July 31, 2007 — Naples, Italy

Indeed, time flies by when you are on the Magic. Thus, I’m actually writing this day review following breakfast on August 1. Albeit from the top deck at the forward of the ship. We’ve arrived in Olbia, Sardinia. We’ll cover this port in tomorrow’s report. For now, let’s talk about beautiful Naples. We aarrived in port early, so I didn’t see us dock. But the panoramic view of Naples that awaited rising passengers was spectacular. We awoke around 6am, got dressed and headed up to Topsider’s buffet on Deck 9 for breakfast. Apparently, nearly everyone else on board had the same idea because the queue to the restaurant was immense. We ate a light meal (I had my favorites of smoked salmon, bagel and fresh fruit) and went to Deck 3 midship to meet up with our fellow DISboard members for today’s private excursion. Traveling with us is Mary Jo from CA (who organized the excursion) and her two adult children; Paul and Izzi from London and their two boys. Together, what a motley crew we made. We left the ship and were greeted by our English-speaking tour guide, Aaron (pronounced AAR-OWN-EE), who boarded us on his 14-passenger Mercedes bus. We left port and headed to our first stop of the day, the excavated ruins of Pompeii. We decide to do this first as it will be a hot day and Pompeii does not offer much shade. The congenial Aaron did his best to point out points of interest along the way, but it was difficult for us to concentrate during the first part of the trip because of the chockablock road. At one point I literally bounced and hit my head on the roof. But it soon ended and we made our way to the highway. Heading northwest we skirted the edge of the giant Mt. Vesuvius, whose violent eruption in 79 A.D. caused the destruction of Pompeii. Izzi, who is a fount of history, points out that the volcano is expected to erupt about 40 years and that the last eruption was in 1944—it’s overdue.



Arriving at Pompeii, Aaron introduces us to Veronica, a local guide who will provide our walking tour of the city (A quick word about Pompeii—it’s not out in the middle of nowhere as I had thought. Instead, the whole city site is nestled behind a fence and next to a sprawling city that was build right on top of the settled rock and ash that overtook Pompeii and extended the shoreline towards the sea by nearly nine kilometers). We are all quickly taken by Veronica’s Italian charm, beauty and knowledge of Pompeii. She helps us get our tickets (11 Euros each for U.S. adults and children). I give the man selling tickets three, 20 Euro notes, but he wants exact change (Veronica quickly steps in and makes him give me back change, something he didn’t want to do). Near our feet is a large dog, lounging about as tourists walk around him. Veronica explains that many people dump their unwanted pets here because they know visiting Europeans and Americans will take pity on them. We’ll see several milling about during our two-hour tour. Tickets in hand we move on. Veronica first stops at a mounted map of the city and points out how immense it is … and it is big. Large portions of the city have yet to be unearthed and may never be.



We sense from Veronica that the government doesn’t have a set plan or timetable. As we’ll learn, Veronica is not a huge fan of the Neapolitan government. Because we are a small group of 11 (she calls us a “family”) we can duck and dodge into areas that other large tour groups (including some from DCL) cannot access. Veronica does an outstanding job of pointing out the typical things, but her passion for Pompeii is evident as she stops here and there to explain in detail the how and why of life in Pompeii as we explore streets, public buildings, houses, shops, restaurants (yes, Pompeii had restaurants), a brothel and more. Everybody takes away something different from the tour. The kids were impressed by the wool shop where unskilled laborers used their bare feet to squash urine (yes, urine) into washed wool to waterproof it.



Several of the adults ponder the thought that historians know there were an equal number of right- and left-handed citizens by the worn rock to the left and right of the water fountain at the corner intersection of one street.



All of this is more than 2,000 years old and we can see, touch and experience all of it without many ropes or other boundaries. In places it is very dusty. Veronica explains that the builders of the city purposely designed it with straight North-South and East-West streets to take advantage of the wind patterns, helping to naturally sweep the city of harmful elements. At one point she picks up a handful of pebbles from the ground and tells us to put it in our pocket—it’s the rock that covered Pompeii and is the cheapest and best souvenir we can have. We all laugh. Veronica is funny.



I tell the others in our group that I think she is a history teacher and that this is just a summer job. As I would find out later she is educated as an attorney specializing in international law, but left that vocation behind to pursue her dream of owning and operating an event planning and tourism-focused company. As we end our tour we all thank her for her time and each family gives her a 20 Euro tip (This is in addition to whatever fee she has previously arranged with our tour operator Claudio, with whom she works with exclusively). It was well worth it to be accompanied by such an expert. I’d like to come back here again. Back on the bus we head for the nearby Almafi coast and a drive up the mountain to a small ristorante that Aaron has arranged for us to eat lunch. We drive up and up, our eyes glued to the right-side window of the small bus as every twist and turn gives way to one jaw-dropping postcard picture after another. Words alone cannot describe how beautiful the view. The road hugs the coastline and, in some places, drops straight down to the tranquil blue ocean below. Million-dollar yachts are anchored just offshore.



