Laying It All Bare

I have been contemplating writing again for quite some time.  But somehow the things that are in my head seem much more private than they ever have been before.  I was always a girl that put it all out there.  No holding back and pretty stinkin' transparent.  I've wondered outside of the superficial Facebook type posts just how real I wanted to be on here.  What do I want this blog to be?  Do I want to lay it all bare for just anyone? I know that the things that sometimes got me through the toughest times were the books and blogs of those that have gone before me and laid it all out there.  Sometimes the authors of those books were the only people in the world that understood right where I was.  I remember some days weeping in gratitude that someone would be so bold as to share the most intimate details of their darkest days because it meant I wasn't alone. 

I guess at the end of the day I need to make a decision.  Do I want to hide and keep to myself all the things God has shown me over the last several years? Or do I want to use these experiences God allowed in my life to encourage, to uplift, and to give hope?  Sure I can travel to Italy by myself but do I have the courage to do this?

The Road to Positano

I had heard by all who have travelled it of the harrowing ride through the Amalfi coast with its hairpin turns and cliffed edges that drop straight down what appears to be thousands of feet to the churning waters below.  After my near death experience in Rome with my sleepy taxi driver I was quite nervous to get in a taxi on that kind of road.  I thought for sure we would fly right off the edge of a cliff like the Fiat commercial.

Luckily, my new friend Carmine, the taxi driver that took me to the hotel in Naples, gave me his card and told me to call him and he would get me safely to Positano.  And that he did.  He told me to sit in the front seat with him so I could see better and we began our journey.  We tried and tried to converse but my Italian was as broken as his English and at one point he handed me his iPhone with the translator on it so we could effectively communicate.

I wasn't quite sure how far it was but it got more and more beautiful the farther we drove. The terrain changed from dirty graffitied buildings with hanging laundry and dead bushes to breathtaking cliff side ocean views out my window and stunning greenery and grey rock walls jutting up into the sky out the other.  Every corner we turned I gasped in awe and Carmine kept saying, "Just wait...just wait".  And when I had my head turned to look out his window he would slow the car and say, "Look!" and point out of mine.  At one point he stopped the car and made me let him take a picture with me in it.  He said, "take the opportunity, bella."

Here's the result of "the opportunity"

The closer we got to Positano the skinnier the roads got.  At some points they were hardly big enough for a car and a motorcycle to pass by each other.  But somehow everyone managed without a scratch.  I knew we were getting close as a cliff side restaurant appeared here and there and dress shops with soft flowing dresses hung outside the doors.  The streets were very clean and bright colored flowers were everywhere.  Bright fuchsia bougainvillea wrapped itself around doorways and up walls.  Huge lemons weighed down the branches of the lemon trees that dotted the mountainside.  Open windows framed with shutters and window boxes full of pansies and hibiscus and vinca were everywhere.  Old heavy wooden doors set in plastered walls were the entrances to the villas that were somehow built into the stone wall of the cliff side.  And all of it facing out over the turquoise waters of the Amalfi coast.  It still takes my breath away when I think of it.

View from the road above

And I still hadn't even arrived yet.  Carmine drove me as far as he could, as far as cars were allowed and said I would have to walk the rest of the way as the road is too narrow for cars and it becomes pedestrian only.  There was a little parking area where the bell hops from the hotels are called and meet you to take your luggage and lead you down the winding paths to your hotel.  Carmine made sure I was safe, kissed me on both cheeks, and we bid adieu to one another.  He really was a little gift from God because I was nervous about the ride and I ended up feeling safe the whole time.  So far, so good and think I am in love with Positano.







Me and Carmine

La Mia Fortuna

Today, I did something I swore I would never do.  As I was slowly strolling around the streets of Rome, I came around a corner and there was a little old Italian man sitting there advertising that he could read fortunes.  At first I smiled and walked past him as I thought the devil would fly inside of me if I even walked too close.  But as I took a few more steps I thought that was impossible and decided to have a little fun with it.  Besides, he was wearing a necklace with the quintessential plastic Italian chili peppers to ward off the evil spirits and had a horseshoe on the table so I figured we were both okay.

