And the Journey Continues

Hiya!
I feel better now that I've brushed my teeth and had a shower.  But, no.  I'm not home.  I'm in Chicago for the night.
The plane from Rome to Munich was late, and a bunch of us were in danger of missing our connection.  The airline told us--no worry--you'll have an escort.  The escort did not materialize, so we Chicago bound travelers banded together and cheered each other on.  We found our gate and were allowed to skip security, so we all got on board.
I was in a middle seat, but it was premium economy, so not bad.  I dozed a bit off and on.  The connection time at O'Hare was tight and I had to clear customs and go to another terminal.  I was a bit worried.
I was even more worried when our flight into Chicago arrived twenty minutes late!  I went through passport control, retrieved my bags, and cleared customs.  I was supposed to recheck my bags, but by that time it was clear there was No Way I was going to make the flight to LAX.
I got in line at the customer service desk.  There were a whole bunch of us who were missing one flight or other.  The airline was doing the right thing and rebooking travelers and getting hotel rooms for those who had to leave the next day.  When I got to the head of the line, I overheard the customer service guy ask for twenty more rooms.  I had to laugh.
So I'm booked for LAX tomorrow at 7:30 and was given a hotel voucher and a meal voucher.  The next step was waiting for the hotel shuttle.  One of my fellow strandees called the place, but we had to wait some thirty minutes for the shuttle, and let me tell you Chicago weather late at night in late October is no joke for someone dressed for Southern California.  It was 37F and rainy.
But I'm warm, safe, and dry now, and I hope I can get some sleep, too.
California, here I come!

STUCK!

It's not a buon giorno, amici, I was given bogus information about my flight and when I arrived finally at the check in desk, the attendant refused to check me in saying the gate was going to close--I still think I could have made it.  Those of you who know me know that I'm am not flakey and I am an experienced traveler.  I know how long it takes to get to airports and go through security.  I should have been fine.  I'm not.
Instead I was sent over to ticketing, and they will get me home, but I should be flying to Los Angles now, and instead I'm waiting at the airport for my flight to Munich, and then I will be routed through Chicago (mercifully this long jag in premium economy) and then to Los Angeles arriving around midnight.  Oh also it's going to cost me some $3,000.00 to get home.  I am not a happy traveler.
Ciao

The End of This Stay

Buon Giorno,
Because I'm not yet done with Rome just as I am not yet done with Paris and London, and I haven't even started on some places I long to visit.
I am sorry to report that some of my neighbors this go around with the shared kitchen are not as considerate as last time.  When I went to get my breakfast I found the kitchen counters dirty and a pot with yucky dried up pasta in it.  I wiped down the counters and put the pot to soak, but I'm not going to do their dishes for them--and I have a pretty good idea who they are--hint: a "y" chromosome is involved, and they are young.
The weather was a few degrees cooler today, which I found refreshing.  I began with a trip to the local grocery store.  I am leaving very early tomorrow, so mostly what I wanted was a snack for the airport and some whole wheat crostini to take home with me because I think it would be lovely with goat cheese spread on it.  I'll find a place for it in my luggage somehow.
Then I took my usual trip down to the Metro.  I'd gotten a forty-eight hour pass yesterday, so I did not have to worry about the ticket.  I hopped off at Octaviano because I wanted to visit the bankomat of my bank's Italian partner. That done, I reboarded the Metro headed for Termini.
Termini is the Rome's main train station, and I'll be going there tomorrow morning to get the train for the airport, but this time my goal was two major museums that are next door or across the street from the station.  I would call them both project museums because they have huge collections.
People who do not share my avid appetite for antiquities are advised to focus on the Museo Nationale Romano Massimo alle Terme.  The words "treasure trove" often used of the collection are not at all misapplied.  The collection is so large that not all of it can be exhibited at once so some pieces are swapped in and out.  I visited last time I was in Rome, but I saw some works I had not seen before.  I was a bit spoiled in Naples. The statutes here are mostly not as in good condition but are still worth seeing.  The Hellenistic bronzes of The Prince and The Boxer are first rate.  They also have a Roman copy of The Discus Thrower in prime condition.  I happen to enjoy Roman portraiture, so I found plenty.  I also love mosaics.  Rome has better mosaics than Naples--don't tell!  The highlight of the many fabulous frescos for me was Livia's Garden, a Second Style garden scene that gives a 3D illusion and is lovely and naturalistic.  If you like coins and jewelry, and I do, you will find wonderful exhibitions of both.
I got a combo ticket, so when I left Massimo, I headed over to the Museo Nationale Romano Terme di Diocleziano for more antiquities.  The baths built by the Emperor Diocletian were repurposed as a monastery, but enough of the original fabric remains to give the visitor an idea of what it was like.  The collection in this museum is more geared to every day Roman life.  No great works of art appear, but if you want to know how Romans wrote, worshiped, honored their dead, and tried to control their luck with magic, you will find this a worthwhile project.
Going down stairs, I had to be a bit stern with my knees, but we have come to an accommodation.  I stopped off at the upscale mall across from the Metro. I went up to the food court to see if I could see the Dome of St. Peter's.  I could a bit.
I'm going to miss being able to indulge my appetite with huge piles of pasta, etc.  (But, meh, my cheese clumped just like it does at home.  No smooth sauce for me in Rome.) I've been walking a lot, but tomorrow I'm just sitting on planes.
Thank you for sharing my journey!
Grazie e Ciao!

Stomping Around Rome

Buon Giorno,
I'm so footsore that it feels like I literally spent the day stomping around Rome rather than ambling.  Since it's Monday here, most museums are closed, but I thought I could have a wander around the historic center and pop into some churches and also do some shopping.
First I looked around the upscale shopping mall opposite my metro stop.  I love it for the huge supermarket in the basement, but the food court up top is also a hoot.  One feature is a gigantic Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurant--not a take away--it's a sit down restaurant.  You could also get sushi if you really wanted it in Italy.  Why would you though?
As I left the mall I caught a glimpse of the very tip top of Michelangelo's Dome for St. Peter's.  I'd bet there's a good view from the food court, but I didn't check.
I metroed to Flamminio and strolled down Via del Corso, which I like because there are fun windows to lick and it's pedestrianized.  But then I turned aside and wound my way through some very narrow streets to Piazza Navona.  I passed through the rich tourist zone with boutique hotels, luxury good shops, and lines of taxis.
The Piazza is magnificent with a major fountain designed by Bernini among other sights.  I wanted the Church of St. Agostino, but it was closed up tight.  I moved on.
I did find the Chiasa Nuovo open and went to look at Caravaggio's Deposition of Christ from the Cross.  I guess Caravaggio has been a constant theme during this trip. The painting is marvelous.  I tried taking a photo as the rest of my attempts to photograph Caravaggio have been miserable failures.  But there was a reflection, so we'll have to see.
I made my way to Corso Vittorio Emanuele II.  Every major Italian city has one of these to honor the first king of a united Italy since Theodoric the Ostrogoth.  Vittorio Emanuele II was amiable, but mediocre and looked like a walrus.  He had enough sense, however, to listen to his extraordinarily talented Prime Minister, Count Cavour--in case you were wondering about all the streets, metro stops etc. named Cavour.
Vittorio Emanuele II has another monument in Rome, and if you come here you will not be able to miss it no matter how much you may want to.  It's huge and made of blindingly white marble.  The thing looks like a megalomaniac's fever dream, and it fact it was conceived of and supervised by Mussolini himself (I think on the chance that if he honored a predecessor, his successor would lavishly honor him.).
I proceeded down the Corso because I wanted a particular street with a particular shop.  On my previous trip I found it easily.  This time I got all turned around and ended up in Piazza Venezia--which is not a bad place to end up.  I started over.  Got turned around again.  I was on the wrong side of the street. Blah Blah.
I did end up at my desired destination.  I was after some super duper lux Italian soap.  A very charming and attractive young man waited on me and treated me like a duchess despite my travel worn appearance.
My purchase made, I went back to the Corso VE2 to find a bus that would take me to the train station.  So when I didn't need the bus stop, I practically tripped over one on every block.  When I wanted one they mysteriously disappeared, and anyway I was on the wrong side of the street.
I finally found one and the bus came quickly, and I had an interesting ride past some of Rome's major sites.  I caught the Metro at Termini and walked home, and here I am having my apero with that rather nice rose I got yesterday.  I'll have it with my pasta and bolognese sauce later on for dinner.
Ciao

Napoli a Roma

Buon Giorno,
I'm home in Rome.  Let me sink into my apero and relax.  They remember me here from my stay about two years ago, and people seem really glad to see me, so that's nice.
Fortunately, I noticed the time change in the EU from daylight savings to standard on my cell phone and computer.  I could have gotten all kinds of messed up from not realizing what had happened.
I had a quick, smooth trip although I had to manage my own bags this time, but in fact I did manage without injuring myself or anyone else.
The walk to the station was as usual except for my having to drag my bags and negotiate curbs and motorcycles.
I was on the fast train, and it actually left on time and arrived at Rome Termini early!  I know the drill for the Metro--in fact I know it for many European capitals, and could probably handle any metro system in any city.
I was thrilled when I reached my stop.  The escalators had been repaired and were working! I was dreading having to carry my bags up the stairs (and down again when I leave in three days), but all is well.
I felt relieved being back in my placid Rome neighborhood.  The historic center of Rome is intense!  But I'm on the outskirts.  I checked in, dumped my bags, and walked back to the big supermarket at the fancy shopping mall across from the Metro.  I laid in supplies for my short stay.
This particular store is a real supermarket with lots of good goodies, and I found everything I needed although I had to hunt around for it.  Alas, my elderly, fragile digestion precludes trying a lot of enticing things.
Right now I'm having some crostini with prosciutto crudo and some Prosecco.  I have options for my dinner.  It will be pasta, but I can choose my sauce, and I have some rose to go with it.  I also brought back the olive oil I bought in Naples.  It was too good to throw away, but I did not want to drag a heavy glass bottle with me. I don't recommend treating olive oil this way normally, but I poured it into a plastic bottle and wrapped it in a plastic baggie against leaks.
I settled on Amatriciana, made with quick cooking capellini and prepared sauce from the cooler.  I've had it before, and I like it.  It's a Roman classic and goes well with the rose.
Ciao

