“The continent is so close. Two hours and you’re in Sorrento” so sayeth the Brits. It just ain’t true. Today it took us 9 hours.

Packed, checked out and rolling down the street towards the bus at 7:30am. Another glorious day…of course. I was left with the luggage, waiting for the airport bus while Mirinda went pootling off, window shopping and saying a last goodbye (I guess).

The bus arrived and I managed to score the front seat – an instruction from my dear wife who was off somewhere getting a drink.

The bus ride from Naples airport was pretty hairy given the twists, turns and cliff edges but it pales into insignificance when you consider the traffic on a Monday morning heading back. Bumper to bumper with scooters like wasps popping in and out on all sides and little vans putt-putting into smaller spaces. And then a traffic jam. For ages we sat in the traffic not moving, barely crawling when we did manage to move. Eventually we found the cause of the jam. A broken down bus, effectively cutting off over half the road. The driver was frantically trying to fix his engine and meanwhile the hordes of commuters and tourists abused him.

This held us up for half an hour but otherwise the trip was only blighted by the driver forever flipping radio stations, something I can get quite passionate about when Stevie B does it at work!

Naples airport was packed! We had just over the obligatory 2 hours before our flight and dutifully stood in the business class queue…which was stalled behind a wheelchair. The economy class lines were whizzing through and we just stood there. But eventually we managed to head off for the business lounge. But before we leave the inefficiency of the Naples check-in desk, I’d just like to mention the desk clerk who dealt with us. Pity I didn’t catch his name because I’d love to say how appallingly bad he was!

The Naples Airport Business Lounge
Not sure this is what it should be called. A few comfortable sofas in a lounge room and a sun burnt terrace overlooking building works doesn’t quite match Heathrow I’m afraid. I did find some rather interesting cheesy snacks, which look like Twisties, are in a pack exactly the same as a Twisties pack and even taste like Twisties but are called Fonzies. Being Italian, the cheese is lighter and so there’s no cheesey fingers at the end – a bit of a shame.

The bestest thing about the business lounge is that you get your own security check! It’s so quick and easy and pleasant. The best and fastest trip through security I’ve ever had!

Then we waited for the plane. And waited. While we waited we listened as someone, whose name sounded uncannily like Rosanna Arquette, was called over and over again for the flight before ours. About 30 seconds after the flight closed and took off, she turned up at the desk, nonchalantly handing her boarding pass to the girl at the desk. She was taken away complaining. She didn’t look anything like Rosanna Arquette.

And then, guess what? Our favourite check-in guy turns up to check people onto the plane! Again, he proved completely useless. Needless to say we took off late and were delayed for reasons unknown.

The flight was fine and our purser was fantastic – Angelika someone or other – she’s British Airways’ number 1 hostess, I reckon. I even splurged and bought a new watch – the thinnest in the world (3.7 mm!!).

Back in Britain, the weather was unusually fine. Our luggage was almost the first off the plane so we were out in no time. The taxi driver took us through country lanes and the greenery was wonderful and soothing. Actually I slept most of the way.

We had hoped to get home in time to pick up the puppies but we didn’t! We walked in the door around 4:30, unpacked, watched some telly and crashed.

So…this brings me to my opinion of the Sorrentine Peninsular. I’m going to be quite harsh but it’s important to remember that we aren’t package tourists who like everything on a plate and we’re also not tourists who cram as much into a holiday as is humanly possible. But…this place was pretend tourist, manufactured Europe.

One of the things I love about coming to the continent is being able to badly speak the local language. In other places I’ve had the opportunity to and it’s been great – they’ve had a laugh and so have I – but here it’s just not encouraged. If you try Italian, they answer you in English, like they can’t be bothered. They want to get rid of you so they can get money from the next tourist. This sort of thing may be ok for the torrents of bus-ridden tour groups but it sure isn’t for me. If I go somewhere foreign I want to go somewhere that doesn’t speak my own language as well as I do. AND I don’t like being ripped off and this is the Kingdom of Rip-off. Independent tourist beware. I guess Peter was right!

But I have to say, apart from the smog and the lollipops, the entire place is beautiful and very different from England. If you find a great restaurant like we did, you can manage to sit back, away from the bad things and really enjoy it.

