Part 11

Sicily

Syracusa

On to the final phases of this lengthy journey. The Naples railroad station is big, busy, and in around the great square outside in the daytime often crowded with sidewalk merchants who push to sell all kinds of things to the passersby, usually visitors. It reminded me a lot of all of the shady and unlicensed street vendors on the sidewalks of Times Square. I spent the afternoon waiting for a 10-hour night train to take me to Sicily. My goal was to get to Syracusa, known for its excellent Greek and Roman artifacts. The train was unfortunately pretty much fully occupied, but luckily, people in my compartment got off at various stops, and in the end, there were only two of us, each of us, stretched out across the opposite seat bench to get some sleep. I slept well until I woke when the train was moved off the ferry after we crossed over to Messina, then from the open window, now wide awake in the cool night air, I watched a special locomotive pull the train, section by section off the ferry. Then I had to switch to a section that was destined for Syracusa, since this much of this train was continuing on to Palermo, and I was not ready to go there yet. After my new train pulled out, finding myself the sole occupant of my compartment, I went back to sleep to awake just about at the right time to see us pull into the little Syracusa station, sometime before 8 AM.

Standing there, in the bright early sunlight, I followed my guidebook and went left from the station to the nearest little hotel. I've stayed in worse, and the people were friendly and helpful, and the price was dirt-cheap. Forget the breakfast, but as usual, the coffee was excellent. They very kindly put me up early, and after a needed shower, I set out for the first point of interest. A small island, Ortygia, in front of the main part of the city, had much of the older and interesting parts of the town on it. After you cross the bridge, there is what remains of the once glorious temple of Apollo. Then I headed for the center of the little island to see the Duomo. As you walk up to that church, you can immediately see why it is special. White Doric marble columns are imbedded into the walls of the church, and once inside, it become very clear that you are standing in an ancient Greek temple. The builders simply put walls between the outside row of columns and then added an arched roof and thus converted the entire temple of Athena into their Christian Duomo. In the course of this, the temple, rather than being stripped of its marble or destroyed, was instead preserved. I then wandered the streets of this lovely old section, once the administrative center of much of the Mediterranean region, home to colorful pirates, wealthy lords, Greeks, Roman, Norsemen, and Arabs, and target of invading armies, the Spanish among them, who were particularly destructive to the old Greek remains. The once hugely important city had been in part burned and destroyed and then largely rebuilt, and now at last at peace. It is a great place to stroll among huge trees along the water front and to admire the yachts and enjoy the nearness of the sea. The old town once more had been nearly totally destroyed in a 17th Century earthquake, and had been largely rebuilt in its current ornate style in the 18th Century. Syracusa, according to my guidebook (Let's Go Europe) also was to have some excellent Greco-Roman ruins, and among them a spectacular amphitheater.Having seen my share of amphitheaters by now, I was still surprised to see yet one more amazingly different design. This one had, above the upper tier of seats a flat area, where the torch illuminated dining tables may have stood, but more interestingly, there were several small caves, one of which was still supplied by a well. From this water-filled cave, stone channels were once allowing water to soothingly gurgle down along the outside of the seat rows, and provide a very special audio backdrop for the performances. In the distance, across the stage, the view extended, past green and wooded hills to the deep blue Mediterranean Sea. This was a really unique and particularly beautiful setting and design. Even today, you can sit in front of the water cave and listen to the echoing sounds of the small noisy waterfall, realizing that people have sat here in this very spot to enjoy these sights and sounds for nearly 2500 years. Nearby, there was a newer Roman arena, where less sophisticated spectacles once took place, built after the Greeks had been defeated by the Roman legions that finally overcame the powerful defenses of Syracusa. Defenses that had kept Syracusa safe from invaders for over 200 years. Amid many interesting, mostly Greek ruins, the large area was once an Agora, there was also a unique natural feature on this site called "the Ear of Archimedes". The ear is a large and deep cave that focused or transmitted sounds in certain special ways. As I walked up to it, strange sounds were issuing from the cave, and not until I was well inside the dark interior, did I realize that it was from pigeons that were roosting way up in the crevices and ledges of the cave's ceiling. Inside, even a whispered conversation in certain location of the gardens could be overheard.

