roots and the park where it grew was so quiet this was basically a religious experience. 

Following this, the experience of the ferry felt like being a carefree happy child again, playing Boat Voyage, cozying up in the little sleeper cabin we splurged on, weaving down the narrow inner corridors all blue and red carpet, being mesmerized by the wake in the waves, giddily sharing a mini bottle of wine at our very own porthole (which I had imagined would be a donut, but it was luxurious and grand). We slept like babies being rocked, with our bikes tied in the hold next to all the cars. The ferry experience was so serene and so relished AND we had simultaneously gotten where we needed to go. This splurge was wholly worth it. 

The ferry docked in Naples in the early morning light and we watched a single pigeon waddle up the bridgeway before the cars began rolling off. 

We took the train to Pompei. How incredible that a disaster that ruined lives provided such a gift to Humanity millennia later? I was struck by the immensity of the city, the color still in the art on the walls (somehow historical places are stuck in B&W in my mind), the complexity of the tile work, bits of plumbing pipes visible in some walls. The more stick-figure-y wall paintings in the smaller homes that wouldn't have been "worth preserving" because they weren't fancy, but actually spoke more to us as being commonplace.

The crowds were stupendous and exhausting by the middle of the day and having the same needs (water, potties, somewhere to rest, food) as approximately 30,000 other tourists had us ready to leave. 

We thought a bike-ride pilgrimage circumnavigating Vesuvius would be a cool and reasonable way to spend time until our evening train to Rome. Instead this ride was ill-fated with a never-ceasing stream of vehicles and drained us of energy. Experiencing Naples by pedal was hellish, and I don't say that lightly. Drivers were honking out of anger and impatience, not polite "ciao I'm here!", leaning on the horns. You get multiple angry people backed up in fat traffic horn-leaning and it's cacophony.

Some of the people walking around had a slink to them I hadn't seen yet in Italy, men walking alone instead of strolling in groups, looking tough, tired, gritty. 

Naples streets were multiple lanes wide, unlike any Italian city we'd been yet. What was this, Los Angeles? We gave up attempting to ride with traffic and pushed the bikes on the sidewalk. But crossing the streets felt thick and impenetrable. Anywhere we wanted to move was a river of cars. The usual effortless float for a pedestrian to cross did not exist here: I witnessed a car whip inches from a man in a cross walk. No translation needed for what he yelled at the driver. I nearly got run over by a motorbike going --get this--against the flow in a round-about. 

It was the motorbike that caused us to give up our expedition to the highly-rated pizzeria, and stop hungry and defeated into the spot we saw next. 

Our Margarita pizza (which *looked* beautiful) came to us tepid, with two weensy leaves of basil cowering in the middle. The manager stood in the doorway, practically over our table, yelling a conversation in Italian into his phone. The pizza maker surveyed us with scrutiny from the back, tattooed arms crossed. 

They had a nice bathroom. 

Arriving in Rome on the train after Naples negativity, Pompei crowds, and bad biking was like an expansive sigh. The streets felt wide and full of space, boulevard-y, the first city with some trees, people sitting at tables for drinks as you round a quiet neighborhood corner. 

Anything I try to write about how vast, old, and beautiful Rome is will be useless so I won't even try. But what they say is true: Rome is amazing. There are famous old things and nameless old things anywhere you look. I was overwhelmed by piazzas and fountains and churches. To me, a smaller but empty old church is more profound than a famous and crowded old church. We found both, but those moments of pristine calm in the former is what will stick with me, the lone monk outside sweeping. 

We walked 11 sunny springtime miles around Rome on Wednesday, checking out some big cheeses: the Colosseum, the Pantheon, Trevi fountain, Spanish steps, Piazza di Popolo, Via dei Coronari, Basilica Papale di Santa Maria Maggiore. History has never been my best pair of pants, but walking with Matthew is a dream. "What's that obelisk?", "Tell me about the Roman gladiators?", "What does that say in Latin?", etc etc. He just KNOWS all the things. I feel like a kiddo to her parent, "why is the sky blue?" It's awesome.