New City, Same Host

Three weeks after the fact, this absolutely unbelievable story must finally come out. You can't make this stuff up.

So, Friday morning I jumped on the early train to Naples - but not before nearly forgetting my camera charger and battery at Maria's. I had to sprint back to reclaim them. I thought I'd see her again! The train ride was a dream world mix of ancient aqueducts and fresh graffiti. After being here, I can understand why that is an Italian word.

Naples is certainly not for the feeble. Stray dogs in the train station, trash piled in the streets, Camorra-types everywhere. I was a bit trepidatious to strike out too far on my own. Unsurprisingly, the Archaeological Museum was beckoning to me. I spent about 6 divine hours there pouring through every detail, and two of the major exhibits were closed: the Farnese collection and the Gladiator exhibit. But, I was welcomed by artifacts from Herculaneum and Pompeii at almost every turn, and the excitement and adrenaline kept building to finally be on Vesuvio. Afterward, I took a stroll up around one of the hilltops and got some wonderful views of Vesuvio, the Bay of Napoli and Capri.

Finally, it was time to meet Pasquale. He and I had been emailing each other daily for a month and had Skyped as well. He was so much fun and I couldn't wait to meet him, hang out and see the city. He met me at the train station with a big hug and kiss...on the neck. Fishy. I was really tipped off when, walking into his apartment, I entered the consummate bachelor pad, complete with dim red and blue lighting, chrome and leather furniture and, oh yes, mood music. Very fishy. Unfortunately, it was almost 9 p.m. in one of the more dangerous cities in the world. I figured trying my luck against Pasquale was a safer bet than against the city. I tried to keep the conversation light and flowing as he asked me if I knew what "spritzer" was. "Probably not your version, Pasquale, what's in it?" Instead of answering, he pulled out prosecco, some other liqueur and wine glasses and began mixing. He also put ice cubes down the front of my shirt. About 18 minutes after we'd met. "Oh, this is really not going to turn out okay, is it?" I admonished myself. We took the beverages out on the patio, where I again attempted benign conversation. "Tell me more about your photography?" "How long have you lived in this apartment?" "What's your favorite thing about Napoli?" He wasn't having it, and kept pointing out his speedo and insisting I'd love to see him in it. No, grazie. I finally herded him into making dinner, thinking this was a good diversion to the innuendo. No such luck. As he was tossing a handful of cheese in the sauce, he also tossed caution to the wind, grabbed me and tried to plant one on me. I almost tossed my cookies. We ate a very awkward dinner (with some delightfully curly noodles - they looked like strands of Shirley Temple's hair!) and I informed him I would be going to bed. He invited me to join him in his bed (because, somehow, he still hadn't gotten the point). I told him I would be sleeping alone, and then explained to him in no uncertain terms that I was there for friendship and tourism, nothing more.

In the morning, I was awoken by a flash of color as Pasquale jumped into my bed...in his underpants. They were brightly colored stripes like a circus performer, only I really did NOT want to know what was under the big top. Instead of being in a 3-ring circus, I was more accurately in the third ring of hell. He tried relentlessly to kiss me. Literally shoving him off, I pressed "Can we just go to Vesuvio, please?" Pasquale and I were to go to a party for his friend that night. I informed him I would be inviting Maria, who just happened to be in Napoli from Roma visiting her family. I hoped if things didn't improve, I could leave with her. Luckily, Maria readily took me up on the invitation.

So, Pasquale and I packed up and left for Vesuvio. It was MARVELOUS! Unfortunately, it was a bit hazy, so I didn't get the best view of the bay and islands. But the crater was impressive, and I watched the seismologists hundreds of feet down checking all the systems, hoping to myself it didn't mean the warning systems were not working. There's no escape when you're perched at the rim. I again had the false hope that Vesuvio would be a nice diversion from Pasquale's advances. Diversions generally work, but not with this crafty character. The WHOLE time climbing Vesuvio, he kept trying to hold my hand and kiss me, even trying to kiss my neck with small children around. I felt like I was swatting at flies all day long. If only I had had a turtle shell to suck myself up into, but I'm sure he would have tried to break through this defense as well. He's human version of the dog you can't get to stop humping your leg.