And what can I say about Pompeii? It was brilliant and worth every inconvenience and other bad things that happened. And, after all was said and done, we had a fantastic 15th wedding anniversary.

Whew! Sorry about the length of this diary and gold stars to anyone who makes it to the end. Also, because there were no photos on this page I just HAD to include this picture of Mirinda and one of her Pompeii chums.

Pompeii ferals

Naples is a horrid place. It smells, it’s dirty, it’s way too crowded. Poverty seeps out of every pore while traffic fills every nostril. It is a city to leave, not to visit. It’s one of those odd places that natives would be proud of coming from even though it’s actually all over disgusting.

Naples

I was woken at 6am by the early morning choking of my wife who seems to have developed a lump in her throat. After waking me up and dragging me from bed we took ourselves off to the hospital. It seems we need to go to the Italian medical people at least once per Italian trip. Mirinda thought she had cancer and her throat would explode on the plane. The doctor assured her, in not very good English, that she was fine and just needed to eat some balled up bread. It’s interesting how the people in the shops here speak better English than most Englishmen but the doctors do not.

Anyway we wandered back to the hotel so I could (finally) get a coffee – it was too early to visit a chemist to get her prescription filled. I wanted to just go back to bed but eventually decided (as Mirinda was ok) to go into Naples anyway. I left her on the bed (she went to sleep almost immediately) and walked up to the station.

One hour sat on an uncomfortable plastic moulded seat is not my idea of pleasure. Four separate beggars between Sorrento and Naples was just irritating. We had a clarinet player, a child of about 8 carrying a baby as if she’d just given birth and needed to pay the hospital bills, a child with a parent playing a violin and a really bad accordion player. They take it in shifts to get on and off the train. It’s interesting watching the people who give them money. Of course if you gave to one, how could you not give to them all? Naturally I gave each of them a €50 note.

I arrived at Piazza Garibaldi which is the main station in Naples. It is a lovely open space with fountains and trees and Romanesque statuary in front of a marble edged, modern station. Standing proud and exultant is a massive, smiling statue of Garibaldi in his hour of victory…who am I kidding…

I arrived at Piazza Garibaldi which is the main station in Naples. It is a massive car park with single lanes going every which way and cars, buses and scooters doing likewise. There is a long row of tat salesmen and swindlers selling empty boxes instead of digital cameras and a very old fashioned three cups guy ripping off total suckers. It smells gross – all petrol and amassed humanity. The statue of Garibaldi looks pissed off.

From the Piazza I walked (briskly) up Via Carbonara to Via Foria, hoping that the green marked spot on my map called Piazza Cavour would be more than just two trees, lots of concrete, a locked toilet and a dead dog. Of course, by this stage disappointment was becoming the norm.

But then I walked into the museum. Like an oasis this lovely clean air conditioned palace to all things dug up in Italy, is fantastic. I imagine it could be quite awful if full of people but on a Sunday morning, it’s tranquil and the people smile. I happily paid my money and started with the loo.

Roman goddess

Virtually everywhere we’ve been on this holiday requires you to pay to use the toilet (usually 50 cents) but, bliss, no such charge here. This means no leathery looking old scary woman holding her hand out while you stand at the urinal grunting that you haven’t paid – the money is nothing but a bit of personal space is everything!

From the loo I set off for the top floor, deciding to start from there and work my way down. This place was amazing. Boy could the Roman’s do some amazing stuff. And the Greeks before them, and the Etruscans, and the…well, you get the idea.

The biggest surprise was the Secret Room! This is a small area at the back of the mezzanine floor which has only been open to the general public since 2000. Apparently the Vatican thought it would be too damaging to people’s morals if open to any but the most serious of scholars. They are still not happy about it and will perhaps rethink their decision at some later stage. Some may wonder why the Vatican thought it had to intervene on people’s viewing pleasure. It’s great that’s why!

The Roman’s loved their porn and boy did they create some. Extraordinary statues, drawings, frescos, you name it. Massive great…well, you get the idea. If you are interested in knowing more, send a plain, brown paper envelope to me and I’ll send you some shots…nudge, nudge.