Shopping in the Shadow of Vesuvius

Buon Giorno,
There's no getting away from him.  He looms every time I turn around, and let me remind you he is an active volcano.  The last time he erupted in any significant fashion was 1944--as if Mussolini, etc. wasn't enough.  Italian geologists monitor the mountain very closely.  Morbidly curious tourists can take a bus up to view the caldera.  In fact Italy has several active volcanos, and the one most currently active is Etna on the island of Sicily, which erupts frequently (and did one year when I visited Florence.) but fortunately not catastrophically--at least not recently.  The volcanos provide very fertile soil for the famous vineyards of Campania and Sicily, so they attract settlement nearby.
This is my last full day in Naples.  I'm still a bit worn out from my exertions of yesterday, but today was an easy shopping day.  I had a Metro ticket to use up, so I took Line One to a shopping area, but I planned to walk back window licking along the way.  I had to take stairs down in the Metro.  Clearly my knees have not forgiven me for yesterday.
My first stop was the bankomat of my bank's foreign partner.  I have to buy my train ticket tomorrow for one thing. I wound my way down the narrow streets in the supposedly pedestrian zone.  Watch out for the motor cycles and vans.  A lot of tourists come here because the shops and restaurants along with the picturesque streets and buildings attract us.
I did spend some money, but I didn't want to load up too much as I do have to move back to Rome, and I don't want my bags to be heavy.  I might not find kind people willing to heft them for me. But I had a pleasant wander, and it was nice not to be in a hurry or think I had to extend my efforts.
I felt I could not leave the city without trying a sfogliatella, a classic Neapolitan pastry.  The pastry is crisp on the outside and has characteristic thin, leaf-like layers that crackle in a satisfying way when the eater bites into one.  The interior is soft and creamy, filled with ricotta cheese and candied fruit.  Like everything else in Naples, it's delicious and quite extravagant.
And what else would I have for my last evening meal in Naples?  Why Pizza Margherita, of course!  It is so very good.  I love the fragrant chewy crust and the sweet-tart of the tomato sauce made with the locally sourced ingredients,  The simplest meals are often the best when the ingredients are first rate. I always and especially enjoy eating in Italy for that reason, and I must say that Campania and the city do their country proud.  I've actually spent more on wine this trip than I have on food or admissions to museums, and have enjoyed their lush flavors and how they pair so well with the food.  I'll look for wines from Campania wines when I get home, but I fear they will not be the same.
But if you live in or visit the East Coast or any city with a "Little Italy" or can find a pizzeria with a wood fired stove, you can approximate my experience.  To have the real deal, you have to come here--not exactly a hardship.
Naples is definitely a city for extraverts.  If you gain energy from noise, crowds, and activity this is the place for you!  People fill the streets, and they are not all tourists.  They are Neapolitans chatting, haranguing each other, joking, shouting.  Unfortunately they smoke, as well.  And if I never see another motorcycle in my life, I would be best pleased--although the things they can carry and balance on those things is pretty amazing.

Certosa di San Martino and the Long Walk Home

Buon Giorno,
I am utterly shattered and recruiting my forces with some Greco di Tufo and Italian tuna.  I went on a wine and water run this morning before touristing.  It's good to have refreshment at hand.
Let's get the whining out of the way first.  I metroed out to Vanvitelli up on Vomero Hill. I walked to the Certosa di San Martino, enjoyed my visit greatly and walked back to the metro, figuring I'd have an easier day given my exertions yesterday.
The Metro was shut down.
A quick look at my map showed me that if I took funiculars down I could reach a place from which I could walk home pretty easily.
The funiculars were shut down.
No buses in the area could take me where I needed to go.  A few stopped at Metro stations, but they would do me no good.  I decided to start walking and hope to find a bus or even if Line 2 Metro was working it would bring me home.
My map wasn't of big help.  I decided that the crucial direction was down. I followed one street down until it ended and walked across.  Then I came to a stairway.  I took it down and down and down some more.  It seemed endless and held at least three billion stairs (This is a conservative estimate.), and I was so glad that the predicted rain held off because I could picture myself slipping on the slick wet stairs.  Down. More Down.  My knees were screaming at me.  Finally the stairs ran out, but there was a steep street--with lots of traffic, but in the distance I could see the dome of the Galleria Umberto I, which was near to where the funiculars would have taken me.  I knew the way home from there. But I had to get to it first.
In all it took me nearly two hours to get home.  Two hours of hard walking on rough surfaces and then dealing with motorcycles, vans, and crowds.  It's never easy walking in Naples.  But I'm home, and the apero is having its affect.
In the end Certosa di San Martino is a fantastic place to visit.  It was a monastery, but you must not think it austere.  I don't know what the monk's cells were like, but hoo boy, is the place sumptuous!  The ceilings have marvelous frescos, some by Luca Giordano, whose work is prominently scattered throughout the city.  Paintings by Juseppe Ribiera also adorn the church.  He was a follower of Caravaggio, and his use of his master's techniques and sensibilities is particularly powerful.  His Pieta is the altarpiece, but a very fine St. Sebastien is also displayed.
Don't miss the royal coaches!  Or the Nativity scenes.  Depicting the Nativity with figurines and a naturalistic setting is a Neapolitan art form.  The gem of the collection is by Michele Cucineniello with over four hundred figures.  It's a bit difficult to find Baby Jesus in that crowd, but it is really incredible and compelling.
And then the terraces provide fantastic views of the city, the Bay of Naples, and Vesuvius (because there's no getting away from him!).  I enjoyed the views little knowing that I would soon be climbing down that way.
Cats may be a feature of Vomero.  I guess they live in the museum, looking well cared for and certainly tame.  A few were very hungry for human attention, so I had a duty to oblige.
When you travel--and I hope you will, ALWAYS carry a pack of tissue with you.  Not all toilets renew the toilet paper regularly.  You will have the need and the means if you follow this vital advice.
Ciao

The Anniversary of the Eruption: Pompeii

Buon Giorno,
October 24, 79 CE--one thousand nine hundred and forty years ago (I did the math) Vesuvius erupted and destroyed Pompeii and Herculaneum.  I actually did not know this when I chose to visit Pompeii today.
I had an adventure along the way--due to a vandalized sign and a fit of stupidity on my part.  I was squished into a corner of a carriage on the Circumvesuviana train.  I couldn't see out to see the names of the stations.  I was looking for Villa Mystire.  I thought I spotted it and hopped off the train.  Nope.  The name was similar, but I was actually in the middle of nowhere.  Fine.  Don't panic.  I waited and about ten minutes later another train came by and I boarded.
Wow, it's practically empty, I thought taking a window seat.  Then it occurred to me that the reason it was so empty was that this was not the tourist train to Pompeii, and heaven knows where I'd end up.  Fortunately the train did stop at Pompeii City Station, and I just walked across town to the archeological park.
The nice lady at the ticket counter explained that they were "celebrating the anniversary of the eruption" so admission was free.
What a place!  The site is huge, and quite a few of the buildings are closed.  If people bring a picnic they could easily spend the entire day, and in fact I saw that that is what many did.  I did not see everything by any means, but I walked across the whole park and saw a lot.  Most of the best art is in the National Museum in Naples, but some mosaics and frescos are still in situ.
This is not a place for flimsy shoes. Roman  pavement is rough and there's a lot of climbing up and down.
The thing I wanted to see most was the Villa of the Mysteries.  Now if I had stayed on the train as I should have, I would have been dumped out about a kilometer from the park entrance with the Villa right there.  As it happened I entered near the Amphitheatre.  I overheard a woman asking a museum employee if it were a church.  Uh no.  Although it's possible that a Christian or two featured as entertainment.  I saw the forum, a couple of temples, visited peristyle gardens and had a good historical wallow.
I saved the Villa of the Mysteries for last.  For one thing it was right near the exit and the way to the train station.  The Villa is so called because of its marvelous Second Style frescos featuring the characteristic Pompeiian Red.  Second Style means to create the illusion that the room continues and uses techniques to create 3D impressions.  The room from which the Villa gained its name has frescos apparently depicting an initiation into a mystery cult. A winged being appears to supervise the process, but other figures dance or cower.  They interact with figures on other walls.  It's an impressive piece of work.
Then home.  I was tired, so I was glad the train was less crowded and I got a seat.  I took the metro home.  It's not faster than walking, but I didn't want to deal with the traffic and noise.  It's nice to be home in my comfortable apartment with my apero and pasta for dinner.

