As I write this, I am sitting in the comfort of my own room at my home in Costa Mesa. My surroundings look about the same as when I left them, except a good deal cleaner, thanks to my dad’s preparations. (Thanks Dad.) Though all of my objects are familiar, they now possess a strange quality of antiquity as though I am looking at the relics of a past life. I look around and see things that I haven’t thought about in months and some things that I even forgot existed. I go through my closet and dress in clothes that no longer suit my style - I am putting on someone else’s skin as I stand in my own museum.

There were no easy goodbyes when I left Naples. Of course I took pictures and exchanged email addresses with everyone at the hostel and there were plenty of hugs and kisses to go around. It’s strange to think that, right now, life at the hostel is going on as usual. New guests are arriving and perhaps there isn’t a single guest left who remembers that curly-haired girl who served breakfast, just a few days ago. (Is it egocentric of me to think like this?)

It was particularly difficult to say goodbye to my manager who has taken such good care of me for the past four months. He helped me take my luggage (with the addition of a new rolling bag for all the overflow) downstairs, where Renato was waiting to take me to the train station (I flew out of Rome and needed to take a train to the ancient city first).

Our building has two elevators and during the week it costs 5 cents to ride up or down. Before going with my manager, I took one coin from our stash at the receptionist’s desk and headed toward the elevator. Seeing my one coin, my manager handed me a second and said, “For when you return.” I hope I’ll be riding that elevator again soon.

Of course the real heartbreak was in saying goodbye to Renato. The night before I left, we went out to a Spanish restaurant to eat. Letting the owner choose our meal, we enjoyed each dish with glass after glass of sangria and talked about the past few months, as well as the future. The next morning we drove around Naples before returning to the hostel to get my bags. As I went upstairs, he parked the car a few streets away. The area around the hostel was already packed and parking is usually scarce in Naples, anyway. After I returned and gave one last hug to my manager, Renato and I went off to find the car. We had very little time left to make it to the station, which would normally make the unexpected search for his car a stressful matter (and I know it was for him), but I couldn’t help but smile, because it reminded me so much of our first date.

More than 4 months ago we left a pizzeria after a wonderful meal together and spent over thirty minutes wandering the dark streets of the historical center looking for his Ford Fiesta. For some reason I wasn’t stressed that night and I wasn’t stressed my last morning in Naples either, as the time ticked by before the departure of my train. It seemed so fitting that our first day and our last day (oh please don’t let it be the very last) should end so similarly. Really, I couldn’t help smiling at the irony of it.

Once we found his car, Renato raced through traffic towards the station. After parking, we ran, bags in tow and breathless, for the train, which had only moments left before departing. Several of Renato’s friends had arrived earlier at the station and had called to tell us which platform my train would be leaving from. Unfortunately they weren’t able to stay for our arrival, but I was able to say my goodbyes over the phone. They’ve all been fantastic to me and very supportive of my relationship with their friend.

Despite all efforts, I missed my train to Rome and, again, I just didn’t stress out about it. This time I was reminded of the night I missed the train to Sicily. After I returned from the Isle of Capri, I had had most of the day left in the city before leaving for Sicily, so I called Renato and we met up for coffee. This was very early in our relationship, before I decided to stay in Naples and work at the hostel. We spent the rest of that day together and thanks to a tardy metro train, I missed the train to Sicily by two minutes. Of course this meant that I was able to spend more time with Renato. Four months later, after missing the train to Rome, I had to wonder; was I traveling to California or back in time?

I could see that Renato felt bad; the stress showed in his eyes and in his body language. He apologized several times before I finally took his face in my hands and said, “Look at me. Do I look upset?” There was a big smile on my face. Yet again I knew I would share with him an unexpected gift of time. Each moment counted. Seeing my smile, Renato smiled too and let the tension drop from his shoulders. He put his arms around me and said that he was glad I had missed the train, because if I had arrived on time, we would have had only a few seconds to say goodbye on the platform and that would have made everything even sadder.

As it was, we were able to spend another 40 minutes together before the next train to Rome left. We stood together on the platform, surrounded by my bags, talking and kissing (we even managed to laugh a few times despite the sadness of the occasion) until I finally had to board. By this time, I wasn’t laughing anymore. With me standing on the train’s steps, we gave our last kisses (oh please don’t let them be our very last), and tears streamed down my face as I waited for the last whistle and the doors to hiss shut. Even when the tinted glass divided us, we mouthed words of encouragement and love before the train pulled away down the tracks. Afterwards, I sat down, miserable, in an aisle with one seat (I had no real desire to chat with anyone) and cried for half the trip. When two Eurostar employees passed to serve drinks, I politely declined, as I was too shy to look up at them. Before rolling their cart on, one of the women gently placed a napkin at my side to dry my eyes with.

After taking a second train from the station in Rome, I arrived at the airport and it took me all of five minutes to check in. Going through security didn’t take much time either. As I approached the many lines, I scanned the people and their possessions to determine my quickest option. Immediately I spotted one line with four nuns patiently waiting their turns. I joined this line thinking, “Who’s going to bother a nun?” (This option also seemed the most fitting for my exit from the country since my experiences in Italy have been littered with patient nuns.) Of course, the line I entered ended up taking the longest. Each nun set off the alarm, with their crosses, and each, giggling throughout it all, had to be swept by the metal detecting wand of an amused security worker. Go figure.