Not far from this great site, there is the remarkable Syracusa Archeological Museum. What is on display here from Hellenic to pre-Hellenic days may well be the envy of many Greek museums. It is a modern, well laid-out, and totally packed with rare and often unique Greek artifacts, with some of them strikingly beautiful, and many probably historically important. When talking to some locals, I was told that they are literally living on top of a field of ancient ruins, and can hardly dig in their gardens without finding something of note. Many homes have such ancient treasures in them, discovered this way, but rarely reported to the inhabitants. One reason is that, same as in Athens, any such find, once reported, immediately causes the respective government representatives to swarm over the property, and all hopes of completing any project might end up stalled for years. So instead, the artifacts discovered this way, are either quietly kept, or secretly sold on the sizable black antiquities market. It reminded me of a small hill in Bukhara, Uzbekistan, that had been cut while making a road to a hotel. As I walked along the dirt wall, looking closer at irregularities in the dirt, I noticed pottery fragments, bones, and all kinds of interesting ancient artifacts in that chicken wire protected wall. The latter less to protect the artifacts, but to keep the wall from sliding down into the narrow roadway. What I did notice in the Syracuse Regional Museum, and what was probably endemic of the Italian government culture, were an abundance of employees. Many sitting around, reading the paper or chatting and drinking coffee. Four of them squeezed into the ticket booth, with more on the grounds outside. Photography was forbidden in the museum, though I could not find a museum shop there, to purchase catalogues, postcards, posters, or museum replicas. While expensively overstaffed, they failed to cash in on what could be a major potential source of revenue. On the museum floor itself, there were guards sitting on every single corner and aisle. You get the picture. Apparently that is one way of government subsidy for Sicily. Here's an interesting fact. Among the Dorian artifacts displayed there, some dating as far back as around 800 BC, there were bronze safety pins. They looked virtually alike to their modern counterparts.

Being, as aforementioned, not particularly fond of markets and their rude merchants, I was always on the lookout for supermarkets. I did find one not far from the hotel, going right at the traffic circle. There is actually a nice deli on the left, and a great place to buy ready-made foods and sandwich material. However, I did most of my shopping at that crowded little supermarket. Apparently the locals liked the service, selection, and prices there as much as I. I also purchased some local red wine there. It was excellent and not as sweet as the Greek varieties. While the supermarkets seem to carry most anything you need, try to purchase envelopes in Italy. It's a whole new and bizarre ballgame. In Greece, there are paper goods places called "libraries" where you purchase all types of paper products, including envelopes. No such luck in Italy. Here you go to a tobacconist store. In addition to tobacco products, they sell liquor, often have a coffee bar, and, most importantly, envelopes. Sigh! That one took me a while to figure out. By the way, going left from the traffic circle, on the road that lead to the harbor and the bridge to Ortygia, on the left side you will see a nice little bookstore. Upstairs there is a small Internet setup.

Catania - Mt. Etna

Nice as Syracusa was, I had no problems leaving it. I went just up the coast to Catania for one reason only, to get up on Mt. Etna, which had erupted just a couple of months earlier. I really hated to miss that event. There is more to be seen in Catania, but I had scheduled just a single day and two nights there and just enough to arrange for my trip to the volcano. Catania was another on of this rough spots on my journey. Just annoying, to be sure. I went to the tourist office at the train station, where very well-spoken and informative personnel provided me with a list of inexpensive hotels and their prices. When I got to the Hotel Roma, the closest and most convenient one to the train and bus terminal, I was told that the prices given by the tourist office were bogus, and that the actual price was higher. I was pissed. Especially since there was no toilet in the room, as advertised at the price. Hotel Roma is definitely Black-listed. When I reported back to the tourist office and told them about this, they were outraged, and felt like having been made fools of. Whatever, they gave me a form to fill out to and an address to which to send the complaint.

The only good thing was that I found a book by Ken Follet that was titled "Pillars of the Earth", and was not at all a spy story, but a fabulous journey into the past of old England, describing the entire multi-decade long battle surrounding the building of a cathedral. It's an awesome read, and once started, could hardly put it down. For me it was especially relevant, since I visited so many cathedrals.

Mt Etna was really not much to write home about. Interesting enough, but since the outbreak was a couple of months earlier, unless you are a geologist, not much exciting stuff was to be seen. Just seemingly endless mounds of outgassed pumice-like rock. Black, cold lava. There was an expensive 4x4 trip up the sides of the mountain, but only to the point, well below the rim, where the lava had wiped out a ski resort. Rather than to take the extremely bouncy and jouncing, nearly sickening ride back down the mountain, I did it on foot. I had a far better view, and stopped at all of the right places. Oh, near the top, at one fissure that was still venting hot gas, actually those things were all over the place, you could toss a tissue into the hot air, and it would catch fire. I could have save the wait on the cold and windy mountain side, saved the $25 dollars for the 4x4 ride, walked up early in the morning on my own, and might have made it all the way to the edge of the crater. We live, we learn. Though, let me point out, this is one for the hardier walkers and climbers only. Gloves and sturdy hiking shoes might come in handy as well, the lava rock is quite sharp. A jacket or sweatshirt too is advisable. Also take water, there is none on the mountain, and definitely be aware of the time. You need to catch the last bus back into town or find yourself at the mercy of very expensive private transportation.