Villa Floridiana--a Park with Cats

Buon Giorno,
I gave myself an even easier day today.  I needed some relief from the crowded, noisy city center, so I walked to the metro and took it to a neighborhood called Vomero.  It's hilly and affluent.  A few fancy houses are left.
I thought I would have to take the funicular, so I wasted one of my metro tickets, but then I saw the sign for my target.  It was an easy walk.
The park of Villa Floridiana is free and fairly large.  I imagine it would be a popular place to stroll on nice weekend afternoons.  The Villa itself is a ceramics museum.  I skipped it in favor of a stroll in a quiet green world following the winding paths up and down.
Near the entrance of the park, I saw a pretty calico cat and stopped to pet it.  As I strolled I saw more cats--just here and there--maybe eight in all.  They look well fed and cared for, and I saw a couple of people handing out food to them.  The cats are quite tame and apparently welcome human attention even from foreigners like their Aunt Pil who have no food.
Anyway this was a very pleasant and relaxing way to spend some time.  But then some tour groups began to show up, so I realized it was time to go.  Yet when I came out of the park, I found the neighborhood so nice and quiet I decided to stroll around some more.  Then I took the metro home and stopped at the grocery store on the way back for more Falernian.  Cicero would approve.
I am becoming quite Neapolitan in my street crossing habits.  Timid tourists now follow me!
Aperol spritz seems to be the pan-European aperitif of choice, and the visitor can even get it to take away for two euros.  Now if some one offered me some Aperol, I'd drink it gladly, but I don't go out of my way to have it.  Also from the offerings in the many bars I pass, the popular snack to have with one's spritz is some kind of potato chip.  Interesting.
Given the number of East Indians who live in Naples, I would expect curry houses, but I have not seen a single one.  Instead you can get sushi in the grocery story to take away, and there's a sushi shop in the tourist zone.  I've passed McDonald's and Burger King.
But as far as I can tell Italians don't go in for foreign food on a regular basis.  Why should they?  What they have at home is so very tasty and fairly healthful.  Their native cuisine has conquered the globe, and is the closest thing to a universal food we have--even if it's American versions of Italian food.  Take spaghetti and meatballs.  Both separately are Italian but are never served together in Italy unless a kindly restauranteur wants to indulge a hungry American child.  Spaghetti and meatballs is definitely an American dish albeit developed by newly prosperous Italian immigrants to the United States. And don't bother ordering Fettuccini Alfredo either.  Alfredo was an American chef.
And I saw something shocking today, speaking of food.  An actual Italian person was eating on the street as she walked.  Eating a sandwich!  As she walked!  This is the sort of crass thing only American tourists do.
Dinner tonight is spaghetti with tomato sauce and parmesan--no meatballs in sight.  It's simple but so good!
Maybe it's not.  All that walking you do works up an appetite.
No.  It's Really Really Good. But no matter how much spaghetti I eat, I'll never look like Sophia Loren.
Ciao

Chasing Caravaggio

Buon Giorno,
I gave myself a fairly easy day, which meant I was walking for only about three hours instead of four or five.  I began with a trip to Piazza Garabaldi walking down Via Carbonara.  I do not like making this trip even though it's not that long or hard.  I hate the traffic noise.  The constant honking is not malicious; it's more in the nature of a warning.  I cross the streets with more confidence.  The drivers in Naples are experts at not hitting pedestrians, but boy do some of them cut it close.  The glare from the pavement is painful despite my fancy new contact lenses that darken in bright light.
Since I was there I made a trip to the bankomat.  Then I had to cross more streets.  I needed supplies that could only be got from the big supermarket near the train station.  I also scouted around for a post office or at least a tabacchi from where I could get stamps for my postcards.  One feature of European train stations is the inevitable shopping center.  It makes sense to me that the station is a place where people pass through all the time, and why not make it convenient for them to pick up something?
On my way back I was finally able to find a place that had stamps.  If you get stamps from a regular Italian post office, they are just normal stamps.  Tabacchi sell the kind you can track (I guess.  I've never tried it.)  But they have to go in special mail boxes, which is kind of a pain.
I dumped off my groceries and had a chat with a very attractive young man who works for the aparthotel and wanted to check in that I was enjoying the visit.  He claimed to have gained ten kilos from the Neapolitan food.  I saw no evidence of that.
Well, I had to do Something Touristy, and what better thing in Naples than to chase Caravaggio.  I walked up to the metro and took the train a few stops and strolled around until I found the Galerie d'Italia in the Palazzo Zevallos Stigliano.  It's not a huge project like the previous museums.  The palazzo itself is exquisite, and on its own merits a visit the the price of admission.  Up the marble staircase we go to a fine collection of works from the High Renaissance to the Late Nineteenth Century.
But we are really here for the Caravaggio given pride of place in a room all its own.  The museum touts this as "L'ultimo Caravaggio," as it is apparently the last work he did before he died.  The subject,  The Martyrdom of St. Ursula did not seem to inspire him as the painting is not among his best.  But it does have his signature unconventionality.  Caravaggio has dispensed with the Hundred Thousand Virgins to focus on Ursula herself pensively examining a wound as her executioners look on.  The lighting is dramatic as usual.
I had the gumption to walk home, and I am getting to know the Historic Center/Tourist Zone well, so I don't get lost.
For dinner I am having capetellini with oil, garlic, and cheese, but I feel obliged to discuss an indelicately named Neapolitan pasta sauce--puttanesca--the whore's sauce. The stories are that the working women enticed their customers with its fragrance or alternatively they used the pasta and sauce to revive themselves between clients.  Cute, but no such thing.  A highly-connected man from Capri loved hosting the wealthy and celebrities and knew they'd get a thrill from a connection with low life, so he renamed Sugo de Marinara, Puttanesca.  I made some before I came using my slow cooker to make tomato sauce.  It's easy, and if you are curious, melt some anchovies in olive oil and add them to tomato sauce.  When the sauce is cooked add smashed capers and sliced olives.  Serve with whatever pasta you fancy.
Ciao

A Castle and a Palace

Buon Giorno
Excuse me while I dive into the pizza I brought home.  I did a lot of walking today, and I'm tired and hungry.
It's the same Margherita from the same pizzaria as before.  It's the perfect size for me--bigger folk might find it inadequate--it's also cheap and it's So Good.  Keep in mind that to Italians the quality of the pizza depends largely on the crust.  This is also true for the best pizza al taglio that you find other places in Italy.  It's not that toppings are unimportant, it's just that they are garnish--just like sauce is for pasta. I walked extra because this evening there's desert, but you and I are just going to have to wait for it.
Readers of my blog and in fact most people who know me know my love of climbing around castles.  Naples has a nice one built originally to guard the harbor.  Its official name is Castel Nuovo, but the signs will say Maschio Angionio because it was built when the Angevin French ruled Naples having taken over during the Crusades in the Thirteenth Century from the previous dynasty.  The Aragonese in their turn conquered Naples and Sicily from the French and left their mark on the fortress as well.  The most authentic part of the castle is the Baron's Hall where the Kings of the Two Sicilies would meet their restless nobles.  Also of note are some pretty chapels.  Most of the castle is now an art gallery with works from the Late Middle Ages to the Late Nineteenth Century.  The views of the bay and harbor from the third floor balcony are spectacular!
Sometimes when an obvious foreigner, i.e. me, buys a ticket the person at the desk asks where she is from. I said, "The United States."  The guy did not understand or believe. "The United States."  "Oh. America?" "Yes. The United States."  Because America is a geographical expression that can apply to the whole Western Hemisphere.  The country I am from is the United States.
A short walk takes us to the palace of another time and dynasty.  The Bourbons same family, separate kingdoms ruled both France and Spain, and one lucky side branch got Naples and Sicily.  The Palazzo Reale was the dynasty's town house as opposed to that shack up on Capo di Monte.  An official function was on when I was there, and we tourists got a bit of the side eye. but there was plenty to see, and all of it was magnificent.  I love period rooms because one can see the art--of whatever kind it happens to be--in a context.  Not to be missed is the grand marble staircase, and when you enter the rooms, don't forget to look up and appreciate the ceiling paintings and frescos along with the fancy furniture, tapestries, paintings and objets d' art.  The visitor gets a real sense of how royalty lived--at least in public.
Naples is such an incredibly rich destination, that I truly cannot comprehend why most people just stay two or three days.  I guess they just want to see Pompeii and eat pizza?  Those things are worthy, but there is so much more here and in the area, too.  I feel I'm barely scratching the surface.
Dessert is a chocolate cannoli.  I'd never seen such a thing before, and it is about three times the size of the traditional cannoli, but could I resist it?  Probably, but I didn't try.  I'm having with a cup of tea.  The crust is a bit thick, but this one is big, and the crust is covered in chocolate.  The filling is rich and chocolatey.  Chopped nuts adorn the ends of the cannoli.  It's rich and glorious--just like Naples, and like Naples a bit too much at once.
Ciao