The best part of the museum was seeing all the artefacts that had been removed from the dig at Pompeii (and Herculaneum etc). It put things into context a lot clearer. And some of the statues are just ENORMOUS. There’s the head of a cupid big enough to house a family of six!

Mosaic

After doing everything except the coins, I once more headed out to the Piazza Garibaldi – I’ll not bore you with any more details though I tried to hold my breath for the two kilometres – and to the Circumvesuviana platforms. I eventually boarded another plastic seated train (this one had an annoying habit of whistling very loudly every time we approached and left a station) and squashed into a corner for the one hour ride back to Sorrento.

Back in room 404, Mirinda was enjoying some awful Italian bread, having spent the morning asleep, hunting for an open chemist and buying some nice stuff to eat. After I told her of my adventures, we went down to the Fauno for our last meal there and had a bit of a wander before the light rain chased us back to our room for the afternoon.

After the usual Italian siesta (and not so typical typing frenzy) we wandered around the lanes one more time, ending up at Villa Communale for a final coffee. Interestingly, the crowds seem bigger than a week ago and I could only assume this was the preparation for the summer onslaught. So glad to be going home tomorrow!

Sorrento by night

The holiday wind down phase. It always happens to us. Get to the last couple of days and all we really want to do is nothing…then go home.

Had some really weird dreams last night. One involving lots of corpses returning to their graves before sunrise (I was in a car that had to negotiate a highway through them) and one about a night at the theatre where I became involved in the audience participation and was an instant hit. Oddly enough the big guy from My Big Fat Obnoxious Boss (the one who sold Crystal champagne and came second) was one of the actors. There were lots more but I can only remember those two. I don’t think this has anything to do with our holiday.

Went to breakfast – just coffee today as I ate far too much last night – then down to Marina Piccolo to check out the tiny church of Maria SS del Soccorso who seems to be remembered for hitting little kids with a big stick. The church is very small but very peaceful (if you ignore the stick thing) and I sat and contemplated the horrid touristy world outside for a bit before heading off to Marina Grande, the true Sorrento of yesteryear.

Maria with stick

Well, I’ve found the beauty of Sorrento, the men fixing their fishing nets, the lovely seaside taverna, people who actually speak Italian and enjoy it. It’s down a winding staircase and is called Marina Grande. There is a beach of volcanic sand (it’s black but otherwise exactly like normal sand. This actually makes me wonder if the glass made from volcanic sand is naturally dark. I’ll have to remember to ask Nigel as he’s the glass blowing expert.

Marina Grande

In the Marina Grande there is the little church of Santa Anna. It was built in the 19th century, so it’s quite new but it nestles beautifully over the road from the fishermen and their boats.

Santa Anna

If anyone wants advice on where to get away from it all but still be within coo-ee of the tourist side of Sorrento, this is it. Of course you have to have pretty strong legs as it’s a hell of a hike back up but this just ensures that this place will never become as awful as Marina Piccolo. There are no buses either and only the one road in and out. Bliss!

I climbed back out, reluctantly, and managed to find something suitably tacky for Karen and a pressie for Stevie before heading back to the hotel. Mirinda had moved to the rooftop for a coffee so I joined her for a quick beer…or two. Then we hit Sorrento for lunch.

It was very busy today but we managed to find a lovely restaurant called Il Pozzo which specialises in seafood – neither of us had any seafood – and very good service. Would recommend this place as the prices are also reasonable. I think it’s a family business. And Italians eat there! Always a good sign. Which reminds me, apart from an odd kebab shop, there appears to be no Chinese, Indian, Japanese or any other nationality of eatery in Sorrento. I guess this means the locals always eat Italian when they go out. This is, of course, disregarding the places that sell English food!

I finally bought two bottles of Limoncello (one cream, one not) having found the cheapest and the best and we returned to the hotel for our siesta.

Dinner was once more in the best restaurant in Sorrento, Sant’Antonino and a fine feast was had. They were even pleasant when Mirinda asked to move tables because of the smoke puffers next to us. Afterwards we wandered down to the Villa Communale for our now traditional tea and coffee and then back to the hotel.

I decided I’d go into Naples tomorrow and visit the National Archaeological Museum.