As I sat down he was saying bella, bella, bellisima bella.  He was apparently overwhelmed by my beauty.  Being the skeptic I am, I was certain it was all for a bigger tip.  But I played along without giving him any information so he would have ammunition to generalize my future.  I wanted the real deal, the whole shebang.

He gently took my hand in his and the only questions he asked me were where I was from and how old I was.  I answered California and 38 to which he nearly fell down off the back of his chair.  "Oh no, no, bella.  No si e 38!  California is good to you!"  As he kissed his fingers and raised them to the sky.  Totally shmoozing me at this point.  Hey, I'll let him.  Who doesn't want to feel beautiful and young, no?  Anyway, he began to hover his hand over my forearm and down onto my hand, he went over each finger one at a time and then went back up to my forearm and gently wiped down from my forearm and out to the ends of my fingers explaining something about energy I couldn't understand.  I didn't care though the good part was coming.  I don't understand when my Chinese acupuncturist talks about my chi either and I don't care as long as his unwinding of my chi makes me poop more regularly.

He began by looking at the palm of my hand and started telling me about my life.  He said I was in business.  An owner and I would be very profitable.  This guy is quickly becoming my new best friend.  He said that would go on and on but that sometime in the next year I would be starting a new career, something in addition to what I am doing now.  Okay, I can go with that.  That is entirely possible.  Then it starts getting weird.  He said, "Si scrivera un libro."  You will write a book.  An autobiography.  How could he possibly know I have wanted to do that for many years and have pages and pages of journal notes for this yet unwritten book?

Next, he moves on to my health.  He turned my hand over and said I have too much stress which affects my stomach.  He told me I need to slow down.  WAIT....WHAT?  How the heck could he know that by looking at the back of my hand?  I wanted to say, "Yeah, that's why I go get my chi unwound by the Chinese guy I don't understand!"  But, I didn't.  I just got really excited.  Three for three this guy is good and starting to win me over.

Next, my love life.  Oh crap, here we go.  He ran his finger over the "love line" on my hand and said the following..."You have two lives.  The one before and the one after."  And he went about a third of the way down my love line and brushed it away with his hand.  Almost like he shooed it away and said that was done...first life.  So far, so true. Then he said, "Ahhh bellissima, you will love again in your new life.  You will have more children.  I see four all together."  Again, with the WHAT?  I was a little too stunned to pay attention to what he said after that.  Something about the signs of my kids, Jake being the boss man (which is definitely in his cards if he has his way), and something else about Mercury.  I'm not really sure but at some point the horseshoe came out and that was being rubbed on my hand.  The main show was over and the closing ceremonies were beginning.

He then did some kind of energy release all over me.  He gently ran his hands down my arms, up my back and over my head and down my shoulders.  He then kissed the top of my head twice and said we were done.  I stood up and he grabbed me in his arms and gave me a big huge Italian hug, kissed me a little too long with his one yellow toothed mouth and pokey mustache, looked into my eyes, and told me to "be happy, Bella, much happiness is ahead of you."

I really don't want to talk about what happened after that which was that he told me he does massages and could come to my hotel room and give me an "energy release massage".  Ummmm, no thanks.  And no I won't meet you at McDonald's at 8:30 tonight either.

I don't know how this man could have known some of the things he did.  They were too specific.  I will not judge the experience other than to say that it was, in fact, an experience. And one I will remember for a very long time.  Grazie, Mr. One-Toothed Fortune Teller man for giving me a little bit of something to possibly look forward to.

Napoli

As I write this evening's post I am sitting on the 6th floor balcony of my bedroom overlooking the Bay of Naples.  I am listening to the water lapping against the rocks below me, watching the wooden rowboats sway back and forth in the black water, and looking straight across the bay are the twinkling night lights of Sorrento.  This is exactly what the doctor ordered after a long wet day of wandering around the streets of Naples.

