Sexy vs. Love

I had asked Laura, the very friendly and helpful manager at the Palazzo Rosenthal Hotel to arrange for a taxi to go into Naples from Pompeii in the evening. When Laila and I came down a few more guests had arrived. There were some couples and one man, tall, salt and pepper hair, beautifully tailored suit, holding his impeccably folded overcoat on his arm. He was one of those older (early to mid-50's tops) wearily elegant, handsome Italian men, female American tourists fantasize about when they visit Italy.

We headed towards the door for our cab.

Laura: "This is your taxi driver. Enzo, very dependable."

This was our cab driver. Oh my.

He was delighted to meet us, of course and we sat in the little restaurant, arguing about the cost of spending the evening in Naples, and of visiting Pompeii the next day before being dropped off in Naples to catch the train back to Rome.

How does one haggle with a man in an Armani suit who drives a silver Mercedes E-320? But I did. Badly.

After spending the day crammed in coach, then rushing from the airport to Roma Termini to catch the train to Naples, and then from Naples on the crowded Circumvesuviana train (where neither deoderant nor perfume has ever entered), this was bliss.

We were driven to and picked up from various places around Naples, before being taken to a restaurant by the sea.

"You like pizza?"

Who doesn't?

"You ask for pizza margherita with fresh tomaato and buffalo mozzarella. That is my taste. Very good."

O.K.

"I come in with you and tell them." He did, and we ate pizza and it was fabulous. The best.

The next day as we sat down (nursing our aching feet after walking the dead, cobbled streets of Pompeii) on some lawn chairs drinking freshly squeezed orange juice, he appeared at our agreed-upon time. When we had arrived that morning he took us in, and almost everyone at the entrance said out loud:"Enzo."

Apparently he was a celebrity cabbie.

"I ask you a question since you are woman. And womans are very complex. Not like us."

He was in love with a woman named Roberta but he came on too strong so she dumped him for someone else. He told her he would remain her friend forever, but his "heart, it cannot be stopped. It love her."

"I love her you know. Not just for sexy...I can get that from other womans. But I love her."

She had just sent him an SMS wishing him a merry christmas. What should he do?

Play it cool, I said. Let her do some work. Perhaps you like her because she is hard to get.

"Yes, that's it," he exlaimed, "I cannot have her heart. So I want her more. That's it. She say to me, 'Enzo, you a great lover. You can have my body, but not my heart or my soul.' So I want her more."

I felt like I was in a Latin telenovella. The overwrought emotions, the passion, the handsome, silver-haired rake, the mysterious, beautiful Roberta. All I needed to do was to fan myself and swoon.

That, my friends, is indeed, amore. But I am glad to be home, in temperate Switzerland, where I don't play agony aunt to romantic cabbies. Or am I? There is something that comes alive in places like Italy. And yes, in India, where emotions are out there, writ large. And life has a bit more color, more passion. And where the difference between sexy and love is blazed across the sky at dusk.

Another Year in Pompeii

My niece and I went to Pompeii over the Christmas weekend. How best to celebrate the winter solstice, the made-up birthday of Jesus, and shopping mania...than by visiting a city killed by an erupting volcano?

I had seen it in pictures and it seemed like a small place....some houses, some public buildings, that's it. But this really is a city. A city with no people, no life, left in ruins. It almost reminded me of New York City in I am Legend that I recently watched.

The walls are standing. In some places I walked past the entrance, around where large vats were sunk into the ground that once held soup, food, and drinks...ancient restaurants. I went into stores that once must have been redolent with the scent of spices and the rustle of silk. Into lavish homes with elegant pillars, immense reception rooms, internal gardens and beautiful fountains.

Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. What once was a proud city, with streets, a department of weights and measures, a temple dedicated to Jupiter, public squares and government buildings is now a desolate, abandoned shell still squarely in the sights of the killer that decimated it.

When will Vesuvius strike again. It looks large against the bright blue Italian sky, wreathed in mists and clouds that wind around its cratered peak. And yet we know it rumbles still. Still you can peer around its edge and smell the sulphur, see the bellows of smoke.

It's alive. An ancient, natural force that when pitted against man's hubris of claiming its land came up the victor.

So I wander through Pompeii, outside the normal tourist season, occasional raindrops sprinkling my skin, and in those empty streets I see the fate of my own transitory existence.

Here today! Gone tomorrow! In a flash! The tormented faces of the plaster casts of its ancient victims scream at me, frozen with fear, but yet so animated that I could reach out and touch them.

This was a home once, where children played. And there, a furtive couple kisses away from gazing eyes. There was commerce and life and everything must have seemed forever. Just as it does for us.