Meeting Americans in Cabs
When waiting for buses in Amalfi, befriend an American couple and eventually you can all share a cab to where you’re going because, believe me, the bus will either not arrive or will be full of pushy smelly tourists. This is the best advice I can give on getting to and from Ravello.

There was an awful storm last night. The thunder and lightening was directly overhead. We both awoke then gradually fell back to sleep.

We had decided last night to visit Ravello, a town above Amalfi and in order to try and avoid the crowds, we planned to catch the early ferry. When we arrived at the Marina Piccolo there was a heaving mass of humanity waiting for transportation and it was with sinking heart that we assumed it was for Amalfi. Then the word spread. Joyous news! It was for Crapi! A massive liner of a ferry docked and about a million tourists were gobbled up by the huge opening at the front. The one where cars usually go for cross channel trips.

Our Metro Mare ferry was about half full and very comfortable. The trip to Amalfi was comfortable and pretty much non-eventful except for the poor Japanese boy. I saw him at the ticket booth back at Sorrento. He had a push bike and a pack and was trying to work out how to buy tickets for the ferry. Then, as we waited for the ferry, he asked me to take his photo (an amazing camera he had too) and later, on the ferry, he took about half an hour before he could leave his bike to go for a wander and actually look around the boat. Didn’t see him get off at Amalfi but assume his legs are going to be very strong by the time he’s finished pedalling.

At Amalfi we searched for the bus to Ravello. According to the Lonely Planet Guide there is one every hour. I guess everyone wanted to go to Ravello as there were heaps of people waiting for the bus and even more gradually joined the mass that was not a queue.

Mirinda started chatting to an American couple from Southern California. Eventually, when the mass started heaving, Mirinda decided to check out the taxi situation. Given a reasonable price, she asked if the couple fancied sharing and they agreed. There followed a very pleasant drive up to Ravello.

Let me describe the ferry port at Amalfi. It is a harbour and dock, the roads are very narrow…all three of them. Traffic barely fits on the roads and yet they are packed solid with local buses, mammoth tourist buses, cars, taxis, scooters and various forms of foreign lunatics. It is frightening.

So, needless to say, the taxi crawled for the first kilometre, through the long tunnel and around the thin bends. When we turned off the coast ‘track’ and started up the hill, the traffic suddenly vanished and the rest of the trip was great.

At Ravello, we parted ways with our American chums (they have recently retired and are in Italy for a month) and sat down at the most amazingly positioned terrace café I think I’ve ever sipped coffee in. Ravello is very high up with the coastline spread out beneath, the small town of Malori looking like a Lilliput Village.

Ravello was a very prosperous spot in the 13th century. It’s success and wealth came from trade but it didn’t last long and as Amalfi’s might and prosperity grew so Ravello’s dwindled. Its population went from a happy 36,000 to a miserable 2,500. Now, however, it has become the aristocrat of the Amalfi coast. Celebrities go there and frolic amid the pedestrianised piazza at the centre. Actually we didn’t see any but Gore Vidal lived there, DH Lawrence scribbled there, Virginia Woolf was miserable there and Wagner composed part of Parsifal in the Villa Rufolo. And that is to name but a few.

Tower in Ravello

As you leave the terrace café you stroll down an particularly unappealing tunnel, lined with cars and with a narrow footpath. At the other end is the town. No cars are allowed within it – this is FANTASTIC. You first pass by the Villa Rufolo and then you are in the centre piazza, surrounded by eateries, souvenir shops and the Duomo. Although it started to ‘crowd up’ it was very beautiful.

We went for a short stroll down one of the small alleys (a road in Ravello) and found a church. From the outside it appears quite new and the inside is all fresh, plain plasterwork but the floor is dotted with glass panels at the base of the columns that support the roof, showing the old foundations. There was nothing to indicate what church it was and why the foundations were on show so we had a walk around then left. Still, it was very peaceful – just a bit odd.

Mirinda in church

One thing that Ravello does well is ceramics. We had been looking for something special to buy from this trip and in Ravello we found it. From the biggest ceramic shop in the whole of Campania (I reckon) we purchased a tile to go outside the house, an olive bowl with seed bit attached and a small version of the fountain Mirinda wanted to put in our dining room (that will be along with the massive fresco of The Mysteries I’m assuming). There were lots of lovely bright Italian stuff and we could have bought out the shop but my back pack wasn’t big enough so we sadly (and gladly) left for lunch.