Palermo

Early the next morning, happy to leave the Catania and the crappy hotel behind me, I was at the station waiting for my train to Agrigento where I would be making a connection to Palermo. Agrigento, ended up another elusive and frustrating place for me, reminding me ever so much of Argos Greece. The ride there, taking me from the east coast through the middle of all of Sicily was pretty interesting because of the situation of many of the settlements, many of which have occupied their mountain top or high plateau and highly defensible settings probably since the early Greeks settled this place. Syracuse and Agrigentum were among the most important of them. When Carthage tried to take Sicily, it was Syracuse that battled the Cathenians to a standstill in the 5th Century B.C.. The interior of Sicily is fairly arid. When I finally arrived in Agrigento, located on the southern coast, I had a couple hours to kill before the train to Palermo was to leave. While there, I thought I might take a bus from the station to the vicinity of the well-known and sizable Greek temple complex. No busses! Cabbies were willing to take me for a large fee. I declined. I wandered all over the place and finally realized that I could see the the temples from the wall next to the station. The distance to the valley below seemed not really too great. Agrigento is one of those places that closes down around noon each day, to reopen around 4 PM. So here I sat. Not willing to take a chance to walk and miss my train to Palermo. I finally saw a bus, ran over and asked about a bus to the Valle Di Templi, and the driver laughed and said the line was on strike. The cab ride would have cost me $40 total. Mafia cabbies would not even bargain. Remember, here it is assumed that all American are rich. I then decided that I would come back here and figure things out. I considered the Valle Dei Tepli, the Valley of the Temples, then and still now, a major attraction. Sitting around the station grounds, watching a class of high school kids pour from the station building and pile onto a train, sitting reading, waiting, and finally getting on the train to Palermo. Cutting across Sicily once more, the view got really lovely when the train joined the tracks leading along the northern coastline, leading toward Palermo. Palermo is a sprawling and quite pretty town. Armed with hotel information from the tourist office at the station, I set out to find Hotel Sole, a large, reasonably nice, but by stars overrated hotel, that I still have to recommend. It was at the upper level of my price range, and like hotel Solazur in Tangier, catered mainly to package tourists. The rooms were sort of stark and my TV went on the fritz. However, they did fix that fairly quickly. Other than that, they were most accommodating and served a great and generous breakfast. At nights there were roof-top parties for the usually older package tourists with bar and lots of food. I watched a little, just to see what all of the singing was about. I also wandered the evening streets of Palermo to get a sense of the environment. There are lots of expensive stores and a very metropolitan street scene. There's also a great opera house and the overall impression is significantly different from the more village-like atmosphere of the rest of the Sicilian towns. My main goal in Palermo was to see the old Norman Chapel and its renowned murals. Other than that, while there is much more to be seen in Palermo, I really wanted to see more of the important Greek archeological sites at Segesta and Selinunte, that were supposedly in easy reach from here. And then there was still Agrigento. When I selected the hotel, I was aware that the Norman Chapel was some walking distance from here, but on the same road as the hotel. That made finding my way there easy. I did so, the next day and what a treasure that place is. Threading my way through and around mostly tour groups, I went into the darkened interior eyes wide with amazement at the delicate, jewel-like beauty if the Palantine Chapel. Every inch of it seems painted or carved, or guilded. The fine work, that reaches us from across the centuries, nearly overwhelms the senses. Where does one begin? I just picked a quiet corner, blinked away the tour groups, and quietly marveled at the unexpected Norman inspirational artistry. The image below, links to an official website that provides visitor schedule and fee information.

The next day I made yet another attempt to get to the Agrigento Valle Di Templi. Nothing doing. Train schedule, apparent absence of public transportation, and the cessation of any business in mid-day hours brought my efforts to a screeching halt. Should I ever return to Sicily, I will stay at a hotel in Agrigento and take care of business then. I did discover a neat bakery next to a vegetable shop, where I purchased some grapes, just up the stairs to the left of the station, that sold the most delicious and unusual pizza. It was my first Italian pizza (well, I consoled myself with another equally good slice, on yet another failed late-in-the-day attempt to get to the Valle Di Templi). In addition to some cheese, the pizza had onions, mushrooms and eggplant on it and was incredible. By the way, while all of the shops close during the hottest time of the day, to my surprise, I found meat and fish stores to remain open. No idea why that would be.