My flight to Düsseldorf was pretty much uneventful as was my one night stay at a Holiday Inn (my next flight wasn’t until the following day). I did, however, enjoy having a private room and shower for the first time in months. In the morning, I returned to the airport to catch my connecting flight to Los Angeles. On this final flight, I sat next to a very friendly lady from California named Pam, whose daughter also studied film and is now living in Germany. We talked for most of the way, which was great, because it made the time fly by. When we arrived in Los Angeles, we continued to stick together and talk as we waited for our bags and made our way through customs. We were still walking together as we exited the airport and I spotted my dad with a video camera honed in on me. I introduced the two, said yet another goodbye, and then, finally, I got to say one great big hello.

I have many mixed feelings about being home. Of course I am thrilled to see my family and friends again, but there is another family waiting for me in Naples. All the staff at the hostel (Christian, Errico, Atanasio, Marina and Argentina) became brothers and sisters to me. My managers were my surrogate parents. Renato, well Renato is more than just my Scarecrow (“I’ll miss you most of all”) and already I miss my life with him. Together, however, we are making plans for my return shortly after the New Year (I want to study the Italian language this time). With any luck, I will be staying for more than just four months. I need another Pam to make the time fly by!

For now, I will treasure each moment with my family and friends. They are truly the best part about being home and there is so much to say and do with them before I leave again.

I suppose I have learned a lot from my time abroad, most of all, a lot about myself. After graduating from Berkeley, when suddenly there was no greater system planning my days by the hour, months in advance, I felt a bit lost. I craved some kind of order, some kind of authority to tell me what to do. Now, when I see my life as a blank page, I don’t feel the fear I once felt before, but rather I sense the possibility of a great adventure. I want to be in charge of those blank pages. They are for my hands to fill now and thanks to my time in Italy, I know I could be dropped anywhere in the world and have the knowledge and confidence to face anything waiting for me.

So, until next time, whenever that may be, ciao ragazzi!

With less than a week to go before I return home, there doesn't seem to be a moment of rest for me. Luckily I have recovered from last weeks ailments (the white spots sent up the white flag and I didn't have to face a single needle), so I have been able to keep up with my busy schedule without becoming too exhausted.

Early in the week I attended yet another soccer match- this time, it was Renato and his team of friends (Dino, Gaetano, Remigio, and Peppe) versus five other boys from Acerra. When I arrived to watch the game, Renato's team was still in need of one more player, so a small search began. He, Peppe, and I drove around town calling upon friends to come to the rescue before arriving at Remigio's home. Having been turned down up until this point we all hoped Remigio would come through. He was not an easy sell at first, but finally he consented and saved the team from playing one man down for the entire match. The game was held at a pitch rented by the hour. A buzzer sounds the start, half time, and the end of the game. Players act as their own refs and there are two benches along the sideline for players and spectators. This was the first time I ever played the role of the girlfriend watching her guy from the sidelines and I have to admit that it was pretty fun. Each player took a turn as goalie and it was, as a former water polo goalie, fun to watch their different styles. Dino was the most fun to watch in this position. He possessed a quiet and sure confidence as a goalie, while seemingly putting out little effort. As a player approached with the ball, Dino would stand upright with one hand on a post as if he were watching a slightly interesting curiosity before tapping the ball away with one foot. Remigio was certainly the loudest and most enthusiastic player. He's as funny on the field as he is off and trust me, he is hilarious off the field, but he managed to score two goals during the game and that is no laughing matter. Peppe also scored and really proved himself to be a strong forward, and Gaetano, quiet as always, seemed ever ready on defense and even made an amazing slide save. Of course I watched with pride as Renato, using lots of fancy footwork, stole the ball time and again.

By half time, Renato and crew were down by two goals, but my guy scored a beautiful goal (an unassisted shot, straight into the cage), that seemed to inspire his fellow teammates. They came back with a vengeance and won the game by two goals. Now I have watched Italy win the world cup, Napoli beat Ascoli in the stadium, and Renato score and win on his own turf. If all goes as planned, I will get to see him play one last time before I leave, but either way, I feel as though I have had the complete Italian soccer experience.

Wednesday, of this week, also happened to be my birthday. To celebrate, Renato and I went out to eat at a Mexican restaurant- yes, there are actually a handful of Mexican restaurants in Napoli! Why is it that I only discovered this in my final week? I have been longing for tacos and burritos for nearly 6 months (despite a disappointing enchilada at a Mexican restaurant in Rome) and I could have had them for the past 4 months. This was Renato's first taste of Mexican food, (I love that I have been able to expose him to other cuisines); though I think he'd have to come home with me to enjoy the real deal. The restaurant we ate at didn't even have rice on the menu!

Being away from your family on your birthday can be tough, and really I didn't even tell anyone at the hostel that my birthday was approaching, until the day before and even then, I only told three guests. I really didn't expect much beyond a night out with Renato, but on the morning of the 20th, which also happened to be my morning off, as I was eating my breakfast in the common room, I heard people coming down the hall singing happy birthday. Since I hadn't really told anyone, my first, yet brief thought, was that it was also a guest's birthday. Of course I realized my mistake as my manager and Christian, from the front desk rounded the corner carrying a birthday cake and a bottle of champagne. Guests seated at the tables eating breakfast joined in on the song and afterward we all enjoyed a slice of the sweet and a plastic cup of the bubbly. (I've never had champagne for breakfast!) I was quite touched and truly surprised by this gesture and I can only guess that my manager knew it was my birthday from the information I put down when I registered with the hostel. I have really been well cared for here and it will be difficult to leave my new little family.

