Euros Ate My Dollars

Hostel Shower

What is that damp growth?
I’m glad I wore my flip-flops.
There’s no hot water.

We woke Tuesday morning to find that Brittany’s cold had abated a little, so we decided to make the most of the day. And as my feet can now attest to, a very full day it was.

After a breakfast of chocolate croissants (tasty!) and plum cakes (you’d rather not know) we caught an early morning ride on the Circumvesuviana. Brittany finally pointed out to me what everyone realizes but me: Circumvesuviana means “around Vesuvius,” because this is exactly where the train goes. And when you find yourself, full of plum cake, on a train that circles Mt. Vesuvius, there’s one stop that sort of stands out on the wall map: Pompeii.

The first thing I’ll say about Pompeii is that it’s BIG. When Vesuvius buried the city in 79AD, it preserved the whole thing. And from the looks of it, Pompeii was a bustling place. We walked right inside all sorts of buildings that look almost exactly as they must have when still in use, from bakeries to bathhouses to brothels. And yes, the brothel was the most giggle-inducing part of the site for all tourist groups present. A lot of this has to do with the fact that above each preserved cement bed is a fresco, depicting in vivid detail the particular “specialty” of the lady to whom it belonged. Have you ever seen the picture menu that McDonald’s hands out to illiterate diners? Meet its great-grandfather. I’m lovin’ it! Almost as much as the elderly Korean woman who was snapping giggly photos next to me.

At some point during the day, Brittany pointed at one of the smaller mountains in the shadow of Vesuvius, and I followed her finger to see that this mountain was puffing smoke. Let me help you imagine why this was slightly disturbing for me.

Question: Mt. Vesuvius is starting to puff smoke. Where in the world DON’T you want to be?

A: Safe in bed back home.
B: Anywhere but Italy.
C: POMPEII.

As I pondered the scene before my eyes, I realized that I’d never again be able to criticize someone for not learning lessons from history. Only one thing kept me from fear-induced insanity: the knowledge that in case of eruption, I held one distinct advantage over the rest of the terrified mob. You see, I’ve managed to Escape From Pompeii^TM several times at Busch Gardens Williamsburg, so I’m one of the few tourists who knows that somewhere around here is a log flume waiting to deliver me to splash-down safety. Smugly, I also reminded myself that I know exactly where to sit in the log to avoid getting drenched and having to endure wet underwear for the rest of the afternoon. What was I talking about?

Well, as you can guess, Mt. Vesuvius didn’t blow its top after all.* But if one ever needs a grim reminder of its wrath, the casts of human bodies at Pompeii are more than sufficient. When the good citizens of Pompeii were suddenly engulfed, a number of their bodies left permanent impressions in the volcanic ash. These impressions were used to create plaster casts of the victims, which do a disturbingly accurate job of representing the poses (and facial expressions) that they adopted in their final moments. For me, seeing these casts was the most emotional aspect of the visit.

Since Pompeii required us to not only get up at a decent hour, but also to trek around for several hours, we decided to reward ourselves with desserts in Naples. We tried sfogliatella, the city’s most beloved treat. Sfogliatella is a flaky pastry filled with sweet cheese, orange rind, and candied fruits, and we purchased ours from the very restaurant where it was invented. If my description of sfogliatella sounds tasty to you, then you’ll probably love it. It didn’t to me, and I didn’t. I did love my pistachio gelato, but it was mostly eaten by Brittany, despite her claims at the counter that she was “too full” for gelato. But who’s bitter?

Before returning to the Circumvesuviana, we slipped into the Naples duomo a half-hour before closing time. Here we found ourselves in for quite a surprise. The duomo has lots of art, relics, historical importance, etc. etc. But what it ALSO had on Tuesday night was a crazy man who had somehow managed to scale a wall inside the central chapel. When we arrived, he was clinging to some decorations near the 30-foot ceiling. And screaming. The polizia were gathered around on the floor below, but didn’t really know what to do with the fellow. Anytime they started to talk to him, he just screamed louder. Meanwhile, I was merrily snapping photos of the affair, much to the apparent consternation/humiliation of Brittany.