Segesta

Sicily, in part due to my lack of planning, but also in part due to the lackadaisical attitude of the locals, remained a source of frustration to me. On the other hand, I discovered the eggplant pizza, as well as met some really lovely and helpful people. But it was the frustrations that took their toll. I took the train to Segesta, or at least the station closest to that lovely site. Upon arrival, after a 2 1/2 hour ride from Palermo, at the small countryside single rail station I immediately had a long and sweaty uphill powerwalk ahead of me. When I finally got to the parking area, filled with tour busses and some private cars, I got some water and went to buy my ticket. Even from here, the main attraction, a beautifully restored temple looked awesome. I stepped up to the window and the ticket seller rudely asked me what I wanted. I said a ticket. He charged me 8000 Lira. The next guy who stepped up got a 50% discount, because the ticket agent thought that he was a tour guide. The guy walked away laughing. After walking up to and admiring the impressive temple, and taking quite a few people's pictures there with their cameras, I headed up the hill to the theater. On a small mountaintop I found yet another stunning amphitheater with a view worth every penny of the admission (better even with a 50% discount - grrrr!). Adding to the visual interest for me, were some monks in their habit who were wandering around the theater. It took some time to get certain people out of the intended pictures, and I could not help to notice the excellent acoustics, when I cursed those who were up in the bleachers, cluttering up my shots. Having to catch the rare train back to Palermo, I hurried to get back to the station. Luckily, the entire walk back, while long, was all downhill and I made it back to the station in record time.

Selinunte

The next day I started out early and took a longish train ride to Castelventrano, close to the southern coast of Sicily, and the nearest stop to a huge, recently opened archeological site called Seliunte. The first thing I noticed was how empty the little town appeared. The Sicilians were evidently staying inside, to escape from the late summer heat. I did find some signs, and followed them to the outskirts of the town. Little did I know that I had just embarked on a 12-kilometer walk. Busses along the road, into the vicinity of Selinunte run two or three hours apart. After an hour or more of walking through the Sicilian countryside, a young couple stopped by and identified themselves as Americans who had opted to live in Milano, and were visiting here. They took me the last five kilometers to the main gate of the Selinunte archeological complex and park. A high berm, and in some places walls surrounded this part of the area. I paid admission, but realized that I may have no more than 90 minutes before closing time. You know, once more a bicycle would have come in extremely handy. Easily transported on the trains, once there, getting around would have been a cinch. As it was, I ended up walking between the stunning, often titanic remains of a huge field of temples and buildings, quickly realizing the vast scope of this site. While I was covering great distances, walking and occasionally jogging between some of the sites, I noticed that on the main and surfaced roads the led between some of the major attractions, the geriatric crowd, in their tour busses, was traveling quickly, in air-conditioned comfort, with not a care in their little minds. Interestingly, the original inhabitants of this town, were at war with the Segesta settlement, where I had been just yesterday. The Carthaginians, also at war with Selinunte, had made a pact with the Greeks at Segesta, following the ancient wisdom of "the enemy of your enemy is my friend", and ended up laying siege to Selinunte. Carthage overran Selinunte, killing many and laying the town to waste. They left with about 5000 captives. The area was finally re-inhabited by Phoenician settlers and Greeks from Syracuse, which had defeated the Carthaginians. However, the citizens of Selinunte ended up destroying their own city once and for all, to keep it from falling into the hands of the Roman legions in around 400 B.C. A subsequent earthquake, that devastated the area, finished the job. Excavation was started sometime in the 19th century, and not until this century was the large-scale excavation and research undertaken. After getting my fill of the extremely fascinating ruins, and enjoying the excellent view from the acropolis, I went back to the main gate area, where the busstop was located. I found out, however, that the next bus, also the last bus of the day, would DEPART from here at 6:30 PM (1830), or about 1 hour after the train from Castelventrano was to leave for Palermo. Time get start jogging. I jogged-walked for an hour, until suddenly a small car pulled up next to me with a nicely dressed, 40-something slender guy in it, offering to take me to the town. I thought, "I think I can take this guy, should push come to shove", and accepted. He was a local official (possibly city council), spoke excellent English, and was extremely pleased that I went to all of the trouble to make it to Selinunte. I told him about my train to Palermo, and he said, "relax, I know the schedule and how things go here". He suggested, while driving rapidly, that before I go to the station, I'd stop at the town museum, where there were some rare and excellent finds from Selinunte were displayed. He told me not to worry, he'd get me to the train on time. I agreed, and he dashed around town and parked on the sidewalk, to get me close to the museum. When we walked in, (I paid, he did not) he was respectfully greeted by name by the personnel. The museum was tiny, but true to his promise, you would not want to miss it, if you came all the way here to visit Selinunte. Some of the finest examples of painted Greek vases and small statues I have ever seen were on display here. After I was finished, we did a mad dash to the station, where he double-parked, right by the gate, and prying my white-knuckled fingers from the support handle in his car, made the train with barely a minute to spare. This man had "chaos-driving" down to a science. Again, doing this trip my way would have been perfectly acceptable with a bicycle. The link will take you to an Italian site that also shows the reconstruction images of this and other Selinunte artifacts.