Also present, at my birthday breakfast, were two Daily Pilot readers. Jen and Jim contacted me in August and we have been chatting back and forth ever since. They booked a room at my hostel and arrived on Tuesday with a copy of the Daily Pilot in tow. That same day, posing proudly with the paper, Jen, Jim, Renato, and I smiled as my manager took a photo of us in the hostel's common room. Afterward we all sat down and had a wonderful chat. It was great to again meet people from home (who also knew so many of my friends, or at least their families) and I think Renato enjoyed stretching his English skills and seeing, for the first time, my article in print. Really, it was the first time for me, too! Thank you Jen and Jim for such a wonderful visit. It was a pleasure to meet you and I must admit that I had been dying to show Renato off to someone from my hometown!

It's amazing how fast the time seems to have gone and I am trying not to kick myself for putting off doing and seeing so many things, which will now be put off until I return (including a trip to the Archaeological Museum, which I recommend, nearly everyday, to guests). Of course my days have been full, but I still wish I’d found the time to see Positano and Sorrento, somewhere along the way.


I did meet my replacement, Annie, who will be taking over my job, starting in October. And I already knew her! I met Annie for the first time, over a month ago, while I was staying in Ischia. She worked at a hostel there, over the summer and, since things slow down on the island in the fall and winter, she is moving to Napoli to work. I am glad to say that she is a delightful and friendly person and I know I am leaving my hostel in good hands.

I have yet to face the terrible task of packing. I already know that, with all the stuff I have amassed over the months, I will have to by another bag.

By this time next week I will be home again. What will happen in the days between then and now, I cannot say, though they will probably be a bit stressful, more than a bit chaotic, and I expect to shed many tears. I look forward to seeing my family and friends and, of course, though I have technically been on vacation all this time, I am also looking forward to some rest. However, once I return from a week in Cancun, I will begin planning my return to Italy.

So, until next week, ciao ragazzi!

Everyone wants to finish their great vacations with a bang; with something that can last them for a week or two after they've returned home and gone back to work; something to keep that vacation/travel spirit alive, even after the jet lag has faded.

Let me just throw this one out here now. How do tonsillitis and two trips to the hospital (and possibly a blood test and injections to follow) stand as the perfect souvenir? Hmmm, what to get, what to get. The "I heart Napoli" shirt or the futile standoff with my fear of needles? Tough choice, but I think I'll take the t-shirt.

I haven't actually had the shots yet, but don't let me get ahead of myself. It all started last Thursday when I started to feel the beginnings of a sore throat. Since I've already been sick three times this summer (don't you just love living with a few hundred people for four months) and each time involved a sore throat, I figured it was the usual M.O. and pulled out the remaining cold pills and throat spray from the last bout. I imagined a few uncomfortable days and nothing more. Flash-forward to Saturday when my throat was so swollen I could barely swallow and white spots on my tonsils spelled out; "Hi there, neighbor". I got up that morning, made breakfast and, when my manager arrived, he took one glance with a flashlight and said he'd take me to the emergency room. Normally I would do anything to avoid such a trip, but even I knew that this wasn't going to get better on its own.

One very sweet thing did happen before we left, however. That morning my manager had brought his son with him to work and as I was getting ready to leave, this little boy came up to me and asked where I was going. I told him that I needed to go to the hospital. (It's always interesting to talk with children here, because, when you don't speak the language very well they don't always understand why you don't understand them, or why you might speak strangely and give an answer for a question they never asked. Sometimes this earns you a strange look, but they generally move past these moments, in that special way only kids can. I have to admit though, that I am more nervous speaking to a child than an adult. Maybe it's because the kids are my language peers.)
When my manager's son heard that I was going to the hospital, he told me about his own trip to the emergency room, earlier that summer, and even showed me the medicine the doctor had given him for his allergies. As he reached into his little satchel, he described how he had gotten very hungry while waiting for his doctor. With that, he produced a little packet of crackers, which he gave to me, in case I got hungry waiting for the doctor, too. It just about melted my heart!

The three of us arrived at the hospital shortly after and I was quite surprised by how short a wait I had to endure before seeing the doctor- 15 minutes tops. Of course my manager did all the translating. As surprised as I was by the short wait, I was even more surprised by how quickly the exam was given. The doctor used a tongue depressor and a flashlight to get a good view and a few seconds later she turned away to write down her diagnosis and my prescriptions. Of course I was pretty much lost at this point (most of my knowledge of Italian went on hiatus the moment I entered the hospital) and the brief exam left me hopeful. Maybe it was nothing after all.

That's how I felt until I heard the diagnosis and prescribed treatment: tonsillitis, pills and shots. Really, I only needed to hear that last word, “shots”, to come apart. But thankfully, they don't give you the shots right there and then, that must be another visit. My manager, instead, took me across the street to the local pharmacy to fill my prescriptions and talk the pharmacist into looking for a pill alternative to the shots. Thankfully he found one!

Three days later, after a short but appreciated period of illusion, my sore throat had ceased to be sore, but the white spots had multiplied and changed their message to "hell no, we won't go". Hence, trip #2 to the hospital.

This time Renato accompanied me and my new doctor manhandled my neck before going with the tongue depressor. New diagnosis: tonsillitis or possibly mononucleosis. Prescribed treatment: blood test (to rule out mono), a shot everyday for a week, and more antibiotics. Thank goodness I had Renato with me! He acted as my new translator and my pillar of strength. Of course the mono aspect meant we were in this together, though I was certain I hadn't caught anything from him and despite the fact that mono is often referred to as "the kissing disease", these lips have been loyal.