Right about the time I finally became convinced that he did indeed plan to jump to his death, the wall-climber slowly started to make his way down. When he reached bottom, he was promptly arrested, and the duomo promptly became boring. It was closing time anyway, so we gathered ourselves to head back to the hostel. But when we exited through the front door, we were suddenly blinded by the flashbulbs of the paparazzi! And I’m talking drunken Lindsay Lohan style. I guess they hoped we were the jumper coming through the door, so I imagine that two fully-sober, underwear-wearing Americans came as something of a disappointment. As we pushed our way through the throng, it quickly became apparent that the paparazzi were on the scene to cover some sort of demonstration that had popped up outside while we were gawking at Spiderman. Or, while I was gawking. Brittany doesn’t seem to gawk well with her head down and in her hands.

The crowd outside the duomo was singing loudly, and the apparent leaders were holding a banner of Che Guevara. I tried to ask someone what was going on, but the only answer I received was: “Manifesto!” So there you have it. Anyway, I filmed some of the enthusiastic singing, which turned out better than my blurry photos of the web-slinger. (video to be uploaded soon…) I knew the tunes, but not the words, which made it difficult to join the jubilee. Plus, we were exhausted. As far as I know, the crowd is still out there singing into the night. As for me, I haven’t forgotten what I saw at Vesuvius, so I’m just going to hide under the covers for a while.

*Yet.

The feat of getting from Greece to Italy was nothing short of a miracle for Ben and I, who have trouble navigating ourselves from place to place in the States. Our first mistake was accidentally purchasing and boarding the train with only one ticket from Athens to the port. I don’t know how this happened as I emphatically said “dhio! dhio!” to the teller, who insisted that my one ticket was two. Because we were running horrifically late (thanks to missing the metro twice), I didn’t have time to argue. Thanks to Ben’s incomprehensible ability to charm/become best friends with everyone he meets, we were not kicked off the train when the ticket-checker confirmed we had indeed only purchased one ticket.

The second challenge was the language switch. Whenever I bumped into anyone (which happens too much when I’m simply walking, let alone pulling a giant suitcase), I would bumble “signomi… er, sorry… er, mi scusi.” Needless to say, I got some funny looks. We also discovered that Italian public transportation signs do not have English translations, which was fun!

I won’t relive our two-day comedy of errors further. I will say that this ferry ride was a vast improvement thanks to actually springing for a cabin and the fact that there were only about three people on board. Sail with Endeavor Lines, because apparently no one else does!

We took our first sojourn into Central Naples yesterday. It is exactly as everyone described to us: dirty, dark and hectic. The traffic frenzy is even worse than in Greece, if possible, and if I wasn’t being nearly run over I was being asphyxiated by noxious fumes. The are definitely areas of the city you need to avoid, vestiges of a time when the city was known as the prostitution capital of Continental Europe. We spent most of the afternoon wandering around centro storico, the heart of the old city, where the main streets still follow the street plan of the ancient Roman city. The streets are paved with black cobblestones and giant gothic churches tower over alleys teaming with pedestrians and street vendors. Tall buildings flanking either side of the narrow alleys block most sunlight from reaching the street. Imagine a medieval Gotham City. This is the best description of Naples we could come up with.

I don’t mean to paint an unfavorable picture of the city. Somehow Naples manages to be quite picturesque and architecturally charming. The city as a whole exudes energy and sass. With with the exception of a few major four-lane thoroughfares and a handful of boring, cement-block high-rises, Naples is chock full of historical structures, ranging from ancient Roman obelisks to Renaissance churches (including an awesome 13th century castle). It’s so unlike any major city in the U.S., where the oldest building is 200 years old. Neapolitans would scoff at a building that was a mere 200 years old. Their apartments are older than that! 200 years? Please, that’s about as exciting as the neighborhood Burger King.

The highlight for Ben was that the centro storico is also the home of many well-known mob families in Naples. Yes, organized crime, known as the Camorra, is alive and well in Napoli. Although mafia violence has subsided in recent years thanks to the imprisonment of the godmother, little happens in Naples without a “nod” from one the families. Our guidebook points out a couple of Camorra family homes, which we obviously sought out and took pictures of. Ben became paranoid that I was saying the word “Camorra” too often and too loudly and insisted that I refer to the families as the “Keebler Elves.”

Ben has given me some sort of sinus thing, which obviously mutated in the passing because while he’s sitting pretty, my head is about to explode. A visit to the farmacia is in order.