 It rained today but that didn't stop me from grabbing my umbrella and seeing what Naples is all about.  I love it. It is almost overwhelmingly chaotic.  The narrow winding streets all seem to be going in an upward direction where I am sure at one point a hill existed.  Now it is row upon row of buildings with laundry hung between them.  The buildings look very old and dark (read...dirty) with graffiti everywhere the eye turns.  Little trattorias, gift shops, clothing stores, tabbaci stores, and farmacias under 6 stories of apartments go as far as the eye can see.  Every once in a while the skinny streets open up into a beautiful piazza with Baroque style statues and water fountains.  Chiesas are scattered about in and around this maze of a city.  And always, the rat-tat-tat of the motorcycles and the honking of horns for the pedestrians to get out of the way or have their toes run over.

Bright produce against filthy walls

I can tell just from the smells the food tastes different here.  More flavor, more color, more spices.  The sounds of la bella lingua all around.  I really need someone to learn this language with me so I can practice when I get home.  Practicing with my taxi drivers and old men next to me on the train just isn't going to cut it.  Especially when the old man wants to practice his English.  Anyhow, it is an interesting place.  I went in to two different churches and saw two Italian weddings.  Beautiful they were in the Italian language with the backdrop of a 600 year old church.  I did think to myself if I were to ever do that again it will be here in Italy...in Italian.

There is a certain allure here.  The streets beckoned me on in spite of the rain. And yet, the whole time I felt as though I was missing something.  In Rome, there are destinations.  The Colosseum, St. Peter's Basilica, etc.  Much of the history of Rome is right out in the open.  Here the "sites" are nestled in with the rest of the chaos and this city is much older than these Baroque buildings.  Turns out I was right.  I did a little research when I got back to my room and apparently there is a whole world underneath me.  Somewhere under this city are the remains of a Greco-Roman theater that seated 6,000 where Nero is said to have sung through an earthquake.  There are catacombs, and bomb shelters, and pagan temples, and ruin upon ruin beneath those who live here now.  Maybe that is what I was feeling.  My history, archeology sniffing nose was right!  Napoli's history is beneath her.

Since I am only here for one night this will have to be a return trip.  Maybe I will journey here again after Positano.  Why not, eh?  It's only an hour on the fast train from Rome and I will be here till the 9th.  Maybe someone will sit next to me and let me practice Italian.

This post is going to be out of order but I am so stinking excited I have to post this one before I tell you about yesterday.

After receiving ten kinds of whiplash, almost clipping the front end of a Vespa off  and joining hips with the side of a bus, AND learning all sorts of fun new Italian words that start with the letter F, my taxi driver got me safely to the Vatican for my evening tour of the Sistine Chapel.  I visited three years ago when I was here and became fascinated with the lives and times of Michelangelo, Da Vinci, the Medici family, the popes, and the clandestine relationships between them all.  I have wanted to come back ever since.  Tonight I got my chance.

The Vatican itself is stunning in sheer magnitude and quantity of ancient statues.  Everything from the days of Ancient Greece to the Renaissance and everything in between is lined up in the Vatican.  One of my favorites is "Laocoon" which tells the story of Laocoon, the ruler of Troy, and his two sons being pulled down to Hades by sea serpents so they cannot warn the people of Troy the Trojan Horse is full of murderous Greeks.  The talent of the sculptor rivals Michelangelo in the sense that every muscle and feature looks almost real.  You almost expect to hear him crying out it is so realistic.

There are rooms (and when I say room don't think of your living room...think 40 foot high ceilings and thousands of square feet) full of animal sculptures, busts of Greeks and Romans, warriors, emperors, granite baths, sarcophagi, mosaic floors that were in the largest bath houses in Rome,  tapestry hallways, map painting hallways and on and on forever.  A person could be there for a month and still never see it all.

Since we were there after St. Peter's Basilica was closed we got to tour Raphael's apartment.  I did not realize this but Raphael lived in the Vatican and was charged with painting many frescoes in some of the apartments.  Needless to say I was stunned when I walked in and there up on the wall in 200" x 300" dimension was the real authentic "The School of Athens".  I almost cried.  The art of modernity is junk in comparison to the art of the Renaissance.  The focus on saying something, explaining the worldview of the time, the use of color and material to work in high and low light, and using techniques that would stand the test of time are all so evident in the work of this time period.  It took my breath away.