After a gentle pep talk from Renato and a growing sense of solidarity, we decided to go to a clinic the next day to have our blood tested. (This was on my day off. Some people like to go to the beach, but not me...) So, early the next morning, I got up to catch a train to meet Renato in his hometown. This small part of my day was very educational, because I had to run 5 blocks in order to get to the station on time. What did I learn you might ask? If I can run five blocks, then I don't have mono.

Regardless of my early morning lesson (if it's not mono, it might still help to know what I have), I met up with Renato and we rode a borrowed vespa to a nearby clinic. Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately for my nerves), this clinic was closed and we drove on to another in a neighboring town. In our second attempt, we were met with two roadblocks. The first being two traffic officers monitoring the road into town. Since we only had one helmet between us, Renato and I had to do a little scheming. I got off the vespa and walked past the two officers while Renato, wearing the helmet, rode by. We regrouped a short distance down the road and, at an even shorter distance, arrived at the second clinic.

Road block #2: though the clinic was open, they stop taking blood by 10 o'clock and we arrived at 10:10. I guess I dodged another bullet.

The whole day wasn't a loss however. Not only did I have a lot of fun riding around on the vespa with Renato (I can't remember that last time I was outside that early in the morning - the cool air was so refreshing), but we also took a trip to Pompeii later that afternoon and reminisced about the day we met. All and all (the threat of facing a childhood trauma aside), it was a pretty romantic day.

Everyone at the hostel has been very supportive about my health, too. Of course my manager is a complete superstar, but all of the staff, including the building's handy man, have been asking me how I feel and if I have eaten recently (my antibiotics have to be taken with food). Should I need a little extra rest, I am free to take a nap in the common room, but both Errico and Atanasio have found me other beds in private rooms to steal a few winks in during the day.

As far as the blood test goes, Renato and I are prepared for another trip to the clinic in two days unless the white spots finally send up a white flag. I remain hopeful. Perhaps I should just be thankful that I don't have a truly awful malady, for which an injection would be a sweet relief. Whatever I've got, I'm sure it will be gone by the time I get home and my Napoli shirt will prove to be the lasting souvenir. Again, I remain hopeful. Of course I should have a better idea come next week, so until then, ciao ragazzi!

Even with summer coming to a close, I'm still as busy as ever. I feel the time flying by now and the thought of leaving Naples is a sad one for many reasons. Of course, I'm excited to see my friends and family again, but so much has happened since I left for Europe, in March, that I feel like a completely different person and, certainly, I have begun a completely different life.

If I had followed the plan I started with, then today I would have gotten on a plane at Heathrow and flown home. Instead, I am staying in Naples for almost another 3 weeks and, today, Renato and I celebrated our 4-month anniversary. Oh how plans change!

Of course airlines don't like it when you change your mind and, as an incentive to smother all spontaneity in passengers, they do everything they can to prevent you from being able to alter your plans, after purchasing your ticket. Originally, my return flight was with British Airways, but when I tried to change my ticket (knowing full well that I would have to pay plenty, for any and every deviation), I was told that, though I could change the date of my flight, I could not re-route it. Of course, this isn't mentioned anywhere in the contract. Rather than scramble to find a way to get to London today or on a later date (which, with the recent terrorist activity, was not an option I favored), I decided to purchase a new ticket with a different carrier for a flight leaving from Rome. After discovering that this would cost me about €1400, it was not an option I favored all that much either. Thankfully, while I was on the phone with my dad, Errico, at the front desk, overheard my dilemma and began to search the net for cheaper alternatives. Before I had even hung up the phone, Errico had found a way to save me nearly €1000! He's a prince among men! Thanks to Errico, I now have a ticket (purchased on-line) for home. Though I may need to spend a night in Rome and then definitely a night in Düsseldorf while I wait for the second leg of my return trip (my European phrasebook will finally come in handy), I'd be willing to spend a night just about anywhere to save €1000. When all is said and done, I will be back in Costa Mesa on the 27th of September. Three days later I fly to Cancun for a weeklong reunion with some of my college friends!

The brief panic I experienced while searching for a new flight was not to be my last ticket-related dilemma for this week. Before I get to the heart of my story, let me explain a few things about riding the bus in Naples. Most days they're packed with people and you always keep a hand on your valuables. It also doesn't hurt to grow eyes on the back of your head. Since riding the bus is such a popular mode of transportation in this traffic jammed city, it's often difficult to get on and off the bus, plus it's no easy feat to move around once you're onboard. Because of this, there are multiple entrances on each bus. You don't have to buy a ticket at the door or even show one. In fact, passengers must buy their tickets at Tabacchis (almost like little convenience stores) before they even board. Once they're on, they must stick one end of their ticket into one of two, yellow validation machines, which print the date and time the ticket was used. To make sure that people aren't riding the bus for free, controllers often board the bus and check everyone's ticket, issuing a fine of €34 (payable on the spot) to anyone without a valid ticket. Of course, everyone seems to know that the controllers don't ride the buses late at night or on Sundays. Some people even know which stops controllers are most likely to board at. All of this means, that I, like a great portion of Naples, have been riding the bus for free these many months. However, I always keep a blank ticket on hand to validate in a pinch if I spot the blue uniform of a controller shuffling down the aisle.