We finally made it to Naples, after 2 long days of travel. I still feel like the ground is moving beneath me, due to the fact that getting from Athens to Naples requires the following:

• Athens metro to the Larissa Train Station
• Train from Athens to the port city of Patras
• Overnight ferry from Patras to Italian port of Brindisi
• Train from Brindisi to Caserta
• Train from Caserta to Naples

And once in Naples, it requires a ride on something called the Circumvesuviana to reach our hostel. Don’t be fooled! Circumvesuviana does sound just like a fun spinning carnival ride that will whirl you to your destination of choice. But I’m sorry to tell you that when you excitedly validate your ticket and burst through the turnstile, it turns out to just be an above-ground metro.

We’re staying in a hostel called Fabric, which is quite unlike any hostel we’ve yet seen. There’s a large common room with HDTV, free DVD rentals, free Wi-Fi, and an in-house restaurant. Inexplicably, there’s also an in-house club, which could only be called CLUB FABRIC. Since CLUB FABRIC can only be entered from inside the hostel, and getting inside the hostel requires booking a stay in the hostel, you may think that CLUB FABRIC is just a way to milk more money from its guests through the sale of overpriced beer. You may also think that checking out the local bars and restaurants would be a better way to see the real Naples, meet locals, and find cheaper drinks. But based on the commotion reaching my bed from CLUB FABRIC in the wee hours of this morning, it looks like you think too much.

Still, Fabric’s many amenities exceed expectations, and we’re happy to be here for the next few days. Also, we found a place nearby that will sell you a made-to-order pizza for 3 Euros, an unexpected coup that would make any no-tell motel seem like the Ritz to me right about now. Score!

And now it’s off to the supermercato for whatever food we can find that doesn’t require a refrigerator to keep, or a stove to prepare. Which leaves… Nutella.

A conversation with a British woman who owns a small hotel in Athens

Ben: Hello, is this the Villa Olympic?

Woman: Yes

B: I’m calling to find out if you have availability for 2 people to stay one week, starting tomorrow.

W: Yes, plenty.

B: Great. And what would the price be?

W: 35 Euros a night, if you stay for a week.

B: OK, thanks very much for the information. We’ll be arriving in Athens tomorrow, so perhaps I’ll give you a call then.

W: Well, what does that mean?

B: Oh, it means I’m calling around to check out prices, so I’ll possibly be back in touch tomorrow.

W: Well, if THAT’S what you’re doing, fine. But don’t expect me to wait up all night.

B: Umm, OK, I won’t? Thanks for your help.

W: Do you really think you’ll find anything cheaper than that price?

B: Well, that’s why I’m calling around, to try and find out.

W: I think you’re just being… (low mumbling that I can’t make out)

B: All I’m really trying to do is compare prices between hotels…

W: This isn’t a hotel, it’s a HOUSE!

B: Umm, I’m sorry if I’ve offended you in some way, I didn’t mean to.

W: Where did you get this address??!!

B: The internet.

W: Oh, you just do your work.

B: OK then… thanks for your help.

W: Yes, you just DO YOUR WORK.

B: Goodbye!

With crazies like this out there, you can see why we’re so grateful for Mudfish’s hospitality! And on that note, we’re catching a train this morning to the Greek port city of Patras, where we’ll hop an overnight ferry to Brindisi, Italy. By Friday night, we’ll be in Naples! Goodbye gyros, raki, and fish… hello pizza, wine, and fish!

The best part about traveling, by far, is the people that you meet. Fellow travelers, ex-pats, locals — we’ve met some incredible people during our journey. Mudfish, also known as Russ, is one of the best! His mi-casa-es-su-casa (er, to spiti mou spiti sou in Greek!) generosity has been much appreciated, and we’ve had a lot of fun hanging out with Mud and co.

Staying with Mudfish has enabled us to see a different side of Athens. There are parks here! And trees! Wider roads! No heavily armed guards on every corner! No street fights at 3 am!

We were lucky our stay in Athens coincided with a Greek national holiday: Sunday was Ohi Day! Ohi Day commemorates the day when Greek dictator Metaxas refused to let Axis powers enter Greece during World War II (Metaxas allegedly replied with an adamant “Ohi!” [no!] to Mussolini’s ultimatum). The fact that only a short while later Axis powers occupied Greece by force does not dampen patriotic spirits. Ohi Day is marked by parades and ubiquitous displays of Greek flags. We’d hoped to catch the parade in central Athens, but since we didn’t get home from the night before until an hour before the parade began in the morning, that didn’t happen (fun side note: the Greeks do not have a “last call” at 2 am).