Capo di Monte: Palazzo and Park

Buon Giorno,
Mmmm.  A sip of fragrant Greco di Tufa.
I rode a bus both ways without incident, and I was able to help some of my fellow travelers.  It was a nice day out and did not involve antiquities for a change.
One thing the visitor to Naples should know--unless you are rich enough to take a taxi everywhere or fluent enough in Italian to summon uber--one cannot buy tickets on the bus.  The rider can get them at a Tabacchi, or do as I do and get them from the machine at the metro.  Touch the screen and pick your language. Pro Tip: Choose English.  In this case I got two tickets one to go and one to come back.  They are good for both the metro and city (not tourist) busses.
The bus driver does not have the attention to spare and possibly the English language skills to explain this.  He'll merely tell the ticketless passenger no go and dump them off at the next stop.  I, however, am willing to explain and help in gratitude for all them times I've been helped.
During the trip up we were packed in like sardines as we wound our way up the steep hill to its summit or "capo."  Naples was long the Italian Peninsula's largest city as it was the capital of an actual kingdom--ruled by foreigners--first the Spanish and then the French until Giuseppe Garabaldi kicked them out once and for all in the mid Nineteenth Century.
But during the long rule, these monarchs built palaces, and Capo di Monte is spectacular.  It's also huge, so we are talking about a project here, not a casual visit.  The Bourbons in particular were avid collectors, so it's essentially an art gallery.  Now I prefer period rooms, but I'll take fine art.  All the visual arts are represented.  The porcelain is impressive, and both European and Chinoiserie is on display.  I saw some fantastic tapestries from the Sixteenth Century in wonderful condition.  Most of the sculpture is figurines, but these are exquisite.  And paintings?  You bet.  Among the gems are works by the Caracci Brothers and Titian.  Caravaggio himself makes an appearance.  After walking though room after room of highly skilled and deeply felt religious works featuring serene Madonnas and dignified saints, and then coming upon Caravaggio's Flagellation of Christ, one gets a real sense of what a radical departure his work was.  It's not the violence.  Other artists also showed violence and suffering.
But somehow Caravaggio brings an immediacy and emotional resonance to the scene.  Part of the effect is having the figures close up and crowded.  Part is the dramatic contrast between light and dark.  But also there's the ordinariness of the figures.  We would know people like this.  We see them every day.  We can identify with them. Yes, Christ is handsome, but we know handsome men like him.  I hope this makes some sense.
After the art, one can take a stroll in the lovely park--with all the other folks enjoying Sunday afternoon.  The views of the city below are amazing.  But heat and fatigue caught up with me, so I found the bus home.
I had an ordinary--for here--dinner of spaghetti pomodoro, but in Italy it is so delicious and satisfying with a glass of red wine to go with it.  Nevertheless as your cultural representative and reporter, I feel a bit guilty of leaving you with nothing new or fun.  So let me offer a little something that I purchased a few days ago, and in doing so I am also fulfilling a request from a dear friend who especially adjured me to have the following.
Limoncello is--depending on your taste or capacities--an aperitif or digestif.  As its name suggests it is a lemon liquor and vodka based and sweetened with sugar.  It is strong and best taken in small doses if drunk straight.  You can get it in the United States, but you need to be careful because some nasty versions are for sale.  Stick to Villa Massala.  When I get it, which is not very often, I like to mix a little of the Limoncello with tonic water, for a sort of bitter lemon cocktail.
Ciao

Caravaggio, a Trip Underground--and Pizza!

Buon Giorno,
I'm skipping apero today and going straight to cena.  Because what's on the menu today is---pizza!  I got the classic Pizza Margherita from Di Matteo, which famously served former President Clinton the very thing I'm having today, and I didn't have to wait long because I went early and I didn't pay much at all.
In Rome, I enjoyed pizza by the slice, and it was lovely.  You can get pizza by the slice in Naples, but it's not considered true pizza here, and frankly those slices don't look very good.  And, of course, there are RULES governing the genuine Neapolitan Pizza.  The dough must be made just so with certain ingredients. Toppings are simpler and sparser than what Americans are used to, and by the way, Italians are utterly horrified by typical American style pizza.  The disc must be put in a hot (preferably wood-fired) oven for a short time.  And then served.
Most places that grow grain have some form a flat bread, and it's easy to put stuff on it.  Unlike pasta, the origins of pizza aren't controversial.  Originally in Naples it was sweet with almond paste and such like.  Then some genius decided to smear some tomato sauce on the dough. Pizza as we know it was born!
Yet no respectable person would go near the nasty stuff.  It was the food of Neapolitan beggars, criminals, and lowlifes of all descriptions . . . until . . .
The queen of the newly unified Kingdom of Italy came to town.  Given how disease and crime ridden the city was in those days, the royals showed a certain amount of courage and dedication showing up in Naples at all.  Her majesty wished to promote good hygiene among her subjects.  She was also curious and asked to try some pizza.  The story goes that the one she liked best had the same colors as the Italian Flag.  Red tomato sauce, white mozzarella, and green basil--but no garlic because queens can't have bad breath or get gas.  It was named after her--Margherita.
Enough with the history!  How does it taste, Pil?
Divine. Chewy crust, fresh tasting toppings.  Pizza Margherita may be Naples's most perfect food.  I'll be going back for more--maybe even tomorrow. But like a tourist I'm drinking red wine with it.  Since it's Falernian, I expect you all to give me a pass.
I needed an easier tourist day today as I have been going pretty hard.  I did get in some good walking though--and I'll need to do more tomorrow to burn off those pizzarific calories.  I shopped for postcards, and didn't find any I liked even though I've resigned myself to the high prices.
My first stop was the Pio Monte della Misericordia, founded by some nobles in the early Seventeenth Century as a sort of food kitchen/homeless shelter.  The chapel is octagonal, and I'll get to it in a bit, but first let's go upstairs to the "picture gallery."  It holds some nice paintings (also quite a few dull ones) plus some period furniture, fabrics, and ecclesiastical accoutrements used in worship services.
But downstairs is where the real action is because the altarpiece is Caravaggio's Seven Acts of Mercy and it is well worth seeing.  Caravaggio spent some time in Naples on the run from a murder rap in Rome.  The poor man seems to have had some kind of personality disorder because he could not stay out of trouble, but he was also sincerely religious, and he was undoubtedly a brilliant painter.
The work is typical of Caravaggio, crowded with figures and with stark contrasts of light and dark and a definite nod toward the street life of ordinary Neapolitans.  Among the acts of mercy depicted are clothing the naked, burying the dead, and feeding the hungry.
Then I walked up to San Lorenzo to take the guided tour of the Greco-Roman city beneath the church. There's a similar though longer and more elaborate tour given elsewhere, but this one was fine with me as I'd just been to Herculaneum.  It's also apparently less scary and claustrophobic inducing (if that matters to anyone) than the other tour.  The guide was clear and informative, and I think if people are new to Roman ruins, they would find it very educational.  I have to say I do not know why people walk around Naples and take these sorts of tours in flimsy shoes.  The old Roman paving stones are rough and uneven.  I can't say much better for the contemporary paving at ground level.
Ciao

Herculaneum

Buon Giorno,
When I was on my way home a guy tried to sell me socks in the Metro.  How many people have ever been waiting on the platform and suddenly thought, "Wow. I need socks right away?"  No one ever is my guess. Nobody wanted his socks, and he went away disgruntled. I think the dude is in the wrong business.
Herculaneum is easy to get to from Naples--along with a lot of other enticing stops along the Circumvesuviana, which is a dedicated railway line running from Naples to Sorrento. I'll be taking it again.  However, I began my day with a walk to Piazza Garabaldi to get some cash from the machine.
Then I proceeded to the station following the signs to the Circumvesuviana section and got in line for a ticket.  I spent a lot of time waiting in line today, but the experience was worth it.
You can expect the trains to be late about ten to fifteen minutes, but they do come, and they do get you where you want to go.  But the stops on the line are popular and we were packed in closer than sardines.  I was braced against one of my fellow travelers, but I felt less bad about this when he had questions I could actually answer.
A lot of us got out at Ercolano Scavi, the correct stop. The visitor can walk to the site downhill easily, but some people were fooled by the "Bus to Vesuvius" signs.  I went down hill, but I turned aside for a virtual reality exhibit of the town before the incident in 79 CE.  I found it interesting.  The best part was a terrifying 3D video of the eruption starting within the bowels of the Earth. Yike. There's nothing like the illusion of pumice and ash coming at you.
I walked down to the archeological park, which is close to the Med, so I got a look at the water.  I had to wait in line some more as the site is justly popular, and only one ticket window was open.
Herculaneum was discovered only in the late Eighteenth Century and only seriously excavated in the Nineteenth.  What has been uncovered is much smaller than Pompeii, because the rest of the town is under people's houses, roads, etc.  But Herculaneum is in better shape than Pompeii, for example some of the buildings still have their roofs.
I didn't get the audio guide.  I just wandered around and in and out.  I'd seen a similar presentation of every day Roman life at Ostia on my last visit to Italy, but I still found Herculaneum satisfying.  I did  not go in to every single building, but I went in a lot and saw some very cool frescos and mosaics.  Then it grew hot, and I grew tired.
I got the train back and took the Metro to the nearest stop to my home.  I'm sipping the last of the Greco de Tufa, but it's so refreshing I'll get some more.
It was good to get out of town today.  Naples is "vibrant" meaning full of noise and chaotic action.  It's not really my kind of place (although I have a deep appreciation for the art and history), so I like retreating to the peace and quiet of my apartment, but I can't help but notice that the natives live largely outdoors.
And have I truly mastered pasta e cacio?  I have the sad suspicion it will only work with obtained in Italy ingredients.  The wine though!  The wines of the Campania have been famous and desired since Roman times, and one of the most valued was Falernian.  The grapes and vinticulture have no doubt  changed since then, but I have what is the closest to what Cicero and Julius Caesar would have sipped, and dang if it isn't Really Really Good!
Ciao