Just two days ago, as I was making my way to the train station to meet Renato, I failed to notice that blue uniform and when I was asked to show my ticket, I could do nothing but produce my blank one. Though Renato claims that I am becoming more and more like a Neapolitan, I must confess that I fell back on my roots as a tourist to save my hide.

After showing my blank ticket (with as much naïve confidence as I could muster), the controller asked for identification and €34. I handed him my California driver's license (I keep my passport locked in the safe at the hostel), but pretended not to understand anything else he had said. I kept this up even as the bus came to its final stop (right next to the train station) and I found myself on the street with a lot of other cornered freeloaders. Most paid their fines and left, others argued, but found their attempts to be futile. I, on the other hand, stuck to my guns and played dumb. It was all I had. Really. I knew arguing was going to get me nowhere, especially if I argued in Italian. All I had to my advantage was my California driver's license and the fact that I had only €10 on me. I even opened my wallet and showed the stern, white haired, fast-talking controller demanding my money that I lacked the amount he was after. A few times I almost blew my cover by answering his questions (all in Italian of course) in English. If he had stopped to think about my responses, he would have realized I understood him just fine. I also threw out a few Italian words that the usual phrase book toting tourist shouldn't know, but he never seemed to blink. Finally, my controller asked if I was leaving Naples soon, which got my heart racing since I was already beginning to wonder what they did with offenders who couldn't pay. Was he going to haul me in to some police department and make sure I left sooner than planned? I answered "subito", which means soon. It was both a lie and one of those words I shouldn't know. He asked me where I was going and without hesitating (I figured that would give my lies away), I answered back, "Sicilia". Really, I should have said Sicily like a gringa and maybe a southern accent would have helped me now that I think about it. At this point, a second controller (who was much younger and didn't exactly keep his eyes glued to his clipboard they way the other guy did) entered the scene and looked at my license. The first controller started to point to an address on one of his forms and I understood that he wanted me to mail the money once I got to Sicily. (Fat chance.) The second controller began to speak with the first after I indicated to him that I was going to be late for my train. (I pointed to the station, frowned and said, in English, "There is a train".) This was true since I was meeting Renato outside of Naples and my train was leaving in less than 10 minutes. Luckily this second controller took over my case and with a merciful smile (I really did appreciate that) he handed me back my license and said, "Tutto posto" (everything's okay). Continuing to play dumb, I stood in a feigned stupor and attempted to give him my now marked ticket, but he waved me on, said, "Tutto posto" once more, and gave me a thumbs up before walking away.

I must admit that I do feel a bit guilty for taking advantage of his kindness and even a bit dirty l since I don't think I would have gotten the same treatment if I wasn't young and wearing a skirt at the time. I did play all of my advantages by turning to the second controller for pity by telling him about my train. I was like a woman who hitchhikes by showing a little leg and once someone stops for her she waves to her boyfriend to come out of his hiding place in the bushes. Of course I learned my lesson and I have used a valid ticket ever since, which is good, because controllers have checked my tickets two more times in the last two days. I have gone four months without so much as seeing a controller from a distance and suddenly, they're everywhere!

Before I sign off, I want to share one last adventure for this week. On Monday I met two Daily Pilot readers who have been keeping up with my articles! It was such a pleasure meeting Martha and Randy, who contacted me in August for information on Naples and some of the surrounding areas. When they arrived this week, they invited me out for drinks and I met them at the Galleria, where there are some quiet little cafes. I thoroughly enjoyed my visit with them. It was so nice to talk with someone from home - someone who knows what Ruby's is and how bad the traffic can get on the PCH, in Corona del Mar. Of course we talked about more than just fast food and highways. We shared travel stories and Martha asked me to describe Renato to her. I can't help but enjoy that. So thank you Martha and Randy for such a nice evening! I hope you have a great time in Italy and that you return home safely!

Until next week, ciao ragazzi!

It has been an amazing week, with the highlight event occurring on Wednesday when Renato and I attended the Napoli vs. Ascoli football (soccer) game at the stadium.

We arrived early to get in line to buy tickets. Remember that I mentioned, in an earlier column, that lines in Italy don't grow in length, but width? Well this line was no different. A relatively new protocol for thwarting scalpers, tested the patience of thousands. When you buy a ticket, you must present some form of legal identification so that your name can be typed onto the ticket. Each ticket must have a different name verified by each attending person's I.D. At the gate, attendants request to see your ticket and I.D. again before you enter. Of course, both names must match.

In line, people stood skin-to-skin peering over each other's shoulders toward the low window of the ticket booth. Men bent to look inside, but the barred window was murky and half obscured by graffiti - too dirty to see anything of the slow-to-move cashier. Renato kept a protective hand on me at all times and carried my backpack containing my camera and two lenses. When people complained or commented out loud, he would nod in agreement before translating for me.

When we finally had our tickets in hand, we emerged from the line and I felt the relief of open space again. There was still plenty of time before the start of the match so Renato and I walked around the stadium looking for a T-shirt for me. I'm glad I waited to buy one at the game, because they had a wide variety and I eventually chose one that cost 10 euro. As we walked, Renato and I passed lots of other fans, showing their love for Naples, with t-shirts, scarves (I was wearing the one I bought from Bruno, of course) and hats, but there was one who took the cake - a little old woman, walking alone, dressed head to toe in fan-wear. A light blue skirt and shoes, a Napoli shirt, scarf and flag, and, topping it all off, a Napoli hat set on top of her gray curly hair. Somewhere, a souvenir shop exploded and all of its’ remains had landed on her! She strode proudly past us, toward one of the gates, before disappearing from sight.