At the top we stop for lunch at La Tagliata. The small restaurant is situated on the side of the mountain. Lush greenery covers the doors and walls outside and we are greeted by the sound of a bird chirping. Is this Parrot Cay? No, it’s a real bird, but reminds me of my thought earlier that this has all the theming of a Disney property (but it’s real). It’s about 12:15pm and we’re all starving, but in Italy it’s still a little early for lunch, so we are nearly alone in the restaurant. Aaron obviously called ahead because our table is set and ready. We pour ourselves a glass of distilled water and red wine from the pitchers on the table as the restaurant’s proprietors, two good-looking Italian cousins, bring on plates of appetizers from the open kitchen just feet away. With slight variation our immense all-star lineup from lunch the previous day is repeated. Homemade bread, ricotta and buffalo mozzarella cheese, fresh tomatoes, marinated white beans, light eggplant Parmesan (not breaded), carrots and spinach, and a plateful of cured meats fill the table. Everything is delicious (nothing here has been bad in my opinion).



In the kitchen something interesting captures our attention, an old Italian man smoking a cigarette is sitting in short sleeves while pressing artichokes and peppers into jars. Our server tells us this is his father and that he is preparing the artichokes to marinate for one year before they will serve them to guests. Wow! After the appetizers are cleared they bring on the pasta dishes, which are again served family style. Spaghetti, ravioli, manicotti, knioche(sp?) and a penne pasta with cream sauce. Mary Jo’s son and myself ask for more wine and, as a group, we eat nearly every morsel. The boys take away the remnants of the pasta dishes and replace them with two huge platters of desserts—one for each end of the table. The favorites were a lemon cream cake and rum-soaked bread filled with sweetened cream. We also had lemoncello, the lemon-infused dessert alcholic drink distilled and served in this part of Italy. It was met with mixed reaction from the group. The boys also offered espresso, but I don’t recall anyone taking them up on it. We pay our bill of 250 Euro for the group (plus small tip), and thank our hosts. Throughout dinner (and much of this trip) I find myself doing one those annoying things that drives my wife crazy—trying to talk in the same dialect as our hosts. With this in mind I ask our cousin-hosts to take a photo. The elder of the two (who has been too busy to really talk to us during the meal) tells me he spent time in Orlando helping his brothers, who own a restaurant there. So, his English is very good, and I feel a little sheepish.



Aaron, who had enjoyed a complimentary lunch in the kitchen, (By the chummy way he got along with the owners I got the feeling he brought clients here a lot) has the bus turned around for the drive back down the mountain. We reverse our route and wind our way back down the coast, necks craning upward trying to pinpoint the exact spot of the restaurant above where we had just been served lunch. Our next stop is the nearby Sorrento, an idealic little postcard coastal town famous for it’s huge lemons.



We mozy around for a bit and Izzi dashes into a ladies shop for some shopping. Most things here are very expensive, but she spots a deal that catches her eye. Not one to miss a bargain (I knew I like her) she makes a counter offer on the price and gets a 20 percent discount. Back on the bus we head for our last stop in Possitano. The central square here looked like a scene from a painting. The locals are just finishing their lunch at the corner restaurant. We meander down the main street and stop for a gelato (2.50 Euro each).



Everyone decides it’s a great idea to simply sit in the main square for a bit and enjoy the sites and sounds. Meg dreams of taking home the new Porche Carerra convertible that appears to be left abandoned in the middle of the street with its windows down. The Italian owner arrives shortly afterwards, hops in, and speeds off. I wander off to take some photos and we all get back on the bus when I return.



As we make our way back to the port we review our day and talk leads to life in our hometowns, then politics and religion (but not the third of that trilogy—we had kids in the car). Not that it would have mattered to the latter because all of the children were dead asleep, worn out by the day. Back on board we release Meg to run with the teens and we take Maddie up on deck for a quick dip in the pool and to grab a couple of slices of pizza. Then, Maddie and myself take in the evening show—The Art of the Magic—while Angie retreats to the cabin for some down time. We return afterwards and prepare for dinner at Animator’s Palate. It’s semiformal night. By now our server, Sara, has learned our eating likes and dislikes and steers us towards some wonderful dinner choices. We visited some with our table mates Erich and Tonia and hear about their fun day on board. The adults enjoy our desserts and coffee and part ways. On our recommendation they head to the theater to see “The Italian Job.” We stopped by Shutters, the ship’s photo shop, to see if there are any photos we want. We choose a few and head back to the cabin. It’s now about 11pm and Meg returns. Anticipating a long day in Rome we all hit the hay for a good’s night sleep. All ashore call tomorrow is scheduled for 7:45am.