But Pompeii makes me stop. And look. And observe. And know...really know...this, all this around me is pure illusion. What is reality? It is the look on the stone face of someone who has seen death and destruction...but who in some semblance lives on, observing this new life that has sprung up around him. And he laughs as the sun dips low over the horizon.

Another year in Pompeii. Another blip in time.

Happy New Year All!

La Italia

Yes...I am off to Rome and Naples on my way to Pompeii, so no posts for a couple of days. I've always wanted to see Pompeii...since I was a child and saw some pictures of it. Hope my fascination remains after actually going there.

Merry Christmas everyone and hope you had a wonderful Eid.

Naina in Torino

A month or so ago I drove to Torino (Turin), Italy from Geneva. A three-hour long drive takes you through the Jura and then the Alps, where you cross over into Italy after driving through the Mont Blanc tunnel. The tunnel itself is about 8 miles long and while the French side was grey and overcast (being on the windward side of the mountain) Italy welcomed us wiht blue skies and perfect weather. I don't think I had ever realized the truism of the immutable fact that mountains create their own weather.


I am still not over the fact that in two hours I can drive through three countries. As usual Naina was along for the ride though I don't think the scenery impressed her much. Nor did Turin. While my mom-in-law went inside the church and the museum I relaxed by walking around the ruins of an old Roman amphitheater and then in the piazza, which was jam packed with people.

There was a protest against China: No Human Rights No Olympics. A fair trade I'd say? Of course, that's not going to happen. A group of kids went from speaking Italian to singing American pop songs with a perfect American accent and back again. The Rasta kids on the other side of the piazza were high on life and hash.

The piazza was full of families and their dogs. And, then there was Naina. At one time there was a group of at least a dozen kids and grown ups waiting to pet her. She was in seventh doggie heaven. I love the mutt but I can't understand the fascination my little husky/shepherd mix engenders in people. (Two weeks ago a woman in Geneva turned twice after passing us then wanted to know where she could buy one like her. She's a rescue from S. Central L.A I told her and I am not even sure if the rest of her litter mates look like her). A young Italian couple just came over to sit next to me so they could play with her. Two little babies sat on the ground and rubbed her belly. This is what a rock star's security guard must feel like...except of course for the tummy rubbing thing.

So, here you are, even though no one asked, Naina in Turin. Hey, you can't pet the shroud...but petting her is free though I am thinking of charging 2 francs per person. :-)

Coins in the Fountain

The last time I visited Rome was seven years ago when we live in Connecticut. At 11 am on a Friday, I returned from the dentist and B said, "hey, let's have lunch in Rome tomorrow."

I threw in some clothes in a bag and with two other friends of ours we drove like bats out of hell (only the bats are slower) to T.F. Green (about an hour's drive which we made in like 40 minutes) and went to Rome for the weekend.

It was strangely surreal. We were tired and jetlagged and lost track of time. Our friend, M, said, "hey, remember the day we arrived?" We were like, "uh, you mean this morning?"

It was a wonderful weekend, especially because it was such a rare thing. Some people commended me for putting up with my husband like I was some long-suffering wife. Hello!!! I traveled by myself for months in the Indian Himalayas and backpacked through India with my best friend for three months.

I resented being cast as the dutiful, indulgent wife when I could barely wait to throw my clothes into my bag and take off.

I am thinking of Rome because this past weekend was spent there. This time the flight was just about an hour, there was no jetlag and it was insanely hot (yes, me with my heat intolerance and these summer vacations in hot places. wtf?).

Still....Rome was beautiful. The eternal city, alive and lovely at every turn. Built on the sweat of slaves and the blood of millions, it has a certain weary aura and an undeniable mystique. I prefer Rome to Paris. I think it's a more soulful city...and there was very little dog poop on the streets.

The last time we couldn't visit the Sistine Chapel (this time I spent a lot of time there) or the Trevi fountain (I am not much for customs that consist of me tossing money into water).

But there it was, this amazing, beautiful fountain, gushing water on an evening the air was so still and thick I could swallow the heat. And the spray from the water cooled my face and I dipped my hands and arms in it and for an instant got some respite from the furnace of Rome.

I threw in these coins: half a Swiss franc, a US dime, a 20 cent Euro coin and a 50 paise coin: all my homes (well the Euro is more neighbor but you get the point).

Even though I was back in Rome despite not having thrown a coin in the Trevi the last time, this time I wanted to be sure I would return (not in summer though).

I also wanted to be sure that I would also go back to the other places that hold places of my heart. Places where I have left pieces of my heart.

Arriverderci Roma!