After Vesuvio, we grabbed some pizza (the REALLY real kind!) near Spaccanapoli. Pasquale asked if I wanted to go where President Clinton had given his patronage. "Ugh, I don't want to go where all the Americans go!" I retorted. After pizza, we sat on the rocks on the beach next to Castel del'Ovo - I picked a separate rock so he couldn't try anything untoward. On the walk back to the car, he was completely quiet and walked about 2 feet away from me. Good in the sense that my space wasn't being invaded, bad in the sense that he was now acting pissy. So, I took a chance on asking him what was wrong. I mean, he WAS my host, so didn't I have the obligation to try to smooth things over a little? In the car he finally whined, "When you kiss me it's...it's like you're doing me a favor!" News flash, homie, I'm NOT kissing you! I'm trying to KEEP YOU from kissing ME! I suddenly found myself enveloped in a quasi-breakup talk with someone I'd known for 15 hours. Again, let me give it to you straight, Pasquale. I am not here for that. Period. Then he told me I was being irrational. I still have no clue what that meant. When we arrived at his apartment, he went to his parents' house (yes, bachelor boy lives in the same building as mommy and daddy) so I could have time to "cool off." Umm, Mr. Hot to Trot, you're the one who really needs to "cool down." Handsy. I'm just trying to enjoy the end of my vacation. So, I did what any savvy gal would do when they've had more than enough, grabbed his phone and called Maria to pick me up. She was there in the flashest of flashes. Saved, and I didn't even have to see Pasquale again, although I did pull my best spy moves sneaking down the stairs when I heard him coming! The "Dear John" letter I left was fun to write. "Dear Pasquale, You suck. I'm out."

Really, though, I have to thank Pasquale, because this all worked out in my favor. Maria, as I've stated, is an absolute gem, and I was so happy to spend more time with her (I knew that wouldn't be it!). We drove to her family's incredible Mediterranean villa in Trecase (Three Houses, because it's the smallest town in the region at 10,000 people [Maili Tatu, anyone?]), which overlooks the bay and has a veritable cornucopia of oranges, lemons, grapes and figs in the back. Her parents immediately took me under their wing, and are the sweetest people in the world. Even her aunt was telling me to, "Say hello to Barack Obama." Mrs. Marino seemed to delight in serving me a myriad of culinary creations (including my first octopus!) and kept the wine flowing readily. It's not possible to get your fill of Lacryma Cristi, especially when it's bottled by the neighbor down the street, but for a few days I had as much as my heart desired. By the end of my stay, she had become my Italian mother, and invited me back anytime.

The night she picked me up, Maria took me to Sorrento with her friend Carmine. But, not before a classic Maria and Shannon Misadventure: we got pulled over by the military police and were detained for about a half hour. Sorrento has some breathtaking views of the bay, and is an adorable little town. While sipping more wine, Maria and Carmine did solve one mystery for me. Apparently, it's a well-known "fact" around here that American and Northern European women come here for one reason only. Yeah, thanks to whoever gave us that reputation. Really, I appreciate it. Made my vacation.

The next morning Carmine picked me up and took me for a (free!) private tour of Pompeii (he's a tourist guide). I couldn't believe that he would give up his day off to schlep around a hopeless travelin' gal. He defended himself by claiming it as a way to make up for "Pasquale the Raper" (Maria came up with that gem). As an anthropologist, this was by far one of the highlights of my trip. Carmine ascertained that I must be part Pompeiian high-society, since all the upper-echelon folks were very light-skinned. Funny. I tended to agree with him, though, after being informed that the ancient city had 4 water springs and 87 wine bars. My kind of place!

That afternoon, Maria gave me a little crash course in Italian politics. Berlusconi is like the combination of the worst of G Dubya and Clinton - used his buddies (read: Mafia and Camorra) to ensure he won the election, using his power to line the pockets of his friends with complete disregard to the greater good of his country and people, plus sex scandals! Sounds like a winner to me. Then, we headed to the beach to soak in the last rays. I worked on my tan (who's Pompeiian royalty now? Not me!) and swam in the Mediterranean for the first time in my life. I couldn't believe how salty it was. Maria and I soaked up so many rays, in fact, that we missed the last elevator back up to the street on the cliffs above! There is no other way off the beach. We were informed of this by the president of the local kayak society, who graciously offered us a ride out (a group of them were congregated on the beach, so we had no idea the elevator was closed with so many people around). I wish we had taken him up on his offer, but we intercepted a hotel employee and begged a ride up.

Maria and I grabbed a local lemon dessert to bring back for the family, and went to savor my last dinner in Italy. Mrs. Marino insisted on sending home two bottles of Lacryma Cristi (red and white) AND a bottle of homemade limoncello. I was floored (just as I'll be after drinking it all), and could barely squeak out the words to thank her. I was so overwhelmed by the outpouring of generosity by Maria and her family, I had absolutely no words to express what I was feeling to them. Maria took me in for four days in Roma, and then answered my desperate plea and hosted me for two more days. Plus, her family took me in no questions asked, made me feel like a part of the family and sent me home with gifts. How can you respond to kindness like that? The only answer is by paying it forward.

There's a lot I could say about my time in Europe. To simplify, I was able to get some distance and perspective, and figured out a lot. Much of this was loooong overdue. But, happily, I'm finally really in a place where I know I can pay it all forward. It's always a bit sad to go home from vacation, but I'm not dreading it. Instead, I'm ready to go home and take my life by the horns.