After everything we went through in line, it was quite amusing to watch a number of young men hop the fence into the stadium, while several police officers, milling about nearby, simply watched. It seemed that the only trouble these people were going to get, was going to come from the fence! Renato told me that his father and brother had once gotten into a game, without any tickets, along with nearly a thousand other people, thanks to a police officer holding a gate open and waving people in.

I was again surprised when Renato and I entered the stadium and presented our tickets and ID’s and the attendant didn't even glance at them. Nor did he search my backpack. I was beginning to wonder how the system to stop scalpers was doing anything, but creating a hassle at the ticket booth!

Once inside, Renato and I sat down in Curve B, located behind one of the goals. It's the most popular cheering section in the stadium. In this section, men arrive with bullhorns and giant flags to lead the fans in cheers and dances, which means that most of the curve remains standing for the whole game. When the match started, I was a bit surprised to learn from Renato that some of the cheers (more like jeers) were directed at Ascoli's goalie and involved some less than polite remarks about his mother. Every time the Ascoli goalie released the ball, the crowd would slowly build up its voice, until the kick or toss, when they would finally shout, in unison, "Bastardo!” I wonder how good my stats would have been when I played, as a water polo goalie, if I had such a ferocious crowd surrounding me! Then again, this is Naples and, as Renato has informed me, its one of the biggest soccer fan cities in all of Europe. And boy do I believe it! Perhaps this intensity is unique.

Just shortly after the game started, I began scanning the stadium for a scoreboard to see how much time had passed. Renato pointed to a dark strip along a lower, center tier and explained that the scoreboard hadn't worked in a long time and, when it had worked, it only worked for one season! This, to me, is soccer (or any sport) at it's best. Here, it's not about the sponsorships or the technology or even the tickets. It's about the fans, the players, and the game. And these fans were great. Throughout the match they lit flares and waved them around before throwing them down towards the field. Just after Renato and I took our seats, I noticed that firefighters were hosing down the areas behind the goals. Renato explained that this was to keep a fire from spreading. Now there's an ounce of prevention!

Bottles of water were also hurled at the sidelines, where ball boys and security guards lined the field. More than one strong arm, with a good aim, had these same people ducking out of the way. There was a small portion of seats allocated for Ascoli fans. Most of these seats were protected by netting, to spare them from the same showering as the guards on the ground.

The different sections of seats were divided by glass partitions and, just like the fence around the stadium, fans faced no opposition in climbing them. In fact, they lined up in droves to climb and the rest of the crowd cheered as various people, who experienced particular difficulty in reaching their summit, finally crested the top and jumped down to the other side. This is definitely a place where the fans rule.

Despite how it may sound, it was not a chaotic scene, but rather an event pulsing with enthusiasm and pride and active spectatorship.

Of course, there was more going on at the stadium than just cheering and bottle throwing. There was the game, too! At first, it seemed that Ascoli could do no wrong, or at least that's how the refs saw it, and the Napoli fans responded accordingly with lots of bottles and exclamations punctuated by Italian hand gestures. (Really, I don't know what I enjoyed watching more, the game or the fans. Plus it was pretty fun watching Renato in his element, too.) We went through 90 intense minutes without a single goal from either side before Napoli scored in the first 15 minutes of overtime. Napoli went home the victor, after Ascoli, whose uniforms look like those worn by American referees, failed to score in the second 15 minutes. The crowd loved it and they let the world know!

Renato and I waited in our seats as people flooded out of the stadium after the game. When all of the fans had gone and only a few attendants were still wandering around the field, we got up to go. However, we found all the exits locked. It was just like the beach in Serapo, only on a larger scale, and there was no way we were going to climb these gates (despite all the successful efforts we had witnessed earlier). Luckily we found an attendant and he directed us to an exit being used by the police and fire departments. We followed a bus out and the gates were shut behind us. Yet another successful escape!

Watching the Napoli vs. Ascoli game will definitely go down as one of the highlights of my stay in Naples. It gave me a taste of the life here that I had yet to experience and I'd love another plate. Maybe next time I'll know more of the words to the cheers/jeers.

On Sunday, Napoli faced one of its biggest rivals, Juventus, and tickets sold out quickly. People searched all over for tickets, thousands waited outside the stadium, hoping to get a chance to go to the game. Come playing time, there was nothing left to buy - well, nothing legal. Only the scalpers had anything to offer (at a higher price of course, and with no guarantee that any buyer would be able to get in). I didn't get to see the game, but at midnight, as the match went to penalty shots, I hung halfway out a window, at the hostel, to listen to a car radio, down on the street, reporting on all the action at the stadium. Unfortunately, I couldn't hear much or understand what I did hear, but the body language of the small gathering around the car was easy to read. Napoli won the game by one goal.

I hope to get the opportunity to see another match, but I'm going to have to wait awhile on that one. As far as next week goes, I have no plans beyond the usual and since the usual has been pretty great, I'm looking forward to every minute. So until next time, ciao ragazzi!

It's been a hectic week at the hostel and, oddly enough, there have been a lot of familiar faces inhabiting the rooms.