The image link will take you to an Italian site that also shows the reconstruction images of this and other Selinunte artifacts.

In retrospect, the highs in Sicily were higher than the nagging lows, though I always regret not having made it to the Valle Di Templi in Agrigento. I feel a "grudge match" coming on and will probably do another trip like this someday in the future, hopefully with a friend, avoiding some of the errors, but, no doubt discovering new ones in the process. I guess, it's what makes live interesting. It's either that, or wait until I am really old, and do it all on air-conditioned tour busses (yuk!).

Naples

Amid lousy weather in Palermo, I took my leave from this interesting island on the 8:40 (2040) from Palermo to Rome. I ended up with my own 1st class compartment all the way to Salerno and slept peacefully most of the night. Having made a previous trial run to the hard to find Best Western Hotel Paradiso, getting there was a snap. I made all of the right moves and in-town connections, right up and including the small cog and cable car the takes you a few stops, but countless steps and steep streets to the level of the hotel. From there it's just a short walk to "paradise". When I arrived, I was told to hang out upstairs, have breakfast, and relax until a room was ready. It is a small and typically fully booked hotel. Reserve early. My reservation was made 8 months in advance. After enjoying the incomparable view from the upper level and enjoyed the superb breakfast, I took the various public conveyances to get to the Naples Archeological Museum. This time, to my chagrin and surprise, they did allow photography in the museum, but, anticipating that they would not, I did not bother to bring my camera. The museum was jam-packed with the most amazing ancient statue collection I have ever seen. Additionally, they had lots of murals peeled from walls in Pompeii and Herculaneum. And, as many of you have probably heard, there is also the "secret room", now once more open to the public. Here the less prudent among us may view the very risqué statues and paintings comprising the erotic art collection of once lusty Pompeii.

(Oh the suffering!) This is what I was faced with, when I walked up to the top level at the Hotel Paradiso.

After leaving the museum, looking for an Internet place, I found myself in a maze of shop-lined alleyways, crowded with shoppers. Not just was it a great place to shop, but also an excellent place to watch. Old ladies in their house dresses, shopping and arguing and young girls racing in on their Vespas and mopeds, wearing skin-tight jeans, and long flowing hair. Returning to the metro station for my train back to Mergelina, I noticed guys in sports jackets, but with badges, checking tickets. Luckily I had mine. Usually, the system is really lax, and many take advantage of it, only to get snagged by the roving inspector teams.

Pompeii

Getting to Pompeii by train, from the Central railway station is extremely easy and convenient. Leaving the small station, walk straight into town directly toward the church. At the corner of the plaza is also a tourist office that cheerfully supplied me with a local map. There are plenty of little shops to buy bread and snacks on the way, so you neither have to pack lunch, nor purchase it on the museum grounds or in restaurants. Once at the church plaza, hang a left, and you can't miss it the entrance to the archeological exhibition. There you can buy a 3-day ticket good for both Pompeii and Herculanum, which I did, knowing that I wanted to visit both sites anyway. I also rented the audio guide, indispensible, when you are touring Pompeii self-guided. Work and research at Pompeii is an ongoing process, though with probably most of it laid bare by now. Except, I just read somewhere in 2004, that they worry very much about another outbreak of Vesuvius, which might result, among other wide-ranging devastation, in the reburying of Pompeii. Wouldn't that be ironic?