While sitting at a café negotiating a panini and a beer, the cathedral doors opened and a wedding appeared. It was all very perfect. The bride looked radiant (as brides should) the groom was wandering around looking like he had nothing to do (like grooms do). It was all great fun pulling apart all the outfits worn by the guests from the perfect outfit of the mother of the bride (we presumed) to the VPL of one of the guests who I’m sure thought she was the height of fashion in her white trouser suit but hadn’t seen it from behind. It was a lot of fun.

Wedding - not ours

After the wedding we wandered over to the Cathedral to see if we could get a gander inside. Normally churches close after midday in Italy so we thought ourselves very lucky when we spied an open door. We managed to tour the entire building before some sharp looking guy told us we weren’t supposed to be in there – only sharp LOOKING then!

It’s a lovely church (didn’t you just know I was going to say that) founded in 1086 and is dedicated to St Pantaleone, Ravello’s patron saint. In fact there’s a vial of his blood held beneath his painting. A sign instructs you to walk behind and gaze upon this most remarkable of religious relics – it turns to liquid on the saint’s day every year and remains that way for a month. I looked and it just looked like a big glass of gloop.

The most amazing thing in the cathedral is the pulpit. It looks a bit like the Taj Mahal, according to Mirinda, with lots of inlaid bits of gold and silver. It truly is an amazing bit of furniture. Opposite it stands a smaller pulpit with a mosaic of Jonah and whale on the front. I was also taken aback by the slope of the floor. It was a great battle to walk up the aisle but coming down was a veritable breeze. Must be an angle of around 30° in there.

Jonah exits whale

After being kicked out of the cathedral we wandered over to the Villa Rufolo to inspect the gardens. These are very famous gardens, which started life after 1851 when Scotsman Francis Reid decided to do some weeding. By the time that Wagner visited in 1880 it was perfect for his half written opera so he composed away to such an extent that every year they hold a concert in his honour with the orchestra perched on a scaffold hanging precariously over a precipice. We know, we saw them building it and very precipitous it was too!

Mirinda was very impressed with the layout of the place but felt the actual plants were a bit dull and their layout, Victorian. The main building was well used – it’s part of the original 13th century tower – and a lot of different seats were scattered round taking full advantage of the many views. I agree that the ‘rooms’ were excellent. It was actually reasonably priced as well!

Mirinda in the garden

After the garden we wandered back down the ugly tunnel only to find our American friends. They claimed a bus was due but, as the crowd around us grew larger and more and more people arrived for the Wagner concert (for it was tonight), it was looking grim. Mirinda once more decided we’d waited long enough – we did want to catch the early ferry back to Sorrento which meant getting out of Ravello pretty quick – and asked if anyone would like to share a cab down. Two other Americans held up their hands so we left the bus queue to hunt down a cab.

And here’s yet another little tale of greed and unnecessary overcharging: The taxi up had been €25 which instantly went up to €30 when the driver realised it was two couples. Then the taxi down suddenly went up – I guess because he had us trapped – to €30 which increased to €35 again when he realised we were two couples. What the hell did he get out of the extra €5? Greed and stupidity and no goodwill, that’s what! As it turned out the trip was fraught with bumper to bumper traffic and if he’d put his meter on it would have been way more than the price he quoted…this made us feel a bit better.

Anyway, this American couple were from Pittsburgh PA and, again, a lovely couple. He was a lawyer but not just any lawyer. He sued lawyers! We figured he didn’t have many friends in the profession to which he agreed with great vigour. They both agreed that the taxi drivers were evil scum and should be destroyed.

It was during our trip down the mountain that we learned it was the Policemen’s Holiday in Italy. This must be why there were cars parked illegally down the narrow road, causing traffic to bank up for miles and the taxi driver to regret his hastily agreed tariff!