Two Australian guys have returned to the hostel three times, as they bounce back and forth between Naples and the islands. Just the other morning, as I was sitting at one of the hostel computers, I felt a hand on my shoulder and heard a voice say, "Buon giorno”. When I turned around I found the French tour guide, who had stayed with us a few weeks earlier, smiling down on me. Of course he brought with him a sort of French invasion in the form of several tourists he was accompanying around Naples before taking them onto Stromboli. Thankfully they were a friendly bunch and, despite showing up at breakfast a bit early and in unison, they made for pleasant guests. (Unfortunately, the Australians were less than pleasant, suddenly deciding on their third visit to make my job harder at every turn.). Several other familiar faces have been wandering the hall as well, making the hostel feel a little more like home – well; at least in the way a college dorm can start to feel like home.

Of course, in my free time, I try to get away from the hostel and enjoy the day.

On August 15, Italy celebrated Ferragosto, which, as Renato explained to me, is the last big holiday of the summer (and thus the last big hoorah for children as they face the imminent approach of the new school year). This means that for most of the week the city has been dead, even quieter than on Sundays. This is also the time of the year when many of the locals leave for vacation, so options for entertainment have been limited. One of my favorite locations, however, is a constant source of comfort and I often escape there on hot days. The garden at the Biblioteca Nazionale is a quiet and secluded area, perfect for sitting in the shade and reading. It is also a part of the Royal Palace, which among its many sections, houses a museum. On Monday, when the city (or what was left of it) was preparing for the holiday, I made my way to the park with my new book; The Historian, by Elizabeth Kostova, which, I must say, is the perfect book to read while traveling through Europe - it takes place in several different European countries, including Italy.

On this day the weather was fairly cool and, after reading in the grass for a while, I decided to look for the entrance to the library and try reading indoors. I have never been inside the library before so I was a bit curious to see how it looks. I began to wander around the building and the various courtyards looking for some sign indicating the entrance to the library. There were many open halls that led to several different sections, but I was hoping to find the main entrance. During my search I came across the exit of the museum, but turned away since it wasn't what I was after. Not far from this exit I found an elevator and a sign that I thought indicated the way to the history department. By this time I was ready to settle for just about any part of the library and what better place to settle down with a book called The Historian than in the history department? I also saw a man leave from this same elevator and since he didn't appear to be anything more than a sightseer, like myself, I felt fairly secure in entering. I got on the elevator and pushed the button for the first floor. When the doors opened I wasn't staring at a stack of books, but rather a large hall wrapped around the courtyard I had just come from, with doors leading into several rooms with many attendants seated outside. Through one open door I could see elaborate pieces of antique furniture and beautiful paintings hanging on the walls. I didn't need a sign to know that I had inadvertently entered the Palace's museum, free of charge.

I took one step back and quickly glanced at the nearest attendant thinking that, at any second, my error would be recognized and I would be escorted out, or at least to the ticket booth. However, no angry force of guards descended upon me and, not being one to look a gift horse in the mouth, I decided a stroll through the museum wasn't such a bad idea after all. Doing my best to wear an "of course I'm supposed to be here" look, I began touring the rooms.

Once, many years ago, my mother served salmon in many forms over many days until, finally, I thought I’d grow gills and pink flesh. (I love you, Mom and don't worry; I think you're a great cook.) It was a case of salmon O.D. and I haven't eaten cooked salmon since. Well, I’m in about the same place with museums; over-dosed! Wandering through the palace's rooms, I realized I’ve yet to recover.

That's not to say that it's not a beautiful museum with many wonderful things to see. In fact, I enjoyed a good deal of it; I just didn't have the heart to become absorbed. This made coming across the palace's theater, with it's a row upon row of seats, a refreshing discovery. It's not that I'm a theater expert (though I do enjoy the chance to see a play when I can). My joy in finding this room stemmed from the fact that the theater, with its solemn atmosphere, most afforded, out of all the rooms, the peace and quiet for which I had been searching. So, strolling down the aisles, I picked one of the comfy, red velvet seats and sat down to read for a good hour. No one bothered me, though I wondered if any of the attendants thought it was strange for a person to come to a theatre, just to read. Later, I finished my tour of the rooms and felt I had more than gotten my money's worth.

My final escape of the week came on Ferragosto, which landed on my day off. Renato, now interested in sampling more foreign foods after our night at the Chinese restaurant, had learned of a Spanish restaurant in a little town outside of Naples and we started off with thoughts of sangria dancing in our heads. Unfortunately, due to the holiday, we found the restaurant was closed for the night, but not ready to let this ruin our evening, we took off for Caserta. (Here there is another palace - much bigger than the one in Naples- with a massive garden and a fountain located so far in its depths that there are taxis and carriages on hand to aid a weary walker). After a beautiful sunset drive to Caserta, we found a pizzeria where we shared two pizzas before topping off our appetites with gelato from a nearby shop. It was a beautiful night- the weather was clear and rather cool (I even wore a jacket), and this outing was certainly what I needed after a long week at the hostel.

Next week I will start my time off a day later than usual, because Argentina (who makes breakfast on my free day) cannot cover this coming Wednesday. I have no solid plans, so this is really no problem. Right now I am beginning to feel time ticking and the days seem to be going by faster than I want, as I approach my return home. I cannot think about this yet without feeling a sense of dread in my stomach. It's not that I don't miss my family, friends, and home, but rather that I will miss the life I am living here (and of course Renato). I am already planning my return with lots of hope - mostly hope that my plans will work out.

So, from Hopeful In Naples, ciao ragazzi!

The heat in Naples has finally eased back from the unbearable, but that doesn't mean I haven't longed for the beach every afternoon. Unfortunately, for many days, swimming wasn't an option for me because of my lingering cold. Unfortunately for Renato, every time we spent the day together, swimming wasn't an option for him either. To escape the heat we hid in the shade at the park, drank cool drinks at a bar, and soaked up the air conditioning at the cinema.