Right behind the entrance there is a well-preserved Roman arena. This building gives you the idea of how well the rest of the town is preserved. It was eerily impressive to walk over the old cobblestone streets and think that on these very stones, similar sandaled feet had trod here 2000 years ago. Often you can see deep ruts in the stones, ground there over maybe a century of cartwheels going up and down these streets. Between larger and mural-decorated private homes with gardens, one can also see stretches of streets filled with shops. Roman "fast-food" places abounded. They were mostly stand-up establishments, where one could see the places where cooking containers once sat and were heated. Many, definitely the finest examples of murals, with one exception, had been lifted from the villas and moved indoors to the museums in Naples. Once open to the sun's ultra violet rays, not just our skin, but also paintings will get damaged, and in the latter case, fade away. Walking through street after street, often alone, is quite an experience. You can almost perceive the ghosts of the inhabitants moving around you. On a large square, I assume the center of town, there were remains of administrative buildings as well as a temple ruin and a new, long, fenced and covered building. This building is a temporary storage area for excavated artifacts. One side was open, and through the iron fence one could see many of the pottery finds, but also plaster casts of some of the dead, frozen in their final agonizing moments, as tons of hot ash rained down and smothered them. They found these people everywhere, though most have been put away into archives for safekeeping and probably future study. Navigating for certain special purposes was made simple. It was a town where many visitors came to, and small ceramic penis plaques directed the visitors to the entertainment section of town. Here one can step into the old Whorehouses and in places even read the amounts to be paid for services rendered, scratched into walls. Naturally, there is a theater and a larger amphitheater, as well as a large hot-bath. No Roman city would be without that, and the volcano provided the needed hot springs to keep them operating. There were tailor shops and laundries. The latter recognizable from their multi-stage stone basins, one of which used uric acid (yes, that's urine, collected around town), as part of the cleaning process. Going past some large bakeries where ovens were clearly identifiable, but also large conical devices that obviously ground the grains into flour, I came to a large villa near, or outside of one of the gates. Here, in shadowy rooms were not only some of the dead, in glass cases, but also a couple of rooms with shining examples of some of the finer murals that once must have graced the houses of the wealthy merchants and politicians. I forgot to mention that often the floors were just as decorative with their mosaic creations of dragons, wolves, elephants, and scenes of conquests and mythology. Pompeii, a long-hoped for experience, lived up to my expectations.

Herculanum (Herculaneum)

Next it was on to Herculanum (Herculaneum). Getting there was not as straightforward as going to Pompeii. The regular trains did not go there, and that took me out of the realm of the Eurail Pass. This train leaves from below the Central station and is called the Circumvesuvius line. Once on the train, get off at the Erculano stop and things get simple fast. Don't even bother with a cab. Just walk straight downhill on the small town's main street, and you can't miss it. The road terminates at the entrance to Herculanum, and you can see the large sign over the gate from some way off. Herculanum is/was much smaller and much more compact than Pompeii. Once past the gate, you can look down from a walkway high above the town and see it in its excavated entirety. There may actually be more to it, but anything else is either still buried under a hundred feet of lava and ash, and in other directions, the current town sits on top of the remains and that will be difficult to change. What is there, however, is most impressive and because it is so compact, very neat and easy to navigate. No penis-tiles necessary here and none visible. Starting near the very nice and modern museum shop, down a narrow gangway, through a short tunnel, you can choose to start at the Roman bath. It is one of the most complete samples I have ever seen, and maybe the most complete in existence. Fully roofed and tiled, it accurately conveys the experience of the old Romans, who walked, discussed, schemed, and probably and hopefully bathed here. Exiting the bath, you step straight into a multi-storied city scene, one that could easily be brought back into life (certainly in your mind's eye). Entering some of the grander homes, one steps into large open central spaces, usually with tiled or mosaic-surfaced floors and lovely high ceilings, more often than not with some open views into atriums with decorative basins or fountains. Many of those homes incorporate design aesthetics that are still desirable today. Herculanum, in many ways, because of its compactness is more easily comprehensible and a more intimate experience than the vastness of Pompeii. For that reason it also lacks some of the structural repetition of the larger city. Needless to say, only visiting both of them completes the experience of life in the days of the Roman Empire, at least at that particular period in small and medium-sized towns. Because of the removal of many of the murals, mosaics, statues, and other artifacts for safekeeping, a visit to the Naples Archeological Museum rounds-out the historical foray into the distant past.

The weather did not cooperate for my photo excursion around Naples. I did a very long walk along the long sea wall, until I was even with the (closed) fortress that juts out into the bay. There, near a large park and the US embassy, protected by armored police cars, I turned inward and closed the loop through the pretty city streets. The sculpture garden, no less than than parts of Pompeii and Herculanum, had been vandalized by modern hooligans, who like dogs, have to somehow mark the places they have been to, for all to see. An Italian tour guide at Herculanum commented on that, saying that Italy has about 50 million inhabitants, and in his opinion, 50 million rude and careless idiots. Being myself somewhat incensed by the obvious defacement of priceless artifacts, I did not disagree, though; I would not be surprised to see foreign visitors involved in this vandalism as well.

