Sherrill and I visited more than 60 countries and most of the United States during our 52 year marriage. This is number 64 of a series about our lives and travels, true stories of two people discovering the world, each other, and themselves through five decades of traveling together. If you scroll down, you'll come to earlier posts in this series. To start at the beginning of our marriage and travels look at the Archives list in the sidebar and start with May, 2017. Older posts are a previous series.
Sherrill & the Bay of Naples No doubt about it, it's work planning and organizing a trip on your own, but it also can be part of the fun. Sherrill and I discovered that we could take a train straight from Fiumicino Airport to Rome's central Termini—no need for a bus. Although we'd been to Rome twice before, we wanted to visit some new places, including the just-restored Ara Pacis (altar of peace) and Mausoleum of Augustus by the Tiber.
The train to Naples when we left Rome after a couple of days was much faster than the local trains we endured in 1978 because of the Italian passion for strikes that start and stop without warning. This time, we were able to really explore the city, starting with the archaeology museum, including the adults-only room of frescoes from Pompeii. A self-guided walking tour of old Naples, up and down hills and through a kaleidoscope of neighborhoods took us from the castle on the bay to the Galleria shopping arcade that rivals Milan's venerable one, then on to a tour of the San Carlo Opera House, where we learned about its long history. Along the way, we stopped for lunch in a little trattoria that we discovered and would have returned to if we'd remembered how to find it.
The train to Naples when we left Rome after a couple of days was much faster than the local trains we endured in 1978 because of the Italian passion for strikes that start and stop without warning. This time, we were able to really explore the city, starting with the archaeology museum, including the adults-only room of frescoes from Pompeii. A self-guided walking tour of old Naples, up and down hills and through a kaleidoscope of neighborhoods took us from the castle on the bay to the Galleria shopping arcade that rivals Milan's venerable one, then on to a tour of the San Carlo Opera House, where we learned about its long history. Along the way, we stopped for lunch in a little trattoria that we discovered and would have returned to if we'd remembered how to find it.
A 40-minute train ride a few days later to Caserta to see Europe's largest palace and its gardens proved once again that schedules and time tables didn't necessarily mean much in Italy. All the guidebooks said the palace was open but we found it tightly locked and a crowd in front proclaiming its anger in a dozen languages and accents. Since nobody was getting in, we returned to Naples, where we took a train across town and then a funicular up the side of a mountain to a Renaissance castle and Baroque monastery—and a spectacular view of the city, bay, and Vesuvius.
"Nobody can say we're not flexible," I told Sherrill.
"Yes, dear," she replied. "Nobody can say that."
"Nobody can say we're not flexible," I told Sherrill.
"Yes, dear," she replied. "Nobody can say that."
Herculaneum home: Mosaics & frescoes Later, we rode the funicular back down the mountain and took a bus up a different hill to the Naples museum of art where we happily wallowed in a special exhibition of Titian paintings before riding still another bus back down. An old man at the bus stop by the museum pantomimed a warning about pickpockets as we got on the bus. It turned out that he was right. When we got off, I discovered that my front left pants pocket had been emptied—of used bus and train tickets. Everything else, as always, was under my clothes.
Another day, another series of train rides: first to the remains of the buried city of Heculaneum, which turned out to be closed (of course) because of a "staff meeting"—that is, somebody explained, a temporary strike. So we took another train to Pompeii, which we discovered was closed for its morning strike. Eventually, we got into Pompeii and discovered that a great deal more of the ancient city had been uncovered and restored since 1978. We tried to see it all, despite the terrible heat and lack of shade. Although we drank water constantly and rested from time to time, Sherrill turned quite pink.
Another day, another series of train rides: first to the remains of the buried city of Heculaneum, which turned out to be closed (of course) because of a "staff meeting"—that is, somebody explained, a temporary strike. So we took another train to Pompeii, which we discovered was closed for its morning strike. Eventually, we got into Pompeii and discovered that a great deal more of the ancient city had been uncovered and restored since 1978. We tried to see it all, despite the terrible heat and lack of shade. Although we drank water constantly and rested from time to time, Sherrill turned quite pink.
Positano on the way to Amalfi Herculaneum, open at last, was better preserved we discovered than its larger neighbor, primarily because Vesuvius had covered it with mud, not ash. In its prime, it must have been a very elegant little town. Even now, its mosaics and frescoes were in remarkable condition. However, despite all the water, we felt miserably dehydrated. Maybe we shouldn't have drunk that whole bottle of wine at lunch back in Pompeii.