We left them at Amalfi when we eventually arrived as they were leaving for Positano, and headed for our ferry. We managed to get into a short queue and get on the ferry without trouble or strife. The trip back to Sorrento was a bit grim as the weather has dropped onto us and rain has decided to blight us. I think this is Karen’s revenge as she assured me the weather in London had been appalling. Thank you, Karen!

It rained all afternoon but managed to ease off in time for dinner. We decided to try another Lonely Planet Guide recommendation tonight. It was a most unenjoyable dinner. We ate at O’Parrucchiano on Corso Italia. Oh my God! The guy who served us is easily the king of brusque. I guess if you like being treated like a piece of meat, this is the waiter for you. No wine list, just an unlabeled bottle of house white (I must admit it was excellent), which is very rare in a wine growing region like the Campania. He virtually throws the food at you as he passes on to the next table. The food is ok but nothing to rave about. The Lonely Planet Guide recommends the cannelloni but it may as well be a Sainsbury’s ready meal for all the taste. Presumably the 15% service charge is added because no-one feels like tipping after the meal. An all round rip off.

There are many things the modern tourist should be armed with. But apart from the guide books and helpful advice, the sunglasses and cream, a few helpful phrases in various languages should be perfected before leaving home. One mandatory phrase should be “Let the people OFF the train first!” in Japanese. I know they come from a crowded island where queuing and the idea of fairness is unheard of, but couldn’t their guides tell them it’s not the same over here? Why do they all think it’s every person for themselves and fight tooth and nail for a plastic seat? If a train stops and the doors open and lot of passengers wish to leave the train, surely it makes sense to let them leave before trying to get on yourself. Or maybe I’m alone in this. After all, it happens on the Tube all the time as well.

After looking at our options for today, we decided to return to Pompeii to see, specifically, the Villa of Mysteries and the amphitheatre, both at complete opposite ends of the city.

We woke to rain. After so many days of brilliant sunshine and blue skies, this was very odd but we thought it helped our cause. Although many tourists would simply visit Pompeii because it was on their agenda and they’d just have to follow the guy with the numbered lollipop, the ones going on spec, would probably stay in bed. Anyway, that was our thinking as we wandered up to the station in the drizzle. At least it would be cooler without the sun.

We had the same train journey with the school kids and arrived at Pompeii to have a cup of coffee before entering, just like Tuesday. This time the entrance wasn’t as packed and the many buses failed to turn up. We bought our tickets and audio-guide and headed off the Villa of Mysteries.

The excavated area of Pompeii measures 45 hectares and the Villa is at the extreme western end, standing outside the city walls. It is an amazing place. It was excavated between 1909-10 and completely restored between 1929-30. It has around 60 rooms and is pretty much a complete structure.

The Villa of Mysteries

The name comes from one of the rooms, which has a fresco that covers all four walls. It tells a story but the story has been interpreted in many ways. The most accepted explanation is it tells the story of a woman’s initiation into either marriage or the secret sect of Dionysis. The fresco is incredible, painted by a very accomplished artist.

Fresco detail

The senate in Rome had outlawed the practise of worshipping these cults in secret so a lot of people would have rooms in their villas where they hoped no-one would notice. The owner of this villa, when the paintings were executed obviously had little time for the law! Unless, of course, it is just about a marriage. Perhaps that is the key to the fresco. Perhaps she disguised her cult-ish behaviour so she could pretend it was simply her daughter’s wedding album, when important people from Rome came to visit. I like this explanation – not least because I just made it up.

The rest of the villa is also amazing. Drawings on the walls are everywhere. It’s almost like someone lived there a few years ago and it had just become abandoned. It just needed some furniture. There is an interesting piece of Roman graffiti in one room. It shows an old-ish looking, wreath wearing chap with the name of Rufus. It’s an odd thought that the Romans, who naturally invented scrawling over public buildings, would have drawn this little cartoon in someone’s house! The guide book does not indicate when this was scrawled into the wall but perhaps it was during the original dig when some bored rubble mover was moved to express his boredom.

Of course, Mirinda wants a fresco like the Mysteries painted on our dining room wall. I have to admit it would look fantastic but tend to blanch a bit when I think of the cost. Plus I don’t think the artist is able to do outcalls anymore.