Continuing on, at one ice-cream stand, I went to buy some ice cream. It looked delicious, with berries sprinkled on it, but was told that I had to go to another window to get a ticket first and stand in line there with people who were buying all kinds of foods at different windows, pay there, and then come back to get the ice-cream. I hate frustrating rigmaroles like that and pulled the plug on getting the ice cream, as much as I would have loved to have it. I told them too that it was too complicated and to eat it themselves. It gets worse. In a McDonald's I could not get a cup of coffee, because there was a coffee shop nearby, and the customers were expected to buy there coffee at that coffee shop. The Italian way of doing business drives me nuts.

Going Home

Well, the next morning after another one of the delicious and generous breakfasts, it was time to pack on out of there. Sitting there, on the top floor, high above Naples, I watched heavy, dark clouds pull in and shortly thereafter it started to pour. By the time I left, shouldering my heavy backpack and climbing up the steps to the cable car station, it had stopped raining, but the evaporating rainwater turned the warm humid air into a steam bath. I was dripping wet with sweat. Made my connections and caught a train to Milano, where I settled gratefully in first class and started to slowly dry out. The train was 15 minutes late, which is why I got on it. Unfortunately, something went wrong. The late train ran afoul of the overall schedule and was halted at some tiny countryside station for an endless 40 minutes. I left the train, ran to the outside of the station and quickly purchased some things I needed, hoping that I would not be left behind. I was lucky and the train still sat there for another five minutes after I got back. I was taking a big chance there, since even the station personnel had no idea when the train would be told to move on. Additional delays, a nice stop at Firenze, and we pulled into Milano two hours late. A scheduled train that was to leave Naples 30 minutes later, but was obviously on time, had arrived in Milano an hour before us. So much for making connections to Paris. Milano station is huge. I got something to eat, and then went to the big schedule board to figure this thing out.

After enjoying an eggplant sandwich, some yogurt and coffee, I wandered over to a waiting train to Paris. It was nearly fully booked. Furthermore, it was a sleeper train, requiring an additional $35 for a bunk in a shared cabin. In Naples I was told that this would be a regular express. In fact, it was getting worse, and I was getting tired. Nearly every train leaving out of here was a sleeper train. After finding that a train to Brussels, also a sleeper, had quietly departed, while I was trying to make up my mind, I rushed back to the Paris train, only to see it leaving the station. I knew then that I had really goofed up big time. Out came the maps. I needed to get to Paris or at least Lyon, and wondered which alternative destination might connect me. I did have 24 hours to get there. Why Lyon? Because I knew that from there I'd be able to catch the super fast TGV to Paris. Nothing going, there was only a train leaving for Munich. I figured that'll do, and went as far as Verona, where I changed my mind and got off, ready to go back to Milano, where I knew trains to Paris would depart around 5 or 6 AM. It was around midnight by now. Looking around little, chilly Verona station, I noticed a sign that read Lyon. My hopes went up. Finally the train pulled in. It was a combination train, half of which was a sleeper going to Lugano and Geneva. The regular half, not a sleeper, was going to Nice. Nice! That would work, even thought it was staying south. I knew for a fact that the TGV also goes from Nice to Paris on the ultra fast dedicated TGV rail system. I asked around, and no one knew anything about the Lyon train. I decided Nice is fine and got on. I crashed in a nearly empty first class car and got some much needed sleep. After about 3 1/2 hours, I got a wake-up call that I didn't mind too much. A lovely young woman shook me awake and told me that, because of rail work in progress, we had to get off the train to be bussed to Ventemillia. So far so good! I slept more on the bus and was the last person off. A couple of girls didn't want to leave me on the bus and shook me awake. I thanked them; the sun had just risen, and walked into station. I went to the ticket counter and was told that the TGV from Nice to Paris was solidly booked. Well, that never stopped me. There is always room on a train. So, after a little breakfast, I went out to the platforms, in hopes of catching a train to nearby Nice and saw, to my surprise, one of those magnificent TGV bullet trains sitting all closed up a couple of platforms away. I sauntered on over, activated the buttons and when the doors obediently hissed open, stepped onto the empty train. Apparently, it gets parked here for the night, before the early morning run to Paris. I settled in, chatted with some personnel that got on, and then the train took off, with me aboard. We got to Nice and huge crowds of people got on. It was a Monday, I believe, and the weekenders were returning to Paris. Mostly older French people were waiting on the platforms. I wandered around, playing musical seats until all were settled. This act continued until we were past all of the stops on the French Riviera. By the time we turned inland, toward Aix en Provence, the train was solidly filled. At one point, there was an apparent electronic glitch, and all the passengers moved to their "new" seats. Walking along, I saw a single seat unoccupied. It was the conductor's seat. The conductor finally arrived, a jolly, friendly-faced man, who told me to remain where I was, but pointed out that I needed to pay an extra $20 equivalent for the TGV surcharge. I had about $200 cash stashed on me, in case of emergencies and the trip was almost over. I asked him if I could give him $20 US and he kindly accepted. The train was racing through the French countryside like some low-flying jet, and Paris was rapidly drawing closer. Traveling my way is a proactive event. You can't just sit there, tossed about by chance, but you have to actively get involved and boldly take matters into your own hands. My elderly gentleman seat companion, who shared his delicious lunch with me, made the pleasant ride even nicer. He was very amusing, quite well to do, and involved in building a community just outside of Nice, but, while somewhat inspired by Sun City, did not want there to be just old people. He hoped that many of the younger working couples from Nice would be willing to buy there. The old man, he was 80, who looked to be in his 60s, was animated, educated and a lot of fun to be around. He rolled his eyes and hummed, when a lovely stacked blonde walked by. The train arrived at Gare de Lyon and I went in search of the metro to connect me to my parts of Paris. I noticed that he was a little afraid to go down the steps, from street level into a dark metro entrance, and I went with him, got him to his train and bid him farewell. I also noticed (remember, this is just past 9/11) a much higher police visibility around public areas in the city. As for me, I had a final day to kill and with Ken Follet's "Pillars of the Earth" still fresh in mind, went to various cathedrals to look at some of the features that he so eloquently described. Later that evening, I finally found the Paris Easy Everything Internet place and got on the web. I walked though the lovely old St. Eustaces church at Les Halles and had an excellent Salmon salad at my favorite little boulangerie on Rue St. Honoré.

