Fevrier!

My Mom and younger cousin Meghan came to visit me in February, and we decided to embark on a grand European adventure to visit our ancestors’ roots in the Naples region, explore the ruins of Pompeii, and see some of the gorgeous Amalfi coast.




















Our flight was to and from Naples. Having a long history with the Mafia, it’s a tough city. But of course it is only there that you can get an actual Neapolitan pizza. Flat-crust pizza perfection, crispy on the outside and chewy on the inside, grace to the high temperature fire oven it’s cooked in.

Our attainment of that pizza, (ie, the ordering process at the restaurant) turned out to be quite an adventure in itself. We went to a real neighborhood pizzeria rather than a tourist joint, meaning that none of the people there spoke English. And unfortunately our knowledge of Italian doesn’t extend much beyond Grazie (as much Italian I speak in my dreams). So we communicated our words rather telegraphically, channeling our inner Italian with lots of hand gesturing, and threw in plenty of smiles in between. Our waitress was considerably less amused. But how else would we have gotten to taste some foods we had never heard of before? We were offered something as an appetizer, and we weren’t sure exactly what it was, but we said yes (si!!) anyways, and got a delicious fried potato and cheese concoction.

An hour-long ferry ride from Mount Vesuvius and we landed on the island of Capri. The geography of the island is gorgeous—sheer rock cliffs, on which all of the conglomerations of houses and buildings have been built.

The island’s public transport system consists of a fleet of mini orange buses, small but sturdy, designed for climbing the narrow, windy inclines of the island. When our bus finally came, it was already extremely crowded with people, and despite our cumbersome luggage, we decided to squish inside. Little did we know that as the bus climbed up the island, it made stops to let even more people on. I kept thinking to myself that there was no way that a single more person could possibly fit, and then somehow, miraculously, there would be three more new arrivals.

Oh but luckily I had a spot next to a window, so I could see as the bus made its hairpin turns that there was only a skimpy medal fence between the road and the blue ocean, a couple hundred feet down below the ragged rock cliffs.

Our arrival was timely—the day after Carnival—so when we stepped off the bus (I was feeling relieved after the nausea and claustrophobia), we were greeted instantly with a celebratory party vibe, as there were lively bits of multi-colored paper confetti everywhere on the streets.

This is a bad picture, but you can see the little dots of confetti on the side of the road, and down below a bit of the orange and lemon trees that grow all over the island.

Native Capri citizens’ transport of choice, if not the bright orange buses, are mini pick-up trucks, well-suited for the island’s narrow corners. Walking along the sidewalks, you can the purrs and growls of the motors as they pass by.

We got super lucky with the hotel where we stayed. Not only was it charming, but upon check-in we discovered that we were staying in the same exact room where Queen Vittoria of Sweden had stayed many many years ago. Even though I had never heard of her before, it felt historical to know that the room had previously been occupied by royalty.

The Italians’ faithfulness to the gospel of fresh food is legendary. In this regard we were not disappointed, as we read a small note at the bottom of our menu for dinner that night that we would be “told preventatively” if any of the fish had the “unfortunate circumstance” of having been frozen, as the English had been interestingly translated from the Italian.

Later, on our walk back from the restaurant, we stopped at a convenience store and bought a package of confetti for ourselves, throwing it up in the air and celebrating la dolce vita as we walked along Capri’s narrow streets.

After Italy, we made a stop to PARIS, the city of light…

Of course our trip would have been incomplete without a visit to the Eiffel Tower. I’m proud to say we got a good glutteal workout and mounted it by foot, staircase after staircase, pausing every once in a while to admire the view, catch our breath, and/or read the historical information posted.

It was cold and windy at the top, but the sight of Paris’s rooftops was nothing short of éblouissant.

Then we warmed ourselves up with some very delicious food, at the sort of French café that I had always expected to find in Paris. I had pumpkin cream soup that was just as good as it sounds, accompanied by a salad with chèvre (goat cheese) melted on top.

Now introducing a guest writer…my Mom! as she recounts the rest of our day:

We had a lovely early evening walk to Notre Dame across the Seine. Notre Dame was very dramatic at night - the gargoyles seemed to be leaping from the cathedral as we looked above us from the street.

We watched a street performer twirl a stick lit with fire at both ends. We made like tourists and bought postcards.

Meghan needed to use la toilette. Luckily there was one of the futuristic contraptions that dot the streets of Paris. A woman emerged from its sliding door and Meghan entered. Before it could close, the woman explained that it would self-clean. Meghan jumped out. The door closed. We laughed as we heard water sloshing and ultraviolet lights destroying all germs. The doors reopened and Meghan entered again to relieve herself.

Quelle experience!