The villa is so far away and off the beaten track that it has to be recommended to people to visit. Most tourists will go to the forum and basilica and a few houses in the main central area but if you have the time, the Villa of Mysteries is absolutely incredible.

Mirinda through the necropolis

From here we tramped the entire width of Pompeii to visit the amphitheatre. This is huge. It’s apparently one of the oldest and most complete amphitheatres left in the world. The visitor enters via either the gate from which the gladiators would have marched in or, opposite this, the gate by which the dead were carted out.

To the amphitheatre!

In 59 AD there was a massive riot here between rival fans from Pompeii and Nocera (an area close to Pompeii). It was so bad that the amphitheatre was ordered closed for ten years! And we think we invented soccer hooliganism. Think again. The Romans did it all.

One complaint about Pompeii (didn’t you just know there’d be one) and it’s only slight. Because they wish to funnel exiting and entering visitors via specific areas and gates, the trips to the toilets can be somewhat laborious. Naturally, being a city, you can’t expect toilets within Pompeii itself (though I’m sure the Roman’s had very good public toilets) but a few shortcuts would be appreciated. Which reminds me…

The Tale of the Pathetic Boy
The toilets by the Piazza Anfiteatro entrance are the type that wash themselves out automatically between visits. As I was waiting to use one, a large Italian boy of about 12 years was with his mother trying to work out how to use it. I should point out that there appeared to be nothing wrong with this child that a good haircut wouldn’t have fixed.

Anyway, he stood and watched the people in front of him as one went in then came out then the toilet wooshed and hissed and then the door opened for the next person. This seemed to totally freak him out. To the point where he shook his head at his mother and started to walk behind the toilet to go there. Fortunately a guy stationed nearby to make sure people didn’t get a shower from these things, stopped him in time.

And so his dilemma. He obviously needed to go but was frightened by this strange machine. What could he do? He went in WITH his mother! I kid you not. What a total sissy. Naturally this was all played out in Italian but it was pretty obvious from his actions what the problem was. I just laughed and shook my superior head.

After sitting in the amphitheatre hearing to those long ago pitched battles between rival spectators, we set off for the long march back to the main entrance. The rain had vanished over the day and the sun was starting to peek out and the tourists where gathering apace. By the time we reached the forum at Via dell’Abbondanza all we could see ahead of us was a wall of people. I formed a wedge with my arms and ploughed confidently into them as Mirinda walked in my slipstream.

The one black spot at Pompeii today was as we were leaving. Mirinda went to use the toilet. A guy was sitting between the two doors demanding the usual 50 cents. As she came out I realised there was a sign saying the toilets were free. Boy, what some people will do to earn a buck.

As we waited for the train back to Sorrento we played a game of chasings with a Japanese tour group who must be declared winners in that they managed to score all the seats…except for one, which I liberated for Mirinda. I know who won the war! Needless to say I spent the entire trip in the vestibule listening to Italian girls discussing various things from a baby in the carriage to one girl’s breasts. Odd, but it passed the time.
Clearly my Italian is improving.

Back home in Sorrento, we strolled along to the Bar Fauno for some pasta and the obligatory though oddly French, strawberry tart then, finally, back to the hotel for a much needed siesta. Mirinda was asleep the moment her head hit the pillow and I wasn’t far behind her.

Much later we strolled down to Villa Communale for an evening coffee while watching the sun vanish behind the dark storm clouds that had descended. Fireworks from some distant event briefly flickered. The various shapes in the clouds would have driven any members of the Cloud Appreciation Society instantly insane with pleasure. A little rain. Lots of lightning over Naples. And we met Rob.

Storm over Vesuvius

Rob is an American travelling through various bits of Europe. He’s an animator but is taking extended leave. We spent a lovely couple of hours chatting to him about everything from the people who carry the stupid lollipop numbers in tour groups to the problems with gun control and the Bush administration. And naturally Mirinda spent some time talking about Happiness Economy, as is her want. He was a lovely guy and, we thought, a bit lonely. We gave him our email address and Mirinda offered to have coffee with him when he’s back in London.

By 10:30 all three of us were frozen and Mirinda needed a loo, so we said our goodbyes and wandered back to the hotel. The temperature has dropped considerably.

Villa fresco detail