Unfortunately for reasons I have forgotten, there is a gap in my photos here, and the next photo is in Rome. So this post is all text. Which is a pity, because I did visit some beautiful places.
After an overnight sailing, we disembarked in Brindisi, the other end of the Patras-Brindisi route. This was popular with Eurailpass holders because the crossing was covered though you had to pay extra for anything other than deck travel. A search shows that the route is still running, but probably has diminished due to cheap air travel. At the customs shed, all backpackers were made to put their luggage on the pavement, and sniffer dogs went through them. It was late in the afternoon and we had no intention of touring Brindisi but caught an overnight train across Italy to Naples on the west coast. I have a memory of looking for dinner on a market street with Doobie and being beckoned into a humble and cheerful pasta restaurant by the family running it. It had very stereotypical red checkered plastic tablecloths. The spaghetti meal was inexpensive and delicious.
I was worried that we might be robbed on the overnight sleeper, Italian trains had a bad reputation, perhaps partly founded, and Doobie, sensing my fear, took a length of rope out of his backpack and lashed the door shut. We were not bothered that night.
At Naples, we took a local train to the youth hostel at Mergellina. I remember the official at the ticket counter very kindly pointing out that I didn't need a ticket because for some reason, the urban rail was covered by Eurailpass. The hostel was in a fairly good location, but due to the 1980 Irpinia Earthquake, it was still housing displaced families two years later. So some floors of the hostel given over to the refugees. And of course their washing and other chattel were in public view.
We took a day excursion to Capri. On the ferry, a child asked for the time. Dodici e trenta, I ventured. Mezzogiorno e mezzo, corrected the child's mother, but pleased that I had made an effort. Capri has been a resort since ancient times. I'm almost certain we visited the Blue Grotto but I have no proof. From the port we went up the hill to the commune of Anacapri where Swedish physician Axel Munthe had constructed Villa San Michele. The story of that is worth reading, because of the author's unique adventures and idiosyncratic writing style. The villa holds many beautiful art works. Doobie paid to go in, I didn't and guarded our belongings in the beautiful outdoor area. Maybe I should have gone in too. We regret our omissions in life more than our commissions. It was at Anacapri that I first noted the European convention of marking the boundary of a commune with a sign with the name on one side and the name with a bar across it on the other side.
In the evening we went in search of a good meal, after all food was one of the reasons for visiting Naples. We found a good restaurant, but being poor backpackers, we ordered basic pizzas, a marinara for me as I recall. Despite the connotation of the name, it actually doesn't have any seafood, but has tomato, garlic, oregano and extra virgin olive oil. After finishing our pizzas, out of the blue, an Italian gentleman at the next table wordlessly passed over a dish with some remaining clams, gesturing that we should enjoy the gift. That recollection of a random act of kindness to strangers has stayed with me all those years. You have to love the Italians. It might be a disorganised country, but the people and food are superb. I must go back some day.
After an overnight sailing, we disembarked in Brindisi, the other end of the Patras-Brindisi route. This was popular with Eurailpass holders because the crossing was covered though you had to pay extra for anything other than deck travel. A search shows that the route is still running, but probably has diminished due to cheap air travel. At the customs shed, all backpackers were made to put their luggage on the pavement, and sniffer dogs went through them. It was late in the afternoon and we had no intention of touring Brindisi but caught an overnight train across Italy to Naples on the west coast. I have a memory of looking for dinner on a market street with Doobie and being beckoned into a humble and cheerful pasta restaurant by the family running it. It had very stereotypical red checkered plastic tablecloths. The spaghetti meal was inexpensive and delicious.
I was worried that we might be robbed on the overnight sleeper, Italian trains had a bad reputation, perhaps partly founded, and Doobie, sensing my fear, took a length of rope out of his backpack and lashed the door shut. We were not bothered that night.
At Naples, we took a local train to the youth hostel at Mergellina. I remember the official at the ticket counter very kindly pointing out that I didn't need a ticket because for some reason, the urban rail was covered by Eurailpass. The hostel was in a fairly good location, but due to the 1980 Irpinia Earthquake, it was still housing displaced families two years later. So some floors of the hostel given over to the refugees. And of course their washing and other chattel were in public view.
We took a day excursion to Capri. On the ferry, a child asked for the time. Dodici e trenta, I ventured. Mezzogiorno e mezzo, corrected the child's mother, but pleased that I had made an effort. Capri has been a resort since ancient times. I'm almost certain we visited the Blue Grotto but I have no proof. From the port we went up the hill to the commune of Anacapri where Swedish physician Axel Munthe had constructed Villa San Michele. The story of that is worth reading, because of the author's unique adventures and idiosyncratic writing style. The villa holds many beautiful art works. Doobie paid to go in, I didn't and guarded our belongings in the beautiful outdoor area. Maybe I should have gone in too. We regret our omissions in life more than our commissions. It was at Anacapri that I first noted the European convention of marking the boundary of a commune with a sign with the name on one side and the name with a bar across it on the other side.
In the evening we went in search of a good meal, after all food was one of the reasons for visiting Naples. We found a good restaurant, but being poor backpackers, we ordered basic pizzas, a marinara for me as I recall. Despite the connotation of the name, it actually doesn't have any seafood, but has tomato, garlic, oregano and extra virgin olive oil. After finishing our pizzas, out of the blue, an Italian gentleman at the next table wordlessly passed over a dish with some remaining clams, gesturing that we should enjoy the gift. That recollection of a random act of kindness to strangers has stayed with me all those years. You have to love the Italians. It might be a disorganised country, but the people and food are superb. I must go back some day.
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