For any readers who might be wondering, no, I haven't met his parents yet, but one hot day before I could venture to the beach, I took the train to his hometown and met two of his friends. I have to admit that it felt pretty romantic, going by train to see my guy. Maybe it was just a little thing, but it was so nice stepping off that train to find him waiting there for me. (Perhaps I should thank Hollywood for romanticizing train travel.)

In our relationship, Renato and I have had two minor heroes. For a while we kept our relationship a secret from his family (a long story in itself) and it was not always easy to maneuver around this situation. Gaetano was our first hero for several reasons. When I left for Sicily (and missed the train from Napoli), Renato stayed at the station with me for as long as he could as I waited for the next train. This caused him to miss all the buses and trains heading back to his hometown, essentially leaving him stranded in Napoli. Enter Gaetano. He saved the day by driving to the station and picking up Renato. Afterward, Gaetano was not only Renato's cover story on several occasions, but also his first confidant. Our second hero was Dino. I won't elaborate on why he was our hero (hey some things have to stay private), but he was our hero nonetheless. When I went to visit Renato in his hometown, I met our two accomplices for the first time face to face.

Together, Renato and I went from the train station to meet Gaetano at his home. I was quite nervous, since this was the first of Renato's friends that I was meeting and I am still very self-conscious about my Italian. However, I quickly discovered that there was nothing to be nervous about. Gaetano is a total sweetheart and really seemed pleased to have the opportunity to speak English. (Another reason why he is my hero: like me, Gaetano is trying to get Renato to quit smoking.) The three of us sat for a while and talked before taking a walk through the town. (It's the kind of small town where everyone seems to know everyone else. We could barely walk two blocks without running into a friend of Renato's. We even stopped and had a cold drink with Gaetano's uncle after meeting him on the street. All of this was a new and rather charming experience for me.) Finally we walked to a church and inside we stopped to enjoy a small wedding taking place. It was the kind of Italian day you only expect to see in the movies.

After saying goodbye to Gaetano, Renato and I took refuge from the heat at a local park and ate apples right off a nearby tree. In the evening, we returned to the train station and as we were waiting for my train, Dino arrived on his moped. Since we had plenty of time, Dino let us take his moped for a spin around the block. Before going, I asked him if he wouldn't mind holding my purse. He said yes, took it in one hand, smiled coyly and said something in Italian that I couldn't understand. Laughing, Renato explained before we sped off that standing alone at a station with a purse in his hand made Dino feel like a prostitute, but Dino, who was also laughing as we rode away, really didn't seem to mind my unintentional emasculating request. When we returned, he was sitting on a bench, sans suitor, so he must have faired well in our absence. Gaetano and Dino were lots of fun and both suggested we all go out again soon. This has given me more confidence in meeting Renato's other friends (though I am still nervous about meeting Renato's parents). Tomorrow I will be returning to his hometown to attend the birthday party of yet another friend, which will no doubt mean that I'll be meeting many new people. In addition, Renato informed me that this friend knows many American soldiers stationed in Italy and, in preparation for my arrival, he has purchased a lot of American style food for his party. It will be interesting to see what Italians think of American cuisine.

Since I have started the habit of writing about my day off, I will give a quick review of this weeks adventure. I stayed at the hostel again this week and thankfully, there was a bed available in one of the dorms, which meant I was able to sleep late rather than get up early to allow the common room to be set up for breakfast. Also, my manager gave me two free tickets to see Madame Butterfly at the Arena Flagrea. Renato and I had planned to go out to dinner before the show and make a real night of it. I have always wanted to see this opera and was very excited to attend. Unfortunately, at the last minute, Renato was unable to go and I ended up taking three other women from the hostel, who had been given free tickets as well. We rode the bus for most of the way, but, after many well-intentioned misdirection’s by friendly locals, we found ourselves, just minutes before the start of the opera, wandering around looking for the arena! I was quite on edge, not only because I was the tour guide of sorts, but also, because I really wanted to see this production and I felt the possibility slipping away. At last, we found a taxi and rode the rest of the way, arriving 15 minutes after the start - thanks to the slowest taxi driver in Naples, who seemed more interested in flirting with the girl in the front seat than in getting us to our location on time. The production was beautiful, but by the time we were really settled in, I was so tired I could barely keep my eyes open. Afterward, two of the ladies I went with refused to walk any further and I had to call the hostel to get Errico to send a taxi for us. Despite being a pain for most of the night, these same two women ended up giving me a good laugh. When the opera ended and we were comparing notes, it was clear that these women had mistaken Madame Butterfly for M. Butterfly, a story with some similarities to the opera, but in which the Japanese lover is actually a man who disguises himself as a woman in order to get information from a love struck American man. I can only imagine my companions' attempts to make this story fit into what they were seeing on the stage! Though my romantic evening with Renato mutated into a wild goose chase that ended in exhaustion and general frustration, I must say that I learned a lot (most importantly: how to get to Arena Flagrea) and I even managed to laugh a little on the way.

With any luck, I will be spending next week's night off with (as one hostel-guest-turned-friend put it) my Italian stallion. Right about now, I am imagining us at a quiet beach with cold drinks enjoying cool water and a long nap under an umbrella! Tomorrow will certainly bring its own excitement, but I'm sure all will go well. So, until next time, ciao raggazzi!