I thought things couldn't get any better than seeing that but when I walked into the Sistine Chapel I could see I was very wrong.  I was one of only about 200 people in the whole chapel.  This was unbelievable.  And what's more?  The guide said we could stay in there as long as we wanted until they kicked us out.  And that is just what I did.  I was the very last one out of the Sistine Chapel tonight.  The guards followed me out and locked the doors.  I got to turn around and take one last look at an empty Sistine Chapel.  I got to see the Last Judgment the same way Michelangelo did when he painted the last stroke and stood back to admire his work.  It was truly an amazing experience.

To top it all off I actually got a really good taxi driver on the way back to my hotel.  He drove calm and I didn't even feel like I was going to die once.  He got the tip sleepy scary guy didn't.

I'm Alive...Barely

One of the scariest experiences in life has to be taking a taxi from the airport in Rome into the heart of the city.  I knew I was in for it when my guy rolls up in a busted up jalopy of a vehicle.  I almost told the innocent newbies behind me to go on ahead.  They would have thought I was just being friendly.  In my heart, however, I knew that would not have been the motivation.  I got in and immediately started praying.  First there was a little...shall I say...hole or dip or squishy spot??...where my butt fit nicely on the seat.  I know this doesn't seem very profound but trust me...later on I was not only praying to God but all the saints that when we did crash that little dippy spot would somehow keep me stuck to my seat so I didn't fly through the window.

The next sign of danger ahead was the fact that right after the first bend in the road he was forced to slam on the brakes and the car started burping and sputtering.  That was easily remedied though by stopping in the middle of the road in between big busses and other crazy Italian drivers to give her a little restart.  At this point I think I may have even prayed to the Blessed Virgin Mary just in case.  Once she was running smoothly again we proceeded to jet out into the chaos of the Roman roads.  This is when it got really scary.  My lovely Italian grampa guy driver started blinking reeaaaallly slowly.  Yep, as in so slowly I thought he was for sure falling asleep.  All while driving 100 kilometers an hour and weaving back and forth between the cement guard rail on the left and the various and assorted cars on the right.  I kept making noises, like little coughs, to keep this guy awake.  I even tried asking him if he was tired but he waved me off like all good Italian men do. I think at this point all that pent up constipation I had been having was quickly going to become unclogged.  

After about 15 of the scariest minutes of my life we finally, thank the good Lord, made in to the "off-ramp" area of the highway.  At first, I thought this was a good thing.  Not so much when we entered that area while still traveling 100 km an hour and weaving back and forth. I really did think that was going to be the end of my short life.  He somehow managed to stop the speeding bullet within 2 seconds without slamming into the 40 cars in front of us.  Thank God for the butt dip I was sitting in.  The humor of it all was that this guy would give the ultimate stare down to the poor people in the cars he almost smashed into.  I guess he felt they were in his way and no one should dare to interfere with his driving path.

I honestly thought about asking him to stop the car and let me out to just walk my way to the hotel.  That was until we almost ran over a poor clueless woman who was walking on the side of the road.  I figured at least I had my seat hole and some metal around me.  Stupid woman.  Everyone knows not to walk anywhere near the road in Rome.  Certain death awaits you.   I think by now I had also prayed to Buddah and Ghandi just so all my bases were covered.

After 30 death defying minutes, we made it to the hotel.  I have never been more happy to get out of a car.  When I handed the guy the agreed upon 50 euro he kinda looked at it like something was missing.  YEAH BUDDY...LIKE I'M GONNA GIVE YOU A TIP FOR ALMOST KILLING ME 1,000 TIMES!!  I don't think so.  Take your grunts somewhere else.

Since I'm writing this you know I am alive.  The moral of this story is two-fold.  One, if you must get transportation into Ancient Rome from the airport try to take a bus where at least if and when you crash or get crashed into the luggage underneath will be the thing that gets squished and not you.  And two, it is the Lord God that will get you somewhere safely.  Not Buddah or Ghandi or the Blessed Virgin Mary...so don't get your feathers ruffled...I was only kidding earlier.

Out of Order

Yes, I know.  Those last two posts are out of order.  HOWEVER...they were part of the trip and I'm not sure why I didn't put them in before.  I guess I wanted to post them for myself and my memories if nothing else.