Mike (friend of Mudfish); Mudfish; Ben; Brittany

Saturday night Mudfish gave us a tour of Athenian nightlife. Most notably, I got to see my first Greek punk rockers. Also, we met Uchi from Paraguay, so Ben was able to practice his Spanish a little. We also tried Greek late-night food – cheese-filled crepes! – which ruled.

Ohi Day for Ben and I meant free entrance into all of the ancient sites (which would have otherwise been 24+ euros!). So we set off Sunday afternoon, pleased with our budgetary prowess. We started with the ruins on lower ground – Hadrian’s library and the Roman agora. I am impressed by how even if most of the structure is gone, the restoration efforts have gone far to convey the sheer size of these gigantic buildings.

We didn’t dawdle long, as we were eager to see the Acropolis. One of my favorite moments on the trip so far happened when we were in Athens for the first time, stopping here for a night en route to Crete. We were walking along a crowded street to grab some dinner when, seemingly out of nowhere, the Acropolis emerged in front of me, with the Parthenon all lit up. It was one of those we’re-not-in-Kansas-anymore moments, and sort of made our trip a reality for me. I don’t think many people forget the first time they see the Acropolis. I’m not sure why, but it’s one of those buildings that can be meaningful to someone even if they have no clue about the history or significance of the structure. What makes it more evocative is, while the builders realized they were working on an important project and meticulously made every angle and proportion perfect, they had no idea it would come to symbolize the dawn of Western civilization.

Before visiting Athens, I always assumed Acropolis = Parthenon. What I didn’t realize is that there are several other, equally impressive buildings up there – The Temple of Athena Nike, The Erectheion – all with their own fascinating history. What is far less impressive is the massive amount of scaffolding that surrounds the Parthenon. Thanks to the stupidity of more modern civilizations, the building is on the verge of collapse. How something can last 2,000 years and then someone (ahem, Venice!) be stupid enough to BOMB it, I’ll never know. Nor will I ever understand how you can let the air in a city get so polluted that it DISINTEGRATES MARBLE. Which also makes me slightly concerned for my lungs.

We had timed our visit to coincide with dusk, but were disappointed to find that the clouds had situated themselves as to perfectly block our view of the sun disappearing behind the horizon. My disappointment was alleviated when we saw a regiment of men in traditional Greek military attire, accompanied by a band, ascending the Acropolis to ceremoniously take down the large flag that stands at one end of the hill. I wish I knew more about the evolution of traditional Greek uniform because it involves several decorative pom-poms, which I enjoy.

We finished our tour of ancient sites with a nighttime visit to the Areopagus, which is basically a giant rock that sits on one side of the Acropolis. For a rock, it has a remarkable history. It was the meeting place for what was essentially one of the first senates, the location of the judicial court in classical Athens and where the Apostle Paul delivered his famous “Sermon on an Unknown God,” which began the conversion of Athens. Standing on the rock, with the glowing Parthenon on one side and a sparkling modern city sprawling out in all directions on the other is another one of those wow moments I’ve experienced on this trip. Incredible ideas, like democracy and Christianity, were set in motion on this exact spot. Much greater people than me have stood where I am standing and have done things that affected the course of the world.

We appropriately ended our day by dining at Goody’s, the Greek version of McDonald’s. We’ve avoided the place for the entire trip, but Ben is strangely intrigued by artificial foods (I mean, seriously intrigued. Like we can’t go to the grocery store without him examining giant tubs of loaded-baked-potato-flavor chex mix), and after weeks of dropping not-so-subtle hints, I relented. My vote: yuck. What our guidebook says is true: avoid the Greek hamburger. I have no idea why anyone would choose to visit Goody’s rather than get a delicious gyro for less than two euros at one of the many street vendors.

In other news, Ben is hairless. Well, not really. He cut his hair (we unfortunately could never get the clippers to work, so Ben had to visit a salon) and finally shaved his beard. I’m so used to him looking like a crazy mountain man, that I do not recognize him anymore. Whenever he walks into the room I do a double take and usually say something like, “what is wrong with your FACE??” Either that, or I run away screaming “STRANGER DANGER!” He was amused at first, but I think he’s getting annoyed.