(Forgive this posts obvious dereliction of duty; I failed to
whip out a camera at many notable points.)
Sitting on the train, on my way to Napoli for a stupid
logistical run to the consulate, I had the time to reminisce on the last few
days.
One of the amazing aspects of my life is that my friends
sprinkle the globe. A few days ago the ship pulled into Barcelona which was
great because it meant I got to see Kathy, a dear friend I met on board in 2005.
She is American but lives in Barcelona.
My closest friends (excluding a few in the US) are
regretfully anything but close, residing in Edinburgh, Copenhagen and South
Africa.
(My musing interrupted at this point by a kid playing an
according for money on the train. Missing photo op one.)
Lunch with Kathy in her home city of Barcelona was a true
delight. And as an aside, Barcelona is a city oozing art. Sure, some of it is
inappropriate graffiti. But some of the graffiti is art. The city, even the
alleyways, is seeping creativity. Unfortunately, too busy yabbering with Kathy,
I did not think to take pictures. (Missing photo op two.)
Barcelona was followed next by Monte Carlo, a fabulous mix
of stratified sub-cultures. There are the ultra-rich, the wide mix of general
tourists, the business people in town for conferences, the upper-end local
business people, the young basically minimum wage workers catering to the
tourists, the fun-loving transient yacht working deckhands, (I don’t think
genuine locals actually exist) all mingling against the backdrop of vertical
cityscapes, soft French architecture, ridiculously expensive Ferraris, Rolls,
Bentleys, etc. Everyone is clad in flowy light-colored thin cloths in the
golden making summer sun.
 |
| This is a recylced photo from years ago. I did not take a picture of the heli-yacht this time. Missing photo op three. |
Burnt into your mind are the super elite cars as they pass
(like the glittery baby-blue Bentley), the ten million plus pristine yachts
(every now and then even including a helicopter), the obviously ultra-rich with
their bodies by trainer, their skin by spa, their perfectly tailored summer
clothes, weighted down by a tasteful selection of jewelry, finished with shoes
that cost more than my rent in Newport Beach, California.
Monte Carlo is a charming day, but the subdued elitist
competition makes me homesick for my hometown, Santa Barbara which has a few of
the equally uber rich, who are out in the local cafes finished with flip flops
hardly costing $20.
In the evening, as friends and I sat at a bar, the sky burst
into fireworks, for no reason we could determine other than it is summertime in
Monte Carlo.
Yesterday, we pulled into Civitavecchia (the port close to
Rome). Civitavecchia is where this journey started for me in 2005. I think it
was a Tuesday morning, around 7:15am, in May. I answered the phone as I got
ready for work. The caller said, “Can you be in Rome in eight days?”
I thought it was some sort of radio contest. There was no
preamble, no “Hi. May I speak to…”
It was just, “Can you be in Rome in eight days?”
I think the next sentence was, “I mean do you have a valid
passport?”
The second sentence did not clarify the nature of the call,
though it did seem to indicate the person was serious about wanting to know the
answer.
The call was a follow up to my application to work on board a
cruise ship, as IT staff, submitted nearly eight months earlier. It was a dream
I had allowed to fade after four months of diligent pursuit, a few months of
waning pursuit, followed by a healthy dose of reality ultimately culminating in
taking another position.
I am not sure how I answered the question, “Can you be in
Rome in eight days?” Was it an enthusiastic, “Yes!”? (Probably not at 7:15am
prior to coffee.) Was it an, “I suppose?” Was it, “I think you have the wrong
number.”
I wish I remembered.
I suppose it is irrelevant now. Whatever the answer was, I
was in Rome in eight days.
I remember clearly, the feeling in my stomach, driving from the hotel to the ship for
the first time. I called my friend Sean, the only person I knew who would be up
at that time, 2am Pacific. I am not sure what I said. But I do know exactly
what was going through my mind, “What on earth have I gotten myself into?”
Though not as clearly thought, the murky undercurrents of my mind were also
churning, “And how do I get myself out of it?”
I am very grateful that Sean answered the phone, and
listened to what was probably nervous idle chatter.
And here I am now, eight years later, on a train (now
returning from Napoli to Sorrento) running what is effectively an all-day
errand to the US Consulate.
I am not the super seasoned traveler some of my friends are.
But jumping off the ship, catching a train off to a different Italian city,
then a taxi to the consulate, and back again doesn’t really phase me and I
honestly don’t plan as much as I probably should. For example, I did not know
the train schedule, only that it ran regularly, and I did not know which stop
to get off in Napoli. But I knew when the train got to a very urban area, after
about an hour, it would be best to get off where the majority of the people on
the train got off… because that station would also have the most taxis. (The
station I got off at was amazing. There were about 100 people in line for a taxi,
and about 30 taxis picking up people at any given time. It was the most amazing
taxi operation I have ever seen. Missed photo op four.)
 |
| Another recycled picture. In the distance, there is a bridge. On foot, figure out how to get to that bridge. I think this requires being born in Venice or a really good die roll in Dungeons and Dragons. |
I once got hopelessly lost in Venice, Italy, and learned
perhaps one of the best traveling tricks. When all else fails, watch the flow
of traffic and chose direction accordingly. In Venice, through the maze of
narrow alleyways, bridges over canals, past the dead-end paths and dark corridors,
there is a constant. The majority of the foot traffic, for most of the day,
flows toward St. Mark’s Square. So when lost, follow traffic, under the
scaffolding, past the gelato stores, and through the courtyards. Eventually a
narrow Venetian archway will yield to St. Mark’s Square.
This is the same trick I used today to find a taxi in
Napoli.
 |
| Secluded Korean Beach. |
Earlier this year, I was on a secluded beach beyond a cliff
hanging temple in Korea. I called home after sending a picture of the scene. My
step-mother was extraordinarily concerned that I was one, alone and two until I
rang, no one knew where I was.
(Oh, just looked out the train window. I am at Pompeii.)
I think I laughed when my step-mother was concerned. That
beach in Korea, was probably amongst the safer excursions I have taken.
 |
| One of my favorite street perspectives in Sorrento. |
My Circumvesuviana thoughts were cut short by watching the view.
When I
arrived back 'home' in Sorrento, I popped off the train, walked a few blocks only
to be beckoned into a café where friends were enjoying pizza.
It is a charming life.
Cool: Having friends to see around the world.
Stupid: Having friends around the world, too far to grab a coffee with.
Cool: The silly tricks you learn through traveling, like following the traffic to Saint Mark's Square.
Stupid: Spending the day trekking to the consulate instead
of hiking the Amalfi Coast as I intended (but at least it gave me time to write).
No comments:
Post a Comment