* * *
"At least, I'm not driving!" Sherrill told me the next day, as she stared out the bus window at the blue sea and sky meeting on the horizon.
* * *
"At least, I'm not driving!" Sherrill told me the next day, as she stared out the bus window at the blue sea and sky meeting on the horizon.
We'd taken a train from Naples to Sorrento (which we discovered was full of British tourists lazily savoring both sunshine and wine) and now were on a bus speeding along the spectacular curves of the Amalfi Drive. After briefly stopping at Positano, a startlingly vertical town that plummeted down a series of cliffs to the bay, eventually we reached the excessively picturesque town of Amalfi. We found a small hotel just off the Piazza del Duomo, which turned out to be a perfect spot from which to watch a political rally in the piazza while we relaxed with cheese and wine. From time to time, Sherrill fed some local dogs bits of garlic bread.
 Election speech-making, Amalfi |  Leaving Amalfi on ferry |
Early the next morning, I strolled around Amalfi, which felt like small towns everywhere, no tourists, just local folks gossiping, cleaning the narrow cobblestone streets, setting up their shops, shouting affectionately at each other. I walked out to a point high above the bay where an old hotel faced the sea—one where Wagner had stayed. I could picture him there, furiously working, inspired by storms churning up the dark water.
Paestum, Second Temple of Hera Sherrill and I hated to abandon Amalfi's many charms, but the next day we took a ferry across the bay to Salerno, which, we agreed, had little charm. Most of its old town had been destroyed during World War II, but we located a small hotel near the train station then rode a local train to the village of Paestum, where we hiked up to a group of the best preserved Greek temples in the world, even better than those we'd seen in Sicily and far better than any in Greece. The weather was warm, but not as brutal as at Pompeii. The huge Doric temples of golden stone stood magnificently amid the ruins of the ancient city, as if we could walk right into them and pay tribute to Hera or Neptune.
Sherrill en route south to Lecce On the train back to Salerno, we talked with an Australian woman who was traveling around Europe by herself for six months.
"We all do this," she said, "because bleeding Australia is so far from everything else."
Her partner, she told us, was married to another woman, the three of them living together—still, there she was wandering alone for six months, making her plans as she went.
Salerno, that evening, was bouncing. We strolled out a pedestrian street filled with people of all ages doing the traditional passeggiata, but some also were campaigning, because the Saturday and Sunday coming up were election days. Several piazzas were taken over by the political parties. Finally, we reached what was left of the old town after the wartime bombing, where we ate a typical meal of the area: melanzana (eggplant) and frutta de mare (seafood). Simple fare, but well prepared.
* * *
"We all do this," she said, "because bleeding Australia is so far from everything else."
Her partner, she told us, was married to another woman, the three of them living together—still, there she was wandering alone for six months, making her plans as she went.
Salerno, that evening, was bouncing. We strolled out a pedestrian street filled with people of all ages doing the traditional passeggiata, but some also were campaigning, because the Saturday and Sunday coming up were election days. Several piazzas were taken over by the political parties. Finally, we reached what was left of the old town after the wartime bombing, where we ate a typical meal of the area: melanzana (eggplant) and frutta de mare (seafood). Simple fare, but well prepared.
* * *
A train across the foot of the Italian peninsula brought us to the town of Taranto on the arch of the boot, named after the tarantula. (The dance of the Tarantella was born there, it was said that if you were bitten by a tarantula you had to dance nonstop or you died.) In fact, Sherrill had a big bite on her arm, red and quite swollen, but we decided that it probably was not from a tarantula. Eventually, it faded away.
Piazza del Duomo, Lecce From the train, we gazed out at fields and hills covered with yellow Scotch broom. The houses there had flat roofs, more like Greece than the rest of Italy. Soon, we were passing orchards of gnarled old olive trees. For a while, as the train continued south, we chatted with a red-haired woman from Bulgaria. We were lucky that we spoke today's universal language, but we didn't know that in just two years we'd be exploring her country. In Taranto, we changed trains for Brindisi, then changed for Lecce facing the Adriatic on the heel of the boot.
The cab driver who picked us up at Lecce's station told us that the hotel we wanted didn't exist anymore and took us instead to a B and B also near the historic Baroque section of the city. The couple running it seemed awfully buddy-buddy with the driver, I thought, and it was hard for me to get a straight answer from them about the price for the room. I should have walked out then, but after our long train journey Sherrill and I just wanted to rest. The room was okay, but the next morning for breakfast we were given a note to take to a cafe around the corner, where we each got a hard roll and cup of coffee.
