It can’t be as bad as that, can it? There are a few who say the crime is over-hyped, and it’s no worse than you’d get in any big city. Nikki visited a few months ago without problems, but did concede a level of grunge-chic.
We arrive at Napoli Centrale, and buy our Unico Artecards. Eurail doesn’t cover the private railway that runs from Naples to Sorrento, so we buy Aretcards which give us three days of unlimited travel in the Unico Campana region, and include entry to two of the many museums available, including Pompeii. The idea of avoiding the ticket queues at these attractions sounds good. Clever marketing here.
It’s 3pm and we drop down to the Napoli Garibaldi station on the Circumvesuviana line that will take us to Sorrento. It’s like descending into hell. There are no lifts or down-escalators, so we lug heavy suitcases down the steps into a seething mass of sweaty humanity. There’s graffiti everywhere - in the station and on the trains, with no attempt to clean it off.
I double-check that my valuables are tucked away in my bag or behind zipped or domed pockets. With a large suitcase in tow it’s impossible to be inconspicuous.
The train arrives and it’s already full. A few people get off, then there’s a general scramble for a place, with a lot of jostling as we wrestle our suitcases towards the open door.
I feel a little tug on my jacket, and look down to see a hand deftly sliding into the now undomed pocket. I spin around as I grab at my chest, and see a swarthy but unassuming middle-aged man melt away into the crowd. That was close. Nothing stolen.
We bash shins as we lug our suitcases over the threshold into the train and find a place to stand over them. I’m on high alert, and everyone around me is a potential pickpocket or mugger. It’s sweltering but I zip my jacket up tighter so I can more easily feel if someone’s going for a pocket.
I’m starting to think those who call Naples the arsehole of Italy are right, and the Circumvesuviana line is the diarrhoea trail to the south. Our first stop is Via Gianturco, which I’m sure loosely translates as giant turd. A few stops on is Bellavista - what a joke. Nothing good-looking about this place. It’s black with graffiti.
By the time we get to Herculaneum I manage to get a (nasty plastic) seat with Pauline and recount what happened. We’re both incredulous that the main tourist route from Naples to Herculaneum, Pompeii and Sorrento is such an excruciating experience. The railway treats its passengers with contempt, and the passengers in turn treat the railways and other passengers with contempt. Surely things can only get better from here, and we’re dreading taking this line again for the return trip, particularly the section closer to Naples.
We get to Teresa’s apartment in Sorrento, have a cup of tea, feel the stress start to melt away, and plan our next three days.
With new-found vigour we board the train to Pompeii, disembark past all the touts trying to flog us maps and tours, and head for the entrance. Being the low season the queues at the ticket office aren’t huge, but we’re feeling smug as we bypass them and head direct to the entry portal with Artecards in hand. What happens next should have been expected - this is Italy after all. “No, you can’t enter with those. You have to return to the ticket office and get them validated, and tickets specifically for Pompeii issued”. I restrain myself to some extent, but the attendant is left under no illusion that I’m not impressed by how Italy treats tourists.
But once inside, it’s great. Pauline and I spend a couple of hours wandering up the cobbled streets.
It was AD79 when Vesuvius erupted, burying this thriving town of 20,000 people under 10m of volcanic ash and mud, and forming an excellent time capsule of what life was like in Roman times.
Interesting that the larger houses owned by the wealthy are up near the top of the hill, while smaller poorer houses are towards the bottom. The reason’s quite logical when you think about it - the sanitation systems weren’t great in those days, and the sewers got smellier as the shit slowly flushed down hill. The same thing happens in modern times of course. Economists call it the trickle-down effect.
Perhaps the highlight of Pompeii is the lupanar (literally wolf den).
As Pauline and I are lingering over the erotic paintings on the wall, I remark that it’s clear Pompeii was buried in pre-Christian times as there isn’t a missionary amongst them. I didn’t mean for my comment to be overheard, but an English guy behind us cracked up. He was still grinning in our direction a couple of monuments later.
It’s hard work doing Pompeii in the hot sun. The place is huge, and there’s a lot to see.
We’re a couple of stops south when a young guy gets on. He casually pulls out a blue felt pen, and tags the inside of the window. No one bats an eyelid. He gets off at the next station, and tags the outside of the window in full view of all the embarking and disembarking passengers. No one bats an eyelid. This place is going to the dogs. No - it’s worse than that - dogs are civilised in comparison.
Arriving back at the apartment early gives me an opportunity to plan Sunday’s activities along the Amalfi Coast. Hugging the coast for 70 twisty kilometres from Sorrento to Salerno, the route looks like a motorcyclist’s paradise. I consult the on-line forums. “Don’t do it, you’ll die” was the overwhelming commentary. Given I don’t have an International Driving Permit, my travel insurance limits me to a bike under 200cc, and Pauline’s desire to marry a living human being rather than an assortment of body parts, I reluctantly put the idea aside. We’ll go by bus.
After consulting the latest on-line bus timetable, I have it all figured out. 8.30am bus to Amalfi via Positano, a coffee in Amalfi, a return bus to Positano where we’ll have lunch, then back to Sorrento. All the times carefully entered into Tripit so we won’t miss a departure.
We rock up to the bus stop and board the bus for Amalfi, carefully choosing seats on the right hand side of the bus for the views out over the coast. A couple of Italians come to board, and we hear the word “Positano”, but they then disembark. Strange.
