As promised, here's Part 2 of "A Break In Bosnia" published earlier. Technically this part is a continuation, and it's not about Bosnia. It's about Naples, Italy, which we visited right after Bosnia, Croatia and Montenegro. This Part 2 is faster compared to the longish and ponderous Part 1. I hope you'll feel better reading this.
Napoli - Bad (11 July)
The easyJet flight from Dubrovnik across the Adriatic to Naples took one hour, two hours if you include the time difference.
As a concept, time difference is elegant. But it can be baffling if you're an average student, or you still believe the earth is flat, or both. I was watching late-evening football on Astro when my eldest grandchild Diana asked me casually what was the time in London. She was in Primary Year 6 at the time and her question could well be a pick-up line from Roblox, but I was stunned nonetheless. When I was her age, I was top of my class, but, as far as I can remember, the world was flat.
Anyway, Naples Airport was smooth and speedy because there's no passport control for flights from Croatia. This is funny because I've to show my passport at Kuching Airport. Well, let's not argue.
The journey from the airport to downtown Napoli was decidedly disheartening. No worthy scenery, no structure to inspire. Nothing particularly mouth-watering, except for our typically talkative and talented Italian taxi driver named Francisco.
I provided all the provocation and he just opened up. Soon he was well ahead of himself, verbally attacking his own country, its crippling culture, his own wife, and Meloni, the PM. According to him she's a living fascist (Meloni, not his wife). The word "Fascist" is never easy to vocalize, but this plebeian taxi driver pulled it off perfectly.
We finally reached our apartment at 24, via Firenze. Our host, Fabio, greeted us, and he and Francisco hugged and kissed. I'd watched a similar scene in The Godfather. We had to use four different keys and codes to four different doors to finally open our apartment door.
My wife squirmed at the sight of hordes of what looked like African migrants nonchalantly cruising by. I thought she was overreacting, as always.
Francisco left us his number just in case we need his help during our stay. So thoughtful. Thank you, bro. I still keep his number (393281966102).
I'd been here before, I mean Italy, not Naples, but you can never get enough. Aida loves Italy, Sarah I'm not sure, maybe Uniqlo. Together we'd explored almost all the famous sights in the top half, from Rome all the way through gorgeous Tuscan towns to Lake Como. The two-night stay at a lovely hilltop farmhouse outside Siena was outrageously out of this world.
Each and every town we travelled through is defined by its history, character and style, not to mention a timeless duomo or two. Or a piazza, where the Italians gather to do what they do best: nothing. Venice, I've to admit, left me speechless.
But Naples was a sad state of affairs. It's definitely not your regular Italy. Down and depressed, it's chaotic, frantic and comparatively colourless. A glimpse of Via Firenze and all around it, you could only picture a basket case of abandon and neglect. And to think that we'd be holing up here for the next three days.
Napoli - Not Bad (12 July)
By the way, girls, a native of Naples is a Neapolitan, not Napoleon and certainly not Nepalese. I know this doesn't explain why Dutch are called Dutch.
After a day touring the city centre, it gradually dawned on me that Naples wasn't without its own chunks of charm and charisma. This place was vibrant, raw and unpretentious, with people shouting and celebrating for no apparent reason. Bitten by its spontaneous energy, we decided to join the commotion, and ended the day on a high.
At every turn, you'd crash into flags, cut-outs, banners, murals or just anything bearing the face of Diego Maradona, the world's finest footballer ever. It's the Neapolitans' unapologetic way of honouring the memory of their adopted son and saviour. Italians, along with the Kelantanese, are such a passionate and romantic lot.
It took us half a day to roam the crowded via Toledo tourist stretch and the adjacent historic quarter or centro storico with its quaint and stylish courtyards and cathedrals. We just took our time to walk the alleyways and navigate around carts of fresh fish and fruits, and stopped to admire the Neapolitan daily life unfolding at its own pace, right before us.
And, of course, there was always enough time left for my wife to wave my Wise card on some linens and stuff. These were genuine Italian made, store branded and sold by polite Italian artisans and boutique owners at retiree-friendly prices. I thought they were good value and I'd not file any complaint if she bought maybe one or two pieces to show off.
Apparently at her age (and weight), it was easy to get swayed by the riot of tones, broad flowers and free sizes. I cautioned her that we were running low on Celebrex and her knees could collapse in no time. It was a lost cause, I knew, but I'd to try everything.
This retail workout proved to be highly transformative, with her feints of fright and fear yesterday now all but gone for good.
Amalfi Coast - Brilliant (13 July)
Naples has long been a makeweight and an undercard to the more glorified Rome, Venice, Milan and Florence. This is unfortunate because three of the Italy's celebrated sights - Pompeii, Vesuvius and the Amalfi Coast - are right at its doorstep. But we'd only one day left, so it's impossible to conquer even without my heart blockages.
You've to be physically fast and furious to trample on the expansive Pompeii ruins. With my wife's bended knees, it's out of question. Plus you've to hire an archeologist or join a tour group to really make sense of Pompeii. Italy has had more than its fair share of artists and inventors, so the archeologist could well be a dentist.
Since Vesuvius erupted only recently (about two thousand years ago), the Italian scientists and bookies have all agreed that it won't rupture again any time soon, at least not while we were in nearby Naples. But to enjoy Vesuvius, you need a pair of Hoka to walk and hike and climb up and repeat on the way down. No, not this time, not next time.
So we headed to the safest and easiest one - Amalfi.
No archeologist, no dentist required. It was Flixbus to Salerno and then one-hour quick ferry to the shores of Amalfi. Man, what a lovely, postcard-pretty place, this Amalfi Coast. The dramatic backdrop and setting were straight out of a fairy tale. No words will do it justice. It's Italy at its breathless best.
Flying Home (14 July)
Now it's time to go home.
We'd booked a morning flight from Naples to Istanbul, then a connecting flight to KL. Turkish Airlines, well, I just can't praise it enough. Friendly fares, tasty meals, cherry juice, latest movies and free data. And the layover meal vouchers was a nice touch because a Burger King at the food court cost RM75 if you convert.
For the Istanbul to KL flight we were "upgraded" to premium seats (10D, 10E), with extra legroom and more air to breath. Maybe the flight was full, or the Ottomans had caught wind of my wife's wretched knees. This added some sliver of excitement to an otherwise uneventful flight. It was still an uneventful flight.
It's been one hell of an outing for us, from the dungeon of Durham Cathedral to the flourish of the Amalfi Coast, with Sarajevo, Mostar, Dubrovnik, Kotor and Naples nestled nicely in between. We'd journeyed through five countries, six if you include one anxious hour in Belgrade. Not too shabby for a 138-year old couple. For perspective, Marco Polo was 17 when he started on his trip to China.
Our ten-day trip wasn't ground-breaking or game-changing in any way. We're just happy to be able to go places and see the world. My benchmark has always been my sister-in-law. She's still unhappy that Ottawa is in Canada.
We landed at about 9 am, right on time. Our second son pulled up outside the arrivals, his face lighting up with what appeared to be a mixed sense of relief and disbelief that we were back in one complete piece.
He opened the car door to let us in, and then quickly loaded our bags. He opened the car door again and peered in to see that we were really and truly inside before screeching out of KLIA as fast as he could.
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