Old Churches--and Plenty of Them

Buon Giorno,
I covered a lot of ground today and am beginning to make more sense of the city--at least the historical center/tourist zone.  To offer an obscure literary reference: The only thing I have in common with Judith Starkadder is my love of old churches.  Naples is full of them, and many are glorious.
I began with a trip to a more local grocery store.  For one thing I was out of sweetner, but alas this one doesn't have everything I need so I'll have to make the trek to Piazza Garibaldi in a day or so.
I carefully mapped out a route that would take me past and to a lot of churches.  I bought a good map of the city yesterday, with the historical sites marked, and I took notes on where to go and what to see.  I went into seven churches--most free--some charging admission.  With one church after another (even if I don't discuss them all) reader fatigue would likely set in.
The biggest disappointment was the Museo Cappella San Severo.  I mean the Veiled Christ statue is remarkable, but it's not eight euros worth of remarkable, and while the chapel is crowded with stuff and highly decorated, I did not find it as compelling as other things I saw.
I went into San Lorenzo Maggiore to see the church, which is grand, but in a plainer Gothic style without Baroque exuberance  I may go back to visit the archeological site.
San Domenico Maggiore is huge and magnificent.  I especially liked some Late Gothic frescos by Pietro Cavallini, but many wonderful paintings of various periods are on display.  Just as I was leaving I was nearly trapped by a school party.  They looked like seventh graders and were not interested in letting me out.
The Gesu Nuovo was the grandest and most highly decorated of all.  It's truly stunning.  Packed with statuary, paintings, shrines and memorials, the church still gives an impression of order and harmony.
In contrast Santa Chiara is plain and austere inside and out--well except for the marvelous Majolica Cloister.  The walls of the cloister are frescoed, but columns and walls of beautifully hand painted scenes on majolica.  They depict everyday life out in the world and sometimes within the convent.
All these places (and I have not exhausted the sites) stand firmly in the Tourist Zone.  I used some genuinely pedestrianized streets, marked by many fewer motorcycles.  If you are in the mood to spend money on food, drink, or souvenirs Via Tribunali is the place to start.  Some is the usual tat, but I saw some truly lovely crafts and high end goods.  Also your desire for a life-size statue of the Virgin Mary can be realized.
"Everything you see, I owe to spaghetti." Not said by me but Sophia Loren (and if you are young you can just google her).  Pasta is a surprisingly contentious topic among food historians.  First of all, let's please discard that ridiculous story that Marco Polo brought noodles back from China.  The real issue is the existence and use of durum wheat, and no one really knows its origin.  But durum wheat creates dough that can be dried and kept for years, and then boiled into edibility.  But when and where?  Sicily seems to be the place that has the first records of a pasta-like something sometime in the twelfth century.  Pasta may have been developed by Arabs in North Africa--or not.  At any rate my current city of Naples is the pasta capital of the Entire Galaxy.  The best comes from here, and consumption started early and stayed strong.  The theory is Italians developed the fork because it was easier to eat hot, sauced pasta that way.  The use of the tomato had to wait until long after the Americas were discovered.
All this is to say that spaghetti pomodoro is still satisfying, especially when I doctor it up with garlic, oil, and parmesan.  And the lovely Campanian red wine to accompany.
Ciao.

Starting on the Museums of Naples

Buon Giorno,
I woke up early this morning--and I'm happy to report I've been sleeping at last--to what I thought was thunder.  Then came the sound of pouring rain.  I opened a window so I could hear it.  I wasn't quite ready to get up, so I lay in bed all snug listing to the rain fall.  It continued to fall although more gently as I had my breakfast.
By the time I was ready to go out, it had cleared and warmed up.  Ahh.  The air was so fresh and clean.  This didn't last long what with the motorcycles and cigarettes and all.
Two things I particularly wanted to see are within easy walking distance.  Both were closed yesterday, a fact of which my guide book did not inform me.  Fortunately, I found out before making futile trips.
My first stop was the Diocesan Museum at Donnaregina.  This may sound dull.  It's not! The former convent has a magnificent painted church, with polychrome marble facings.  Apart from the frescos and paintings in the chapels, there's an art gallery with everything from Late Medieval to Baroque. I had the place all to myself.  I wanted to take a zillion pictures, but photography is forbidden.  Google it, and maybe you'll get a look.
From there I walked on to visit Naples's cathedral or Duomo dedicated to San Gennaro.  Devotion to the saint remains strong among the population. Supposedly the blood contained in the relic liquifies each year to assure people he is going to protect them.  But not from motorcycles, evidently.  It's a beautiful church, and I did get to take pictures. Behind the altar is a Virgin Enthroned strongly reminiscent of Bernini.
I snooted around a so-called pedestrianized street.  It was very touristy and also infested with motorcycles and vans.  Enough of that!
I made my way to the National Archeological Museum of Naples--only slightly distracted by the market I came upon in the Piazza Cavour.  Considered the world's greatest museum of antiquities it's justly famous and popular.  I had to wait in line about forty-five minutes to get in.  Here's the drill: People show up and see the line.  They hope that it's some tour group thing and check the entrance.  Nope. It's the line for tickets with addicts having to have that one last cigarette before entry.
Wow!  The collection is amazing.  Now I happen to like antiquities, and I have seen a LOT of them, but I was still impressed beyond measure by the exhibits.
Let's begin with the statuary all of which is in remarkable condition.  Either they were found intact or have been expertly restored, i.e. no missing noses or (ahem) male parts.  Some were familiar, but I came upon a few I had not seen even photos of that were incredible.  I was so taken with a sculpture group of a man capturing a bull surrounded by children and nymphs that I dropped my ticket and had to go back to pick it up.
I needed that ticket because I had a timed entrance to a special exhibition of artifacts from Magna Graecia as the Greeks colonized extensively in the Campania and Bay of Naples.  The vases, paintings, figurines, etc. were fascinating and all in tip top condition.  We visitors had to cover our shoes with paper footies because we were walking on actual mosaics.
I'm going to Pompeii, but I got a preview because the archeologists moved the best of the Fourth Style Roman paintings to the museum.  Fourth Style is meant to mimic encaustic easel paintings for those who needed to keep up with the Metelli next door.  Other goodies from Pompeii include some fabulous mosaics.
Well, I could go on and on, but I get tired, so I've come home to apero.  I really like that Greco Tufo as late afternoon drink, and it goes well with snacks.  I hard cooked some eggs this morning, so I'm having one with the usual crostini and prosciutto crudo.
Yeah, but, Pil.  What about the rest of Naples's culinary offerings?  You're in the pizza capital of the entire galaxy for instance?  What about the pastries. Huh? Huh?
I'm going to be here for a while, and I intend to eat pizza and try a pastry or two.  But tonight we're having pasta, garlic, parmesan, and oil for dinner.  Before I used it last time, I tasted the olive oil straight. It was slightly bitter, and it made me cough, which is a good sign.  I don't buy mass produced oil by the well known companies, and I'm willing to pay a little more.  It usually works out for me.  I'm drinking Lacyrma Christi del Vesuvio with this as I like white wine with garlicky dishes and olive oil.  And for a wonder I got the Aglio et olio to work this time!
Ciao

Getting to Know Naples

Buon Giorno,
My friends will hardly recognize me when I get back.  I'll have become such a daredevil marching insouciantly into on coming traffic.  But such are the ways of a Neapolitan pedestrian. The vehicles and their drivers (and about half of them are motorcycles) aren't actively trying to kill us.  They simply don't want to stop at all and only grudgingly slow down in order to miss the target.  Now I prefer to have the cover of a traffic light or at least a crosswalk.  Makes no difference, friends.  The cars won't stop, but to be fair I've seen plenty of folks defy their own red lights and run out into the traffic.
I have two tactics that I employ with success.  One I try to cross in a crowd reasoning that they can't get us all.  Two I try to wait until there's a reasonable gap where I can step out and the driver can see me and pretend to slow down before contact is made.
I had some settling in business to take care of.  I walked back to the train station taking a longer but easier route.  I needed a map of the city, more cash, and a real grocery store.  There's Tourist Information Desk at the front of the station.  I got a map--which proved to be singularly useless.  I may have to buy one that works.  There are four sides to Piazza Garibaldi. I found my bank on the fourth side I looked.  Then I went to the big grocery store and got what I wanted.  But I had to cart it back to my apartment.  Oof.
Said apartment has elaborate security arrangements, but that means it's complex getting in and out. It usually takes me numerous tries.
Having dumped off my stuff, I thought it would do me good to get a glimpse of the Med.  I'd already had more than a glimpse of Vesuvius.  You can hardly miss the mountain looming over the countryside.  I found the metro station and bought a ticket to a stop called Toledo. Naples used to be ruled by the Spanish, so I'm guessing that's the reason.
I fetched up in a nice pedestrianized street and I walked, and walked, and walked.  Naples reminds me strongly of Nice, which should come as no surprise given Nice's Italian background and the fact that both are Mediterranean cities.  I walked down to the sea looked around and walked back again.  I licked a few windows and bought something--but you'll have to wait for it.  It was warm and the light became glaring.  I got tired walking and tired being in crowds--just citied out.
Since I can't make walking up and down streets fascinating, let's have some HISTORY!  Naples is a Greek foundation--the new city--Neapolis built next to a colony called Parthenope (dedicated to Athena?)  The Greeks were attracted to the expansive bay and the fertile hinterland and also possibly by the geological activity because it would have had religious significance.  The area became known to the Romans as Magna Grecia.
Like the rest of the peninsula, it was conquered by the Romans and the Bay of Naples became The Place for filthy rich patricians to build luxurious villas with natural geo thermic spas.  I'll be talking more about the history when I tackle Naples's two iconic foodstuffs--pizza and pasta.
In the meantime apero is crostini with a dried beef product called Bresaola della Valtellina. This sounds dull.  It's not.  To accompany we have a glass of Greco di Tufo, grown in volcanic tufa soil and especially recommended as an aperitivo with cold cuts.  It has notes of stone fruit and citrus, and I can actually taste them!
For dinner, I'm reverting to the bucatini but serving it with the classic Neapolitan tomato sauce pomodoro, and many variations on this theme exist in Naples. I added some garlic powder brought from home to the jarred sauce and some parmesano-reggiano cheese. Neapolitans took devotedly to the tomato--eventually.  Although the fruit had been introduced by the Spanish in the sixteenth century, it wasn't popular in the Campania until the late eighteenth.  To drink I have a local red called Aglianico.  Ummm.  Perfect with pasta.  I'm splashing out a bit with wine this time and spending more than usual, but really not that much.
Ciao