The bus heads for Meta as per the timetable, then instead of returning to the coast for Positano it climbs inland. Some fantastic views and not a bad trip, but it rejoins the coast road past Positano before arriving at Amalfi. I figured I’d misread the timetable and routes. I ask the driver when the next bus leaves from Amalfi for Positano. 2.30pm. Ok - not as per the timetable. Better check at the bus information office.
“There is no bus to Positano. The road is kaput. Cars can get through, but not buses”. Now I understand why our morning route went inland, but why didn’t the bus driver say anything? And now we’re here, how do we get back to Sorrento? “Take the 12.30pm bus to Salerno, regional train to Naples, then back on the Circumvesuviana to Sorrento. Or the 5pm bus to Sorrento”. Aargh - not what we wanted. Surely there’s another way? We ask others - bus drivers, the waiter at the cafe, we consult timetables. Yes, there might be a bus to Positano, but nowhere can we get consistent information about what’s going on and what’s possible. Customer service for tourists is appalling.
But Amalfi’s a nice little town.
We decide to cut our losses. Rather than get stuck in Amalfi, we take the bus to Salerno at 12.30, and it’s a great trip along the coast. It more than meets expectations. The train to Naples takes us on the eastern side of Vesuvius, and we get to see a bit more of the countryside. Without suitcases we blend in with the locals and don’t have any trouble running the gauntlet of the Circumvesuviana.
So we missed Positano, and were frustrated by the Italian transport system and abysmal communication, but otherwise we had a great day.
Of course if we’d been on a bike we’d have done the whole coast road and back. For a competent motorcyclist it’s no trouble at all. So long as you can handle hairpins and take evasive action periodically, it’s a great ride. And if you get scared, all you’ve got to do is sit behind a bus and let it bulldoze errant motorists out of the way. Perhaps I’ll come back and ride it one day.
Day three on the coast, and it’s time to visit the Isle of Capri. My parents were here nearly half a century ago on a Mediterranean cruise, and I wonder if I’m retracing their footsteps at all. But my first thought is are we even going to get to the island? The online timetables say the ferries are running and the sea is like a millpond, but I continue to remind myself that this is Italy. Something has to go wrong. But it doesn’t.
The guidebooks say Capri is the pits at the height of the season, with gawky tourists looking for the rich and famous, but only finding their prices.
We do a lovely walk out to the Arco Naturale on the eastern side of the island.
We hop on the minibus to Anacapri on the western side and take the 12 minute chair lift up to Monte Solaro for more great views.
This place is fantastic. But we can’t do everything. We have neither time nor inclination to do the Blue Grotto for which Capri is famed, but which many say is nothing special and an expensive ripoff. It’s a bit like a gondola ride in Venice. Large amounts of money for what in the end is a ho-hum experience. A sea cave with blue light? A ride in a little boat? Hmm - I’d rather go kayaking around NZ’s coastline.
Lunch in a pleasant cafe in Anacapri isn’t too expensive.
I bathe my face in the weak afternoon sun thinking life can’t get much better. But I still have a nagging feeling that the return ferry may be cancelled. Spurning the funicular, we walk back down to the port, and the ferry leaving for Sorrento is right on time. We enjoy dinner in a local seafood restaurant that nearly rivals Pescheria Backi in Salzburg. All is good. A day of bliss in Italy.
In an email from my sister I subsequently discover that Mum and Dad did indeed do the Blue Grotto and really enjoyed it. Perhaps when I come back to bike the Amalfi Coast I’ll squeeze in the grotto as well.
Where to from here? We’re trying to work the itinerary so we can overnight in a trulli house. They’re ancient Apulian small round houses of stone with a conical roof, and Pauline rather fancies staying in one. But located in the heel of Italy’s boot, it’s just too much of a logistical challenge to get there and still do justice to Florence.
Having run the gauntlet of Circumvesuviana a final time, with our valuables stowed deep in our shoulder bags, we set our sights for Florence. The weather doesn’t look that great, but it doesn’t matter. There can be a howling gale in Florence and we’ll still love it, but the extra time does perhaps give us the opportunity for a day trip.
Would we go back to Naples? Not if we could help it. We’d find some other way to get to parts of the south coast. It’s a shame. Naples used to be a proud, wealthy city. Over time it’s become economically depressed, the people impoverished and the mafia has taken over. Avoid it like the plague.
Lunch in a pleasant cafe in Anacapri isn’t too expensive.
In an email from my sister I subsequently discover that Mum and Dad did indeed do the Blue Grotto and really enjoyed it. Perhaps when I come back to bike the Amalfi Coast I’ll squeeze in the grotto as well.
Where to from here? We’re trying to work the itinerary so we can overnight in a trulli house. They’re ancient Apulian small round houses of stone with a conical roof, and Pauline rather fancies staying in one. But located in the heel of Italy’s boot, it’s just too much of a logistical challenge to get there and still do justice to Florence.
Having run the gauntlet of Circumvesuviana a final time, with our valuables stowed deep in our shoulder bags, we set our sights for Florence. The weather doesn’t look that great, but it doesn’t matter. There can be a howling gale in Florence and we’ll still love it, but the extra time does perhaps give us the opportunity for a day trip.
Would we go back to Naples? Not if we could help it. We’d find some other way to get to parts of the south coast. It’s a shame. Naples used to be a proud, wealthy city. Over time it’s become economically depressed, the people impoverished and the mafia has taken over. Avoid it like the plague.
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