Aww, Christ

The ferry to Bari, Italy left from Patra that evening, and I had to take a few trains to get there. I validated my Eurail pass, which I was pleased to know actually worked, and got on board. Having not been doing much talking- at least not worthwhile talking- since the boat trip, I was hoping to run into some fellow backpackers on their way to the ferry. Sure enough, right across the aisle of the empty train was a young American couple. After listening for a while I asked one of the questions that really just means 'hi, I speak English.' Turned out they were juniors in college on spring break from their abroad program. Great. Well, at least they were travelling. They were also very nice, though very young seeming young kids (as opposed to my many years of wisdom, right?). When I asked where they stayed in Athens, the girl grunted and said, 'oh God, this awful hostel. Athens International.' I said, 'oh that's funny, I was there too. I didn't mind it.'
'Oh well, I guess it was whatever, but the neighborhood was full of prostitutes and junkies.'
Quoth the Lonely Planet "The Hostel is clean and cheap, as long as you don't mind the junkies and prostitutes that roam the neighborhood."
'Oh that's funny I think I read something like that in the Lonely Planet.'
'Yeah we have that too. I don't know...I just thought it was sketch. Also the room's bathroom was so weird...and the shower curtain made the shower so small.'
I had been so surprised to find a bathroom-one with a shower in it, no less-inside the room that I had walked into the hallway in my towel and stared at the doors trying to figure out which was the shower until a staff girl came up the stairs, gave me a puzzled look and took me inside the room to show me the bathroom.
'Huh. I was just happy it was clean.'
'Yeah I guess it wasn't so bad.'
'I didn't actually see any prostitutes, did you guys?'
'No.'
'Oh, I see. You're pretty much a blank slate for others' opinions?'
'Pretty much.'
No but they were good people and I ended up hanging out with them throughout the evening on the ferry, along with another girl on spring break from her semester abroad, who was studying in Copenhagen and seemed to be a real person already.

The ferry was comically nice. It had two bars, a dance floor, a casino (just slot machines, thank god, or I would be writing this from home), and several fancy shmancy restaurants. The boat was also empty, so the couches in the lounge areas were all empty and ripe for sleeping. Except that the staff wouldn't let us lie down there, the heartless pricks. They told us we had to go to the airplane seats, or pay for a cabin. The only place with couches that was dark enough to escape attention was right next to the dance floor, where they were blasting heinous dance pop. Real sick sonsabitches, these ferry people, but I respected the challenge. I ended up finding a couch that was facing away from the walkway to the dance floor, so if I just lay flat enough or right up against the couch back the boat staff wouldn't see me. The music was still terribly loud, but I was content to be prone, and I'm pretty sure I slept through some part of the night.

As soon as I got to Italy, poorly slept and grimy, I felt a surge of pure bliss. This happens occasionally to me on this trip. Often it has to do with arriving in a new place, sometimes it comes from making plans with a person after not meeting anyone for a while, but other times it is completely inexplicable. My three companions hopped in a cab to the train station so they could catch a train, so I just walked into the first coffee shop I saw and ordered an Espresso. In Italian. Not fucking Greek. I could read the menu, I could sort of understand what people were saying, and they were Italians. Life was good. I was the only person to sit down to drink my coffee. Everyone else stood at the bar-I don't think breakfast really exists in Italy. I asked someone for directions and soon found three people trying to help, or just thinking that first guy was wrong and wanting to tell him so. Either none of them knew the way or I could walk in any direction that wasn't water and get to the train station, because they were all saying different things. Well, it was better than the Greeks, I thought. I asked at the ferry office three doors down where they speak everything and, indeed, I could walk in any direction away from the penninsula and I would eventually arrive at the train station. As I walked the three kilometers through the port town of Bari, I hid my shiteating grin frequently to ask people if I was going the right way, thrilled that I could, that they would help, and that I could understand their answers. Fucking Greek(s).

I took a train to Taranto, where I would have to get a bus to Napoli. While waiting for the bus I met three German looking guys who were actually from Namibia. 'Ohhh, cool,' I said, the same way people from the West Coast react when I say I went to Amherst. 'It's just west of South Africa,' one said, either presuming-correctly- my American style ignorance of world geography or knowing all to well the sound of feigned recognition. 'Oh yeah, sure.' On the bus I met an Australian couple- adorably dorky but really nice- and an American guy from California, finally, the first other American I'd met who was travelling for a long time, about five months. He was in a similar situation, having applied to graduate schools to study Architecture before taking off to see some of The World. On the bus we were informed that it might be incredibly difficult to find a spot in a hostel in Napoli, it being Easter weeked. 'Fucking Christ,' I kept to myself, but apparently he heard me: Zach let me tag along on the way to the hostel he had a flyer for, and at the first hostel, the guy told us it was full, and then proceeded to do us the favor of caling every hostel in the city that he knew of, and they were all full. Sweet. After walking around for about an hour finding out all the hotels were too expensive, we happened upon a little one star that was run by some Nigerian women who were more than happy to give us a room and make fun of us in French while we were still present; each and every one of our departures from, and even some entrances to the reception area caused uproarious laughter. It occurred to me at this point that I hadn't seen a black person in months, and no more than four or five throughout the entire trip. I have no explanation for that, but it's interesting.

