Paola a la plage...

...or maybe a more accurate title for this post would be Paola a la spiaggia (which is beach in Italian). But truly, the most precise description would be Paola on her terrace, since my terrace in my lovely hotel (Casa sul mare) on the island of Procida is where I spent most of my time on this last little jaunt. For one thing, the terrace was bigger than my apartment in Trastevere (practically). For another, well, the view was breathtaking, changing every minute with the light. There were cliffs, boats, clouds, birds, fauna, navy blue sea--this view had it all.
Procida was an interesting island. It's quite near Capri, off of Naples, but as different from Capri as you can imagine. For one thing, like much of southern Italy, there are crumbly, decrepit and downright dirty parts (the black sand beaches, I am sorry to say, were not always the cleanest). There was also a profusion of motorcycles, cars and rattly old trucks trying to navigate the windy streets--pedestrians literally have to press themselves against the wall to let vehicles pass. At the same time, the island is beautiful, not touristy at all and there are lots of places to escape to. Today, I took a long walk to a light house, past lots of lemon trees (the island is known for lemons, limoncello and a tongue shaped pastry filled with lemon cream called lingua; also seafood, which was terrific). But basically, it's a fishing village with a middle/working class population and a few posh villas sprinkled in. It felt extremely real, in the way Naples (or New York City) feels real. It was wonderful to be by the water, to swim, to hear birds (when they weren't drowned out by traffic) and to come upon a church on every corner, many packed with people. In fact, the first night I was there was the feast of St. Michael, the patron saint of the island, and there was a procession down the cliffside, with singing and chanting and fireworks and canons. I met an interesting bar owner named Vincenzo, a grandfather who lived in Brooklyn and was a painter at the WTC about 10 years ago; it was nice to come upon someone who spoke English, and we had a good chat about life, getting older, New York, Italy, marriage...(not to each other--he has been married for 44 years). It was nice to make a connection.

Oh, and I experienced my first Italian strike. On the day that I left for Procida, I called the usual taxi number, and I was on hold for about an hour; when someone finally answered, there was laughter and--"it's not working!" Oh, I figured, I better go to a taxi stand. So I did, and discovered that there was a nationwide one day taxi strike. Which forced me to finally figure out the buses. I tagged along with some other women who were going to the station, who found out which bus to take from a local. It was actually quite easy. The tough part was when I got to Naples, where the strike was going on, as well. Naples is extremely chaotic and I was wandering around with my suitcase, trying to find the right bus. Again, I did eventually, but I didn't exactly do it with great style. I definitely looked like a stressed out, kind of spastic American tourist. But I made it!
Buona serrata!
Paola