Roma a Napoli

Buon Giorno!
Well. I made it.  It was a fairly smooth trip, and I had a lot of help and suffered one (small) con job.
Before I begin relating my day, let me take a refreshing sip of Lacryima Christi.
Uh, Pil. That means "Tears of Christ." Just where did you get this from, and why are you drinking such a divine substance?
I got it from the grocery store, and it's the name of a local wine.  Frankly I feel a bit blasphemous drinking it, but the Italians like giving irreverent or even vulgar names to their food and drink.  The white wine is nice though.  I paid more than I usually do for wine, because I wanted to try it.
My problem this morning was that the escalators and elevators at my metro stop were out of service.  When I arrived it was not great, but it's easier for me carrying my bags upstairs because if I fall it's upward, there was only one flight of stairs.  Going down is much harder for me, and there are two flights.  A fellow American tourist took pity on my struggles and took my heavier bag down.  Then it was a smooth trip to Termini, I got my ticket and waited for my platform to be announced.
This is when I fell for the con job.  A woman came up to me and asked what I needed, and I explained.  I thought she was an employee of the railroad doing customer service.  She did indeed find out about the platform and showed me where it was.  Then she demanded a five euro tip.  I gave it to her, as an education expense for myself and to warn other travelers to beware what help you take.  But the truth is a lot of nice folks helped me out today out of the goodness of their hearts, so let's not be too cynical.
I'm a little old lady, and sometimes hefting bags onto or off trains or up into the overhead bins can be difficult.  People volunteered to lift and load, and my train seat mate sought out help for me at the end of the journey to get my suitcase down.
I had my google maps directions to my apartment. The directions made no sense to me until I actually was there and then I understood them.  The directions brought me to my destination, but then I was puzzled.  Hotel?  Where's the sign and entrance.  I wandered.  I looked and asked. Finally, I found someone who knew what I was talking about.  I went back and found the name of the hotel in tiny hand written blue ink.  I rang the bell and was admitted.
I have a Really Nice Apartment. I'm sitting in my dinning room having apero of crostini with feta and the wine.  I'm ditching the bucatini for now for capetellini which cooks a lot quicker.  I got some olive oil and I have some parmesan.  Doesn't that sound nice?
Ciao

Sunday in Rome

Buon Giorno,
I came back early due to fatigue and the desire to see a bicycle race, but I guess the site isn't authorized for this region. I can see it when I get back.  Also my room hasn't been done yet.  Sunday is the day they clean and reorganize the kitchens on each floor.  I did take off my contacts, and obviously I grabbed my computer.
Also I was wrong about no beggars on the Metro.  I encountered one today probably because it's Sunday.  A disheveled woman toting a baby entered the carriage pleading in a loud voice.  Begging must pay or people would do it, but no one in our carriage gave her anything but dirty looks.
Since I'm here, I needed some supplies, so I took a trip to the grocery store.  European laws have relaxed recently. Sunday openings except for a few businesses used to be forbidden.  Now a lot of stores are open, and groceries are usually open half of the day.  This made it easier for me as I did not have to go scrounging for fast food.  I love foreign grocery stores.  I might not buy much, but I sure do look at the goodies on offer.
I can have the rest of the Est Est Est for apero and dinner wine.  Breaking the bucatini in half worked for me, so I'll do that again.
I strolled out to the Metro and took it out to San Giovanni.  St. John Lateran, not St. Peter's, is the Cathedral of Rome, and it's a Very Impressive Church.  I visited it last time, and I wanted to see it again.  This being Sunday, a service was in progress, but one could still visit.  We had to go through security though.
I had another church in mind, too, so I went back to Termini to catch a bus.
You like living dangerously, Pil.
Maybe.  But none of the information sites I looked at mentioned this particular line doesn't run on Sundays.  I had some options.  I decided first to figure out where to get my ticket tomorrow and what information I could find as to train times.  I did this.  Trains are frequent, and apparently there's a senior discount that I can take.
Then I wandered around Termini Station, which like many train stations is chaotic, and the existence of  a big shopping center merely adds to the atmosphere of hurry and distraction.  You can get food and drink for your journey, of course, but it seems that travelers may be impulsive because an awful lot of high end brands want to sell you something to take along.
I shamelessly waltzed into a perfume shop attracted by the name Capri, which is the name of an island the in the Bay of Naples.  A quick squirt later and I emerged smelling of fresh lemon.  Very nice indeed.  I'm not going to pay the asking price to smell that way though.
I also snooted around Sephora and a couple of other stores then made my way to the Metro and home.  I'll take things up again once I can get into my room.
And here I am with my apero.  The Est times three is very nice with prosciutto crudo.  I don't eat pork at home because I like pigs as animals as well as meat.  The EU treats its food sources better than we do because of their long-tested traditions of production.
Dinner tonight is bucatini halves Bolognese.  "Real"sugo de Bologna is rich, slow cooked, meat heavy, fatty, and very, very involved.  I pulled this off the grocery store shelf, so not authentico.  But our taste buds should be the judge.
So here's judging.  This is an industrialized mass produced product.  That doesn't mean it's bad.  I like it just fine.  Just don't expect what Nonna used to make.  And Est times 3 is not the optimal wine to have with it.  Try a slightly sweet, slightly sparkling Lambrusco.  Really.
Ciao

Renaissance Rome

Buon Giorno,
After a largely sleepless night, I did better today than I thought I would. I'm tired, but it's not the down deep to the bone exhaustion I felt yesterday.
I've had some water, and taken off my shoes and contact lenses. Time for apero!  Prosecco is refreshing on a hot afternoon.  To eat I have my crostini spread with hummus.  Ok. That's not exactly authentico, but I like hummus for breakfast, but I need to use it up.  It's actually nice with the sparkling wine.
I set off having made some fruitful plans to visit a villa park on the Janiculum Hill. Then I would walk down said hill to the Villa Farnesina.  I'd been to the latter before and was eager to see it again.  Then I would take a bus or tram or something to connect with a metro line and pick up some cash at my bank's foreign partner on the way home.
I asked at reception, and the nice young lady told me a bus would take me to the park.  Google maps, confirmed the existence of the bus only with a different number.  I set out in search of the bus stop.  I hunted in both directions on the main drag, and I found bus stops, but none with the right number or stops. Bus stops in Rome helpfully list the stops you can expect.  I walked so far I got to the next Metro stop.
Well, phooey on this, I said.  I'll just go get cash and then visit Villa Farnesina.  Yesterday when I was in the neighborhood the bank practically leaped out in front of me.  Today--I couldn't find it.  I tried different streets.  I retraced my steps.  I decided to give up.  Then the bank magically appeared in front of my eyes.  The Bankomats are smart.  I insert my American ATM card and the instructions automatically appear in English.
Then I strolled down to the Tiber and voluntarily got on a bus.
Gasp!  Really, Pil?
Yup.  Remember the signs list the stops, and I knew which one I wanted.  It was a quick and easy ride. I hopped off, found the entrance, and bought my ticket.
Villa Farnesina was the brainchild and pleasure house of Agostino Chigi, who was rich and well connected enough to afford the services of Raphael and his studio.  The house itself is small, but exquisite. The decorations in pure High Renaissance style are impressive.  Of course, the most famous is the Galatea Fresco, which has always been one of my favorites, but the rest is worth seeing as well.
This time around I got a bonus.  A special exhibition of Leonardo's influence on Raphael and others appeared.  Moreover, the Villa had acquired a very informative audio guide tour, and more of the rooms opened to the public.  I spent a very worthwhile time.
Leaving the Villa I walked down the street and under an arch and found myself in Trastavere, a charming section of Rome that manages to be both touristy and a real neighborhood.  I strolled around for a bit--resisting the touristy bits.  Then I voluntarily got on another bus--one that would take me to Termini where I could get the Metro home.
The Romans have exemplary Metro manners.  No one sprawls or spreads if a fellow passenger needs a seat.  For some reason they never eat or drink on the trains, and they conduct themselves with quiet restraint.  Any noisy person is most likely to be a tourist.  Of course, like most humans these days, they are in thrall to their cell phones, but the carriages are mercifully free of beggars and buskers.
I stopped on the way to pick up some wine. I wanted Est Est Est!, which I enjoyed last time I was here.  White wine is not the best with tomato based sauce, but I didn't care for Latin reds, and also being a Californian, I like my wine chilled beyond any temperature a European could tolerate.  I picked up a cheapo DOG bottle, and I figured I'd get what I paid for.  Actually it's ok--a bit sweet, but that might help with the tomato based sauce.  Obviously I can't drink the whole bottle, but if no one else wants it, it was so cheap, I won't mind pouring it out.
And I confess that I wimped out on the bucatini.  I snapped the strands in half.  Although it's good, it's also too hard to cook and eat otherwise.  I also loaded on the sauce because I needed to use it up.
Ciao!

