Tourists, men, football and men

After many days of rain (and disappointed travelers), the weather has finally improved here in Naples. In fact it was quite hot today, so I kept to the old quarter where the narrow streets always seem to provide a good amount of shade.

As usual, I had to say goodbye to a wonderful set of travelers this week and welcome in a new batch. Sometimes I hit a wall where I just can’t work myself up for the meet-and-greet. I try to be friendly, but if I’m having a bad day, I have to paint the smile on and pretend to be interested. The funny thing is that whenever I start off like this with someone, they completely win me over, we talk for hours, and I mourn their absence for a few days after they leave.

This was the case when I met Patty from Pennsylvania and Anna from New Zealand. After a slow start on my part, we became international amigas ? or amiche as it’s said here in Italy. To watch us, you would have thought we had known each other for ages. Patty was highly intrigued by the fact that I was staying in Naples to be with Renato rather than going on through Europe as I had initially planned.

Of course, this opened up a whole conversation on men ? the ones we’ve dated and the ones we’ve hated. And what group of women doesn’t get along famously over that subject?

Personally I was intrigued by Anna’s situation. She’s traveling through Europe for enjoyment, but with a little twist. During World War II, an uncle of hers was shot down over Italy and was buried in the Salerno cemetery. However, in all the decades that have passed, not a single member of her family has been to see his grave and pay their respects.

Before coming to Europe, her father did a lot of research on this uncle and in learning about him as well, Anna decided that it would be her mission to be the first family member to visit his grave.

Easier said than done, especially since the Salerno cemetery isn’t in Salerno ? go figure. After spending a day discovering this, she finally learned of its true whereabouts. I think it ended up being between Naples and Rome, though I’m not completely sure. One day later, after she left the hostel, Anna e-mailed me to say that she had completed her mission.

Tearfully she paid her respects, took photos to show her family, and proudly planted a small New Zealand flag next to the tombstone. Not the typical bar-hopping, museum-stopping, church-spotting, souvenir-shopping trip through Europe.

Of course, some people win you over with more than words. Just a couple of days ago we had a group of 20 Polish people traveling together and staying at the hostel.

When such a large group occupies the place, it can be a bit chaotic. Breakfast is spread between 7:45 and 9:30 to allow people to come in and out as they please and to make it easier for the hostel to manage the meal, but when there are a lot of people traveling as one, they also eat as one, which means I was running around for a good part of the morning cleaning up after everyone.

At any rate, two of the men made up for all this chaos by inviting me to have a drink with them in the common room ? vodka of course.

At first I politely declined.

“Don’t speak,” they said. “Just drink.”

So I had a few drinks with them and we discussed Poland and Russia and what it took to be a good Polish wife ? they were both married, so all of this was very innocent and rather informative. I certainly know a lot more about Poland than I did when I left California.

Meet-and-greet exhaustion aside, I am having a wonderful time here at the hostel. It’s football (soccer) season right now and, thanks to satellite TV, the common room is packed every night with World Cup fans. The enthusiasm is contagious. Though I have never really watched a soccer game before, I’m now following along and keeping my fingers crossed, like every local, that Italy will make it to the finals.

Renato and I have a deal. We try to see each other whenever we have a free moment. However, if Italy makes it to the semifinals and then the finals, he has my approval to stay home and watch the games.

When Italy played its first cup game a couple of nights ago, my manager treated me and a few other guests to pizza in the common room. He was the only Italian there at the time, and I don’t know what I found more entertaining: Italy scoring and the fans on TV going wild, or my manager jumping from his chair to curse in Italian every time he felt his team was cheated. Hmm, yeah, it’s the last one.

With every Tuesday off, next week I think I’ll go to Ischia, an island in the Gulf of Naples, but this depends on the weather, Renato, football and my motivation to move at all.

If not next week, I’ll eventually make it to this island! I’m sure I’m going to need it!