Our room cost 45 Euro, and was equipped with a sink, a shower, and a bide. That is all. I couldn't explain that one either, so I peed in it. Was that wrong?

On my way out of the room I noticed a simple sign on the wall written on a white piece of paper with a bic pen. It was all in Italian and looked like a bullet pointed list, possibly of the hotel's do's and don't's. Here's the funny part: a huge careful drawing of a syringe was the focal point of the sign, and there was no graphic indication of whether that was considered a 'do' or a 'don't.' Lovely. On our way out, the woman at the desk asked us to leave the key. We looked, um, uncomfortable, with this arrangement. French was spoken. Laughs were had. She said, 'you can't take the key.' Another one of the women said, 'don't worry, no one is going to touch your things.' More laughter. Oh, well, now I'm reassured. It did occur to me on the way out that a few well selected photographs of this place sent to the right people might get me a whole lot of hotel money: 'Dear Mom and Dad, arrived safe in Napoli. I am sharing a room in this lovely crackhouse with some dude I met on a bus today. Please send my freebase pipe. No time to write more, Luigi's fixing me a hit.' Sadly, I forgot to take pictures.

Zach and I had pizza at Don Michele Pizzeria, supposedly one of the best in Napoli, and by extension, The World, as pizza was supposedly invented here. It was very good, cheap, and filling. As for the best in the world thing, I'll leave it at I miss New York.

Zach left for Sorrento the next morning, and since then we've exchanged only a couple of emails. It was one of those hilarious and bizarre acquaintance episodes that can only come from long term travel. Four hours after meeting, we were sharing a room, and the next morning, we were parting ways, probably for good, though we might cross paths in Andalucia.

My train to Palermo, in Sicily, left late that night, so I stored my bag at the train station and went walking around Napoli. My first stop was the duomo, which was impressive, of course.

It's funny how much I enjoy sitting in churches. I guess they build them like that for a reason don't they? As I sat, I lamented over the fact that almost all of the World's most beautiful buildings are religious. But I suppose that it makes sense that secular edifices are not constructed to project that sort of magical aura- who is going to come to take solace while seated in the pews of the Temple of Posthumous Eternal Nothingess or donate their spare change to light a candle before the Altar of Existential Depression?

And then I found the most unfortunate of the modern secular institutions in one of Napoli's large piazzas: a live taping of MTV's Total Request Live.

The place was mobbed by Italian teeny boppers, and the day's special guest was Alessandro de la somethingi, an Italian pop rap star. The action on stage was broken up to fit into the television program, so every five minutes some girls would scream, some dickhead would ask if people were having fun, some more girls would scream, and then everything would stop again.
As I watched I noticed two things. One, the hopelessness of youth culture is not confined to America. Two, Italian men have the stupidest fucking haircuts immaginable. They are comprised of three distinct elements: 1. The mullet 2. Long hair on the top of the head fixed upward using what looks to be rubber cement 3. Bangs. If you're the least bit cool, your hair will combine two of these elements (any two, take your pick), but if you've got all three, you can expect women to throw themselves at you.

I hadn't wanted to pay to store my little guitar, so as I sat this kid came up and asked if he could play it. Right away he asked if I would give it to him as a gift. I said no. He then proceeded to take it around to everybody sitting there watching the 'show' and strum it loudly and obnoxiously in their faces, and then ask for money. I let him do this, amused by people's annoyed reactions to him, but once he took it out of sight I had to go catch him and take it back.

That afternoon I visited Napoli's archeological museum, which featured a tour of the Gabineto Secreto, a display of ancient pornographic paintings found at Pompeii and elsewhere. That the Catholic Church managed to impose its notions of sexual propriety in this place, considering the shit depicted here is utterly baffling.

For dinner I went to another pizzeria considered to be one of Napoli's best, and it was absolutely excellent, and the pizza was too big for me to finish.

Napoli is a cool city: narrow streets and crazy drivers keep you on your toes, absolutely gorgeous women and greasy men warrant gawks of all kinds; it is edgy, raw, dirty and fast paced- almost as much as New York- but it is not without its beautiful spots and historical and cultural significance.

But I was Sicily bound. My overnight train would deposit me in Palermo on Easter Sunday with no place to stay, no map of the city and no tourist office open to guide me. Why do I keep doing this to myself? Well, at least I'd gone to church.