St. Peter's

Buon Giorno!
You may have noticed a glaring omission in my last trip to Rome--one that I remedied today.  I visited the Basilica San Pietro.
I wanted to last time, but the four hour line was daunting.  This time I got smart and booked an audio guide tour that let me skip the line.
I am still exhausted and jet lagged.  I got between four and five hours of sleep and still woke up bone tired, but one thing about coming back to a place is that I know where things are and how to get around.  My first stop was the local grocery store.
I must have presented as a clueless American because the nice grocery clerk spoke to me in English.
Now that I am marginally more aware of my surroundings I realized my apartment has a balcony, and that there are instructions to label food and drink in the kitchen.  After my trip to the grocery store, I obtained labels from Reception, labeled my food, and put it in my room's section of the refrigerator.
Then I walked to the metro and got a transport pass.
Now this audio guide tour has no precise time. You show up between A hour and B hour, so I had some leeway.  Impulsively I took the metro out to Flaminio to say hi to the Caravaggios at Santa Maria del Populo.  I also had my first (of many today) opportunities to ignore a beggar.  Caravaggio's wonderful, unconventional take on The Conversion of St. Paul stands opposite the Crucifiction of Peter.  Both are marvelous, and I enjoy seeing art in its "natural setting"rather than a museum.
Speaking of which, and since it was a day for Baroque, it was time for me to go to St. Peter's to admire Bernini.
First one needs to get from the metro stop to the Vatican.  This involved dodging touts.  I swear, the next time I come here, I'm going to be wearing a t shirt proclaiming,"I've already Booked my Tour."  It's the only thing that slows them down.  And then one swims against the tide of tour groups.
Eventually I fetched up at Bernini's sweeping double colonnade of Tuscan columns and found my check in point.  I was given a sticker and directed to the next stop.  Getting in was fast and easy.  The nice young lady at the desk set my phone up for me, and I was launched.
The interior of the basilica is magnificently beautiful and remarkably harmonious in its grandeur.  I soon tired of the audio guide.  I knew what I was looking at, and the guide gave me little real information.  It was pious rather than art historical.  I abandoned it and just wandered and looked.
Bernini didn't design or build St. Peter's but the whole church breathes his spirit.  He wanted to render religious power and awe in material form. Good job, Gian Lorenzo!  I think you did it.
The Baldacchino or canopy over the high altar is huge and nearly overwhelming with its spiraling columns and ornament.  At the apse sits Bernini's Cathedra Petri arranged so heavenly light shines on the papal throne supported by the Four Doctors of the Church.  Apparently Bernini enclosed the original wooden seat or cathedra in his bronze version.
It's not all Bernini.  Other art treasures adorn the church, but the one you'll really want to see is Michelango's Pieta.  It is both beautiful and touching.
But in the midst of this, I had to seek out facilities.  I had to wait in line for the women's toilet far longer than it look me to enter the church.  Of course there was no corresponding line for the men's bathroom.
By the end of my visit I was really tired and needed to come home. Fortunately my room had been done, so I could take my shoes and contacts off.
Apero is some whole wheat crostini with prosciutto crudo, and the package assures me that the latter was made without gluten or dairy.  It's still delicious.  Even supermarket brands are far better than what we can find at home. I got some fancy Prosecco, since the day promised to be warm.  It's pretty nice.
Dinner involves bucatini, a pasta Romans like, but which may be hard to find.  Think macaroni elongated to look like spaghetti with a hole in it.  It is the traditional vehicle for sugo All' Amatriciana, a favorite of the Romans and visitors even though it was invented elsewhere.  It's a tomato based sauce most authentically made with pork cheek or guancale, but Americans can get away with using pancetta.  While going on the metro I passed some ads with enticing looking bowls of the stuff to put me in the mood. It's somewhat messy to eat but very good!
Ciao

Return to Rome

Bona Sera!
On the train into the city, I saw a poor, benighted soul trying to recharge his cell phone using a North American plug.  Seriously?  It's tacky to shame ignorance, but every single guide book in the galaxy on line or off explains about the need for adaptors and has illustrations.  These things are easy and affordable from Amazon, and the traveler in need can find them abroad, but the merchants know how to soak desperate travelers.
I had a smooth trip out--it was just long, involved, and tiring. I'm dehydrated, but I have a nice bottle of sparkling San Pellegrino water and a snack.
I've finally joined the second decade of the Twenty-first Century.  I dumped the unreliable ride share van for a ride hailing service.  Easy Peasy.  I had a quick, comfortable ride to the airport.
Once there I was directed to the express lane of security, and it took only five minutes to get through--and that included having my hands swabbed.  I don't need to be so anxious about leaving home early now.
My seat mates on both flights were pleasant.  The cabins were quiet.  I flew LAX to Munich in Premium Economy, which is nice.  I dozed briefly, but didn't really sleep.  Right now I'm jet lagged to the point where I have a hard time understanding what people say to me.  Nothing was hard--it was just really, really, really long, and I am not as young as I used to be.
The pilot on the Munich-Rome flight was a joker, and he had us all in stitches.
I believed I got a deal on my apartment, and it's fine, but now I know why it was cheaper.  There's a communal kitchen.  I'm not excited about this, but it looks like the visitors are responsible.  I didn't see piles of dirty dishes or left overs, and we all get a section of the refrigerator to ourselves.  It should be fine.  I keep early hours anyway.  I just need to be careful not to disturb my neighbors when I make breakfast--which may not be all that early tomorrow anyway.
I'll be here a few days before leaving for Naples.  I have some unfinished business with the City.
Ciao

Nice was Nice!

Bon jour, mes amies,

I am greeting you from Heathrow Airport Terminal 3.  My trip here was smooth, and I hope the next legs of my journey goes well.
I was very sorry to leave Nice.  I enjoyed a gracious welcome and a pleasant stay in the beautiful city, and I loved exploring the area despite the dirty weather.  I get into such French habits quickly.  If no traffic is coming we feel free to cross against the lights, and I also I find that South of France drivers are courteous to pedestrians.
The weather turned again.  I checked out and had a hike to where I could get the airport bus.  I looked on line and saw wildly optimistic estimations of how long it took to get through security, so I'm glad I opted to get to the airport early.
At check in the airline was refusing carry on bags to some travelers.  I was prepared to fight.  I have a connecting flight, and I did not want my carry on checked through to LAX.  You can try prying my laptop from my cold, dead hand, but you still won't get it away from me.  Fortunately, my bag was cleared for carry on with no issue.
I found a Pret a Manger, which is probably my favorite fast food outlet and spent some Euros on a wrap.  I ate half on the plane and half here, and I'm glad I got it in France.  For one thing I had Euros, for another the Pret in Terminal Three seems to have vanished.
Oddly passport control in Nice was after security and duty free and right before the gates.  One family was very anxious as they had heard the final call for their flight and the line was slow.  I told them to go ahead of me (Travelers' Code: We help each other.), and they were absurdly grateful.  I hope they made their flight.  And speaking of Travelers' Code, I am grateful to the gentlemen who offer to lift my carry on bag up and down from the overhead bins.
Before I close I want to express some profound sympathy for my former host country France on the fire damage done to Notre Dame de Paris.  The video of the spire falling is horrifying, and I hope that the rebuilding goes quickly and well.
Thank you for sharing my journey!
Au revoir.

Monaco Part II: Le Rocher

Bon jour, mes amies,

I'm back a bit later because it's a lovely, warm day, and I had some errands to do after my day trip.  I don't know if it's Mondays in general or the Monday after Palm Sunday that is such a big travel day, but the stations and the trains were packed.  I arrived at the station in what I thought was plenty of time, but the ticket office seemed really backed up.  I missed the train I wanted by minutes.  Oh well, another will come along.  And it was packed!  People were standing in the aisle, and the announcement that there were pickpockets on board did not help matters.
I took a different exit out of Monaco's train station and followed the signs. It was a fair walk to Le Rocher--the Rock of Monaco, and then I had to climb the thing, but fortunately my trip has put me in decent shape as most places in the Mediterranean are pretty vertical.
I walked through the charming old town to the Palace and got my ticket, which includes the audio guide.  Most of the palace is closed to visitors as it is the official residence of the Grimaldi Family, and they actually do live there.  The State Apartments are worth a visit.  I've seen grander palaces, but I liked this one.  It's very Italian in style of architecture and decoration, but the connection of the Principality with the French Crown is emphasized.  The Grimaldis still being in charge of the place, you can't expect any dirt to be dished, so the commentary is mostly about the decor.  The rooms are beautifully decorated with some rather marvelous furnishings.
After using one of the copious, clean, and free toilets I proceeded to the Oceanographic Museum.  It's housed in a magnificent Nineteenth Century Building, but the real action is downstairs in the Aquarium.  There's a reason it attracts such crowds. The fishy exhibits are amazing and quite beautiful.  The Grimaldi Family has always sponsored oceanic research and has made environmental protection one of their causes.
By this time I'd had my fill of walking and climbing about, but I had provided myself with a bus ticket and rode the bus through the city to the station.
What?  No visit to the famed Casino?
Apparently it's quite beautiful, but no.  I have no comprehension of the pleasures of gambling.  I respect money, and the effort it takes to get it, too much to treat the stuff like a toy.
The trip back home went smoothly, and I am enjoying my dinner of pasta with tomato sauce and rose.
I'm leaving tomorrow (sigh) just as the weather has turned spring like.
A demain