Air France, Strike Three!

It was time to leave Europe and I was getting a little travel-weary anyway. Living out of a bag for six months does loose its charm after a while. Waiting in Les Halles for a train to the airport, but train after train came by and nothing doing. Finally, always suspicious of French rail (remember the Istanbul debacle), I decided to take a train to Gare Du Nord. I knew for sure that, barring another strike, trains from there would go to the airport. I even remembered that the 32/33-platform was the one for airport RER trains. I hustled up the stairs and saw one of them sitting there, waiting. Something had changed again and not necessarily for the better. The train sat there for a long while, with me getting ever more anxious and at last took off, packed to the gills. In spite of having left so early, I was once more in danger of being late. When I got to the airport, I ran to terminal 2C, which it said on my ticket, was my departure point. When I got there, everything was closed. Finally, one of the employees told me that it had been changed to terminal 2F. Naturally, that was as far away from 2C as possible. I had to cut across the entire terminal area. Got there minutes late, only to be told by bored and kind of rude personnel that I was too late, and that I should go back to the hotel. Then they turned away from me as if I didn't even exist any longer. What hotel? What an idiot? Why had the terminal been changed? Apparently, for security reasons all flights to the US were moved to a different area, and no allowances were made for anyone coming from the original 2C area. I yelled at them for their rudeness. I paid full price for this lousy ticket (less a discount for my lost luggage in Moscow), and demanded a little more courtesy and an offer of some possible alternatives. Well, that got me about as much attention as my springtime attempt to get onto the late aircraft to Istanbul. I stormed out to find a supervisor, and did not let them send me to anyone else this time. After much debate and consternation, I finally was offered a ride on an American Airline aircraft to Chicago. I took it, just to get away from these incompetent and unfriendly Air France people. From Chicago I connected to San Francisco, where the airport security personnel removed a fork from my luggage, which had made it all the way here from Europe. The 9/11-panic was still in full swing and security measures were exercised to ridiculous levels. You know, in first class, people eat off real porcelain dishes with metal forks, spoons, and knives. I know, I've flown first class before. I arrived in San Francisco too late to make my connection to Reno, and spent the night in the friendly airport USO with our young servicemen and women. So ended my European adventure, getting out the door, once more with an Air France boot-print on my behind. They were true to form from the start to the end of my journey. Well, they can keep their frequent flyer miles and they can keep their arrogant and unfriendly skies. From here on, I will fly on US carriers whenever possible and will select almost any reasonable alternative to Air France, should a US carrier not be available.

All in all, it was a great and enjoyable journey with few if any regrets. I saw an incredble amount of sights, experienced so many wonderful places, and met so many nice and helpful people, that any of the small annoyances were easily outweighed. Were I to do it again, I might still opt for Paris as my travel hub. The city is quite special, as are many of its people and its location is most convenient for travel to other parts of Europe. It's been a few years now since this trip, and for various reason I have not been able to travel since then, but I am getting all charged up and ready to go once more. The excitement is building and, as most of you know, travel does get in your blood.