"That's all?" I asked the counter man.
"Si. E tutto."
The cab driver who picked us up at Lecce's station told us that the hotel we wanted didn't exist anymore and took us instead to a B and B also near the historic Baroque section of the city. The couple running it seemed awfully buddy-buddy with the driver, I thought, and it was hard for me to get a straight answer from them about the price for the room. I should have walked out then, but after our long train journey Sherrill and I just wanted to rest. The room was okay, but the next morning for breakfast we were given a note to take to a cafe around the corner, where we each got a hard roll and cup of coffee.
"That's all?" I asked the counter man.
"Si. E tutto."
Nevertheless, we were glad to be in Lecce, a beautiful city almost at the bottom of the Italian boot. We had a splendid time strolling along its streets, admiring its magnificent architecture, from the Baroque Piazza del Duomo and its astonishing cathedral to the equally amazing Basilica di Santa Croce. The whole city was full of elaborately carved facades exploding into clouds of joyous angels, triumphant saints, dragons and birds, heralds and lions—except for a second century AD Roman amphitheatre in the middle of the whole drunken place. When we worked up an appetite, easy to do hiking over the cobblestones after our prison-fare breakfast, we found a restaurant where we sampled the hearty rustico-style cooking and robust red wines of the region.
From Lecce we took a train north from the pointed heel of the boot along the Adriatic coast to the busy port city of Bari. (The morning we left Lecce, the hotel proprietor and I argued about the amount due and two days later Sherrill realized that one of her blouses was missing—for whatever reason. However, we didn't let any of that spoil our memories of Lecce.) Bari's new city wasn't very interesting, but we enjoyed exploring the old part of town.
From Lecce we took a train north from the pointed heel of the boot along the Adriatic coast to the busy port city of Bari. (The morning we left Lecce, the hotel proprietor and I argued about the amount due and two days later Sherrill realized that one of her blouses was missing—for whatever reason. However, we didn't let any of that spoil our memories of Lecce.) Bari's new city wasn't very interesting, but we enjoyed exploring the old part of town.
Cave houses, Matera, many with added facades If we ever had any doubts, we had proof that Santa Claus was dead when we saw St. Nicholas's tomb in the Basilica of San Nicola in Bari. One evening, after exploring the old waterfront and sprawling Romanesque castle, we indulged in some splendid red wine, delicious mussels, pasta, and artichoke flan. A British couple sat at the table next to us with a beautiful baby girl and a young boy who looked like Christopher Robin. We met them again at our next stop, the ancient cave town of Matera.
An hour and a half by train through olive groves brought us back in time to one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in the world, the hillside town of Matera. We hiked In the broiling sun along its steep twisting streets, exploring the homes dug into the hills and cliffs. The ancient town had been carved along a rocky ravine, facades and other rooms added much later. Even churches were cut into the cliff. Only in the 1950s did the Italian government force most of the population to move out. Recently, a number of movies had been filmed there, including Pasolini's The Gospel According to St. Matthew and Mel Gibson's The Passion of Christ. Maybe it didn't look exactly like Bethlehem, but it definitely looked ancient.
An hour and a half by train through olive groves brought us back in time to one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in the world, the hillside town of Matera. We hiked In the broiling sun along its steep twisting streets, exploring the homes dug into the hills and cliffs. The ancient town had been carved along a rocky ravine, facades and other rooms added much later. Even churches were cut into the cliff. Only in the 1950s did the Italian government force most of the population to move out. Recently, a number of movies had been filmed there, including Pasolini's The Gospel According to St. Matthew and Mel Gibson's The Passion of Christ. Maybe it didn't look exactly like Bethlehem, but it definitely looked ancient.
A couple of days later, we returned to Bari to head north again, then began the seven hour trip on the Eurostar from the hot south to Bologna. When we turned inland, the weather grew cloudy and we arrived with a cloudburst, but the next day was beautiful. The rule when traveling is: be prepared for anything. Sherrill always was, with a folding umbrella and rain hat in her purse.