A Hard but "Nice" Day Shopping

Bon jour, mes amies,

I normally do my shopping the day before I leave, but I have other plans for tomorrow, and the market will be closed on Monday, so today I gathered my euros and shopping bag and set forth.  Ground zero for tourist shopping--and I am a tourist, so that's how I shop--is, of course the Vielle Ville and Cours Saleya.  It was cool and partly cloudy, but still a fine day for shopping, and it seemed that every tourist in Nice had the same idea I did.
The streets of the old town are narrow, and most of the shops are small, but what really gets clogged are the aisles in the outdoor market. This is true of every market I have attended.  People are looking.  They stop. They take photos or just stand and chat.  Pet owners have to pick up their tiny dogs and carry them, so they don't get trampled.  Fortunately no one was smoking today. Maybe this is a new market etiquette that has developed.
I had a good look around scouting out the things I thought my friends would like that are typical of the area.  I covered a lot of ground and got some good walking in as well.  I found what I was looking for although some of it took a bit of hunting.  I paid cash.  Some market stall owners will take credit cards, but even the regular shop keepers have a price minimum below which they will not.
I asked at Reception about the reed weaving I saw done.  She had never heard of it--or possibly I was not describing it well because she thought it might be non-European immigrants.  No. The people involved were definitely Europeans of some sort.  I saw a lot being done today, and I am almost certain it's a traditional craft for Palm Sunday.  A stand had been set up on front of one of the churches, and some monks were doing the braiding.  The shapes are very pretty.  I also saw people carrying olive branches because that's their version of the "palm," even though actual palm trees are abundant in this climate zone.  People do the same in Italy, and I wonder if it's the same in Spain and Greece.
I came back a bit early because a major cycling race is on today--the Hell of the North more commonly known as Paris-Roubaix, which is a one day race and difficult and therefore valued because of the stretches of rough cobblestones.  I've never ridden a bike on cobblestones.  It seems awful to me, and this race features many flat tires, crashes, and ditch landings.  To brag a bit I understand cycling terms in six languages.  How's that for dedication?
One of the things I did was stop by my favorite food stand Chez Theresa for a pan bagnat.  This will provide a hearty and refreshing dinner after my exertions.  I eat the olives first because of the pits.
And bleah.  It's turned cold and nasty again.  I needed to put the heat on in my apartment, and rain is falling.
A demain

Return to Villefranche-sur-Mer

Bon jour, mes amies,

The forecast was for rain and cold, so I planned to go to Monaco and do indoor activities, but the day dawned bright and sunny, and I didn't need my layers when I went grocery shopping, so I decided to take the bus to Villefranche-sur-Mer.  I liked the place, and I was determined to see the Chapelle St. Pierre.
The approach to Villefranche by bus is much different than by train and far more scenic.  The bus stops at the top of the town, and the tourist action is near the port, so what goes down must inevitably come up again.  I got a lot of exercise.  It's good for me.
I lucked into a Marche Provencal in one of the squares.  I didn't buy anything, but it's fun to look.  This one seemed to cater to tourists rather than locals though.
I followed the (misleading) signs for the Tourist Office.  Now I did eventually find it by accident because the location was not anywhere near where the signs were pointing and in fact the location was in the opposite direction the signs indicated. Odd.
Since it was a gorgeous weekend day, Villefranche's old town was crowded.  I love prowling the streets and looking in touristy shops, but a couple of times I got stuck behind a smoker.  It seems to me that fewer people smoke now or fewer people do in public.  The EU has mounted a years-long anti smoking campaign, and they have recently added anti vaping.
I also want to note that Villefranche has nice public toilets, and they are free.  Nice has plenty of public toilets, too, and they are fine, but they cost fifty euro cents.
I found the Chapelle de St. Pierre.  It's a Romanesque gem, a small chapel dedicated to the patron saint of fishermen, and if you know anything about the Gospels, it makes sense that this is St. Peter himself.  I found the exterior very Italianate.  It's highly decorated but the decorations are not "traditional."  The exterior and interior designs were done by Jean Cocteau.
Yes. That Jean Cocteau.  I know his cinematic work the best.  Beauty and the Beast is magical! But he was also a poet, novelist--and it turns out a brilliant designer and artist.  He was the friend to all the artistic elite of the early Twentieth Century, but his closest relationship--the nature of which is still ambiguous--was with Raymond Radiguet. When his friend died leaving Cocteau devastated,  he came to Villefranche-sur-Mer to find some peace.  He also began to renew his spiritual life.
In the late 1950s he persuaded the town government to let him restore and decorate the Chapelle de St. Pierre.  Photography is forbidden to the visitor, but you can find photos on line, and I encourage you to have a look.  Cocteau created fresh looking, direct representations of scenes from the life of St. Peter as well as references to local life and customs.  I found the simple yet compelling frescos both beautiful and moving.
But then I faced the steep climb up the hill to the bus stop.  It had turned hot and humid, and I even took off my sweater. But the ride back was refreshing enough and the weather so pleasant, I walked back from the bus stop through the parks.  I see through my window that it's clouded over again, which does not surprise me given how humid it became.
I was very hungry when I got home--thirsty, too, but I always drink water.  I'm having a big apero of rillettes on one slice of toast, and Rocamador goat cheese on another.  Both are divine.
A demain

Port-St-Jean-Cap-Ferrat: Woodland and Coastal Walk

Bon jour, mes amies,

My tram stop to come home is right in front of Galeries La Fayette, so I came home scented with a fresh tuberose with some herbal background.  Nice job, Guerlain.
Well, we got up to 16C today, which was actually a comfortable 61F as long as I kept moving.  The clouds were thin, and the sunshine was weak, but I thought it would be a good day to return to St-Jean-Cap-Ferrat and see the port and walk around a bit.  I figured even if the weather turned nasty the bus ride there and back would be scenic.
St.-Jean-Cap-Ferrat is known as a haven for gazillionaires, but the town is pretty and unpretentious and I walked through a neighborhood that housed ordinary folks.  But as I started to climb away from the port, I began to pass walled compounds.  It was very quiet.  The roads are two way streets, but so narrow that only one vehicle can pass at a time.
I came upon the Jardin de la Paix which leads to one of the walks around the peninsula. One thing I love to do and had missed so far is a woodland walk.  I don't count my strolls through olive groves, but the path took me through lush Mediterranean forest.  All I could hear was the slosh of the waves on the shore, the hum of insects, and the chirping of birds.
I emerged at the end of the cape where I learned from a sign (I don't speak French, but I can mostly read it) that the cape got its name "Ferrat" from the rugged nature of its coastline, and indeed the evidence was right before me.  Jagged rocks jut out into the sea at every turn.
The walk is flat and not difficult, but the path can be very uneven and not to be attempted in sandals or flimsy shoes.
I went most of the way around and then turned inland to have a look at the Chapel de St.-Hospice.  I ended up not knowing where I was.  Having been in this situation before, I know to keep going, and presently I climbed high enough to catch a glimpse of the port, so I knew which direction to go.  I passed the Plage Paloma, a pretty beach popular in warmer weather.  No one was there today as far as I could tell.
This was a good way to spend the day.  My eyes were filled with beauty, and I enjoyed the fresh salt air of the sea.  All that walking worked up an appetite, so it's time for some achoiade and rose.  Then I'm going to wash my hair.
A demain

Damp and Cold

Bon jour, mes amies,

It got all the way up to 15C this afternoon.  That's 59F for you Americans.  The United States really needs to convert to metric.  I'm on my way to being bi measurement.
I had some chores to do this morning, getting cash, recycling, buying groceries, and then I set out hoping that it would warm up and stay dry and that I could get on a bus or train or something.  Nope on both.  Then I discovered my umbrella was broken.  Fortunately although wonky, it still functioned.
Even though I did not go anywhere in particular, I did walk a lot as I enjoy the city, and I worked up an appetite.  I'm having a rather rich apero.  I toasted some bread and on one slice I have some creamy goat cheese.  On the other I have rillettes de poulet.  Rillettes are one of those traditional country dishes born of the necessity of conserving food.  The most authentic kind are made with pork.  You can do this at home by cooking the heck out of a chicken or some other meat then stewing the meat in fat and adding salt and pepper or other herbs and spices should you fancy them.  The chicken or other meat should be pounded or processed into a paste.  Then you can pack it in a container and cover it with more fat if you wish to keep it for a while.  It's really good!  I don't bother making rillettes at home because I can always come to France.
So I just walked around licking windows and going in and out of stores.  In Sephora I sniffed something called Costa Azzura.  How cool, I thought, squirting myself liberally, Cote d'Azur in Italian.  Phew.  Nasty!  I was sorry immediately.
I walked around the fancy shopping mall.  It's a lot like those in the United States even unto the Starbucks, which was packed.  European shopping malls offer wifi, and I saw a lot of folks taking shelter from the weather and playing with their phones.  Most of the stores are about clothing, but candy is also big.  The Nissards are preparing for an Easter sugar orgy.  The displays in candy stores--and oh are they beautiful--are of giant chocolate eggs, bunnies, and ducklings.  The mall stores are chains with electronics, books, furniture--whatever you fancy.  One store I always like going in is called Nature Decoverte.  It's got everything from travel gear to boutique toiletries to educational material.
Then I trammed up to the Marche Liberation, which was much less crowded on a rainy weekday.  It's huge and makes no concessions to tourists.  I was enthralled and a bit grossed out by the fish stands.  The Mediterranean Diet is fishy, and I eat a lot of fish at home, but the variety and the--er--natural state of said fish was overwhelming.  What do you fancy?  Finned fish by the dozens were laid out.  Shell fish.  Crabs.  I even saw octopus.  All of these creatures had their full body parts including eyes.  I'm a fillet--please don't have what I'm eating look like it was once a real live animal--sort of fish eater.  Or give me fish in cans.  Or achoiade.
Something else I noticed that surprised me.  In Paris the market rule is "Ne toucher pas."  Do not touch the product.  The vendor will chose for for or pick up what you point at.  I have found this the case in other markets in other countries.  In Nice the buyers were picking out, i.e. touching their own tomatoes, peppers, etc.
Since it had warmed up all the way to 15C I decided to walk home in the rain, and I came across something else I had not seen before.  On one block some older woman had set up stands.  They'd cut reeds and braided them into elaborate and beautiful patterns and shapes and were creating more.  What an interesting skill.  It must be traditional to the region, and I wondered if this was another Easter preparation.
A demain