Sherrill, Bologna Neither of us expected that Bologna would become one of our favorite Italian cities, but it did. Part of its charm was the old arched porticoes lining its streets. Even new buildings were built with arcades, so the weather hardly mattered. The center of the old town still was surprisingly medieval with its square towers (one leaning dramatically), and the massive unfinished Basilica of San Petronio that looked as if a giant had come along and started to skin it. We enjoyed wandering among the university buildings scattered around the old city—it's said to be the oldest university in Europe—and were especially fascinated by the ancient anatomical theatre and accompanying exhibits, including skeletons and models showing the networks of muscles and veins beneath the skin.
Neptune fountain by Bologna University One of Bologna's pleasures was that it wasn't touristy. It lacked the famous attractions of Venice, Florence, and the Cinque Terre. We saw no other Americans, just a few Germans and British. It also had its own wonderful version of Italian cuisine. Our favorite example was the dinner we had one night at Cesari's restaurant on a side street near the Duomo. Cesari, himself, guided our choices: asparagus flan and tomato aspic, a bottle of Sangiovese di Romagna Riserva, ravioli stuffed with pumpkin and goat cheese, then veal with asparagus sauce and sweet and sour rabbit with olives and onions and polenta. No room for dolci, alas.
Mostly, we enjoyed wandering around Bologna's old city. When we stopped to look at the 18th century theatre, we chanced onto a dress rehearsal of a dance show and were taken to watch from our own box. Some of the dancers were in 18th century costumes, others almost naked. A Don Juan figure in blue pantaloons danced barefooted—until he descended into Hell.
In one small church, we found a gorgeous Cimabue Madonna and child in remarkable condition. We wanted a postcard of it, but the place seemed deserted. Finally, we located a caretaker who took us through a series of back rooms where he presented us to an old man who took us to another room (that he had to unlock). The walls were covered with tall wooden cabinets that he opened and closed until he found the drawer with the postcards. He'd worked so hard that we bought several—then he didn't know how much to charge us.
Mostly, we enjoyed wandering around Bologna's old city. When we stopped to look at the 18th century theatre, we chanced onto a dress rehearsal of a dance show and were taken to watch from our own box. Some of the dancers were in 18th century costumes, others almost naked. A Don Juan figure in blue pantaloons danced barefooted—until he descended into Hell.
In one small church, we found a gorgeous Cimabue Madonna and child in remarkable condition. We wanted a postcard of it, but the place seemed deserted. Finally, we located a caretaker who took us through a series of back rooms where he presented us to an old man who took us to another room (that he had to unlock). The walls were covered with tall wooden cabinets that he opened and closed until he found the drawer with the postcards. He'd worked so hard that we bought several—then he didn't know how much to charge us.
Parma: Campanile & Baptistry As much as we liked Bologna, we dragged ourselves away for the hour train ride to Parma, the "city of art." Parma's cathedral was an impressive Romanesque monster, but the real treasure was the 13th century baptistery next to it: an 8-sided silo with fine carvings on the outside, then inside a fantasy of colors and shapes rising in a great inverted cone. We discovered other splendid churches and streets on which buildings of ocher, rust, and orange alternated, many of them displaying humorous and grotesque knockers and carvings on their doors and under their windows: weird figures with open mouths, lolling tongues, and bugging eyes.
Farnese Palace theater, Parma The city's infatuation with the grotesque reached its peak in the Puppet Castle, a museum dedicated to three centuries of hand puppets, marionettes, carved puppet heads, props, and scenery. Ah, what we could have done with those, Sherrill and I agreed, back when we were putting on puppet shows at the San Jose library children's room. At the Farnese Palace, we had a chance to explore probably the most beautiful theater we'd ever seen. As magnificent as it was, inspired by Palladio's theater designs, built in 1618 for Cosimo de Medici's visit to Parma, this great half circle of columned and arched tiers facing a handsome stage sat there almost unused during its long life, although it was damaged in a 1944 bombing raid and then restored.
From Parma, we trained to Milan, where eventually we got a plane to San Francisco. People often asked us what our favorite country was. Increasingly, we answered, "Italy, of course!"
To be continued....
From Parma, we trained to Milan, where eventually we got a plane to San Francisco. People often asked us what our favorite country was. Increasingly, we answered, "Italy, of course!"
To be continued....
If you find these posts interesting, why not explore the rest of my website, too? Just click on the buttons at the top of the page and discover where they take you—including a bio, information about my four novels, along with excerpts from them, and several complete short stories. You also might enjoy reading the new e-book of my early novel The Night Action, a tale of San Francisco's North Beach in the 1960s -- available at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, and other online retailers. Click on the title or Here for the link.
Please pass the posts on to anybody else you think might enjoy them.
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