First full day on the Penisola Sorrentina

11/6 - Seiano to Annunziata, and back to Sorrento for the evening - 11.68 miles

On my last train ride from Napoli, I was actually a bit sad to leave, having grown accustomed to the gritty moxie of this metropolis. Not too sad, though, since I was on my way to one of my favorite parts of Italy, that peninsula which is most commonly referred to as the Amalfi Coast. As I discovered, the Amalfi coast technically refers only to the stretch facing the Golf of Salerno; the one facing the Golf of Napoli does not have a name, at least that as far as I could tell. The peninsula itself is called the Penisola Sorrentina, after the biggest city on the Northern coast, Sorrento. Whatever you want to call it, this is a shockingly beautiful stretch of land, with lush, almost tropical greenery adorning imposing mountains and rock formations, and with winding coasts, hidden grottoes, and delicious little beaches.
I had come here on my last trip to Italy, and the images of bright blue-green water, expanses of trees, and bright yellow bottles of Limoncello, the local liqueur distilled from lemons grown on the peninsula, remained impressed on my mind. To me this little piece of paradise was much like the Cinque Terre in its natural beauty, but not as fragile, with much more to explore.

Since I had come by bus and then boat on my last trip, walking promised a whole new perspective, and it delivered from the first moments. This first full day took me along the Sorrento coast and into Sorrento, which was a bustling little city. Luckily enough, there was a hostel here, so I walked directly there, dropped off the bag, quickly visited the tourist information office for a map of walking paths and a bus schedule, and I was off.

Leaving Sorrento as quickly as I had come, I was soon climbing large hills and winding my way through tiny villages. This walk took me through an inhabited part of the peninsula, full of little plots of land with citrus and olive trees, and the leafy vegetables now in season.

The first thing I realized was that despite being a tourist haven, the peninsula was by no means a luxury community. Most of the people I saw were of modest means, living the same way their ancestors had. Second, I was shocked by the sheer size of the peninsula, confirmed by the fact that I did not manage to complete the Sorrento coast in two full days of walking. Since it was so much bigger than I had expected, there were many small villages that remained largely untouched by the tourists nearer the coast. So, in this way, one of my favorite places grew even higher in my esteem, as it had not yet fully succumbed to the torrent of visitors storming its coasts. Give it a few more years...
At dusk, with the sun setting behind the isle of Capri, pictured left, I managed to meet a local who walked me to the bus stop and even sold me a ticket, and in a few minutes I was back in Sorrento and my hostel. A few words about my hostel: apparently, the builders found out after completing a luxury hotel/spa that there were no more permits for hotels, so they had to open a portion of the compound as a hostel. For 20€ a night, I was able to sleep in a two-bed dormitory, with a 4-star lobby and breakfast room at my disposal. It felt great to be in this kind of place, even if my room was not as well appointed as the others!

Once in Sorrento, I took a walk around, appreciated the inlaid wood work (apparently Sorrento's schtick) and decorative limoncello bottles, and sat in a park until darkness had fallen. Then, after searching in vain for affordable dining, I settled on a hot panino and some roasted chestnuts. I would have preferred a full banquet style meal, but figured it could wait until I was out of the last major tourist outpost on my walk.

Reaching the Penisola Sorrentina

11/5 - Tre Case to Seiano

The train ride was a bit longer this time around, but I spent it chatting with a couple from St. Martin living in Utrecht, Holland. They were on their way to Pompei, and it was interesting to hear their take on the Amalfi Coast. You could see by looking in their eyes that the water where they come from is infinitely more beautiful to them, but they were very diplomatic. We talked a bit about the election results, which piqued the interest of the 80-something year old Italian man seated next to us, who had stayed up all night for the results, and was nearly dancing a jig for joy. I will wrap up all talk of US politics (I hope) by saying that the vast majority of Italians share his sentiments. I refuse to give any clue as to my own affiliations (I'm the It's Pat of politics, and like it that way). After quickly exchanging info with the Lakes, I descended at Tre Case, and resumed my walk. Again, this was not a pretty area, and it was a bit rainy to boot, but I was going to reach that magical peninsula today, and was excited enough not to mind. I am not sure exactly where I reached 1000 miles, but am pretty sure it was near a railroad track in the rain.

To celebrate, I had a sandwich (woop woop! raise the roof!), but it was not just any sandwich. Popping into a shop, I found myself elbow to elbow with a bunch of hard-looking dock workers on lunch break. I asked a swarthy looking Moe what was good, and ordered what he did: a sandwich with toasted bread much like french bread, with grilled sausage, an eggplant-mushroom-tomato goop, and fried zucchini. They threw it in the wood fired oven, I smiled at the guy who helped me and he actually smiled back without tearing out my trachea (I keep just barely making it out alive, eh?), and soon I was in lunchtime paradise. The last hot lunch I had was in Gaia's apartment in Rome, so I cherished the moment. I wish I had a picture of this sandwich, but there was no way I was going to take out my camera, not here. In fact, don't be upset if you never see another food picture from me from here on out: it's just plain stupid to flash valuables unnecessarily in places where I am the only stranger.

Happy with my 1000 mile celebratory lunch, I kept moving, and sooner or later I had made it to Vico Equense, the first big(ish) city the Sorrentine Peninsula, which is the name of the opposite coast from the famous Amalfi Coast. Stopping again with the sunset, I took what was now a very long train back to Napoli, returned to my old pal at the Internet cafe, had a pizza and a peperonata with a large beer, and prepared to leave Napoli.

Leaving Napoli, but only for the day

11/4 - Napoli to Tre Case

After the tough time I had finding cheap lodging in this part of the country, I decided to try a different approach: leaving the backpack at the hostel, traveling by bus/metro/train to my starting point, walking, and returning by public transport.

So, getting off the metro at the train station, I started walking away from Napoli, onto the stretch of coast bordering Vesuvius. Things got dicey once more, first through an industrial area and then through a tough part of town, but my disposition had changed, and I walked through it all with no fear in my heart. Of course, it helped not to have that big red target on my back, and I relished my inconspicuous presence as I flitted down side streets. Things were back to the way I liked them, with me looking and wondering at the locals and not vice versa.

I reached Herculaneum, the other famous victim of Vesuvius, and peeked down into the ancient city, choosing not to enter, as 11€ was not worth an hour or two, and I had more distance to cover. After paying 1€ to be alone at the last archaeological site (which was not too shabby, I might add), entering Herculaneum with gaggles of tourists for that price was too big a pill to swallow. Anyways, I had already seen it, and am sure I will see it again. Actually, I had this twilight zone moment of seeing myself with the wifey and children, and could hear myself saying "now the last time I was here..." as they all rolled their eyes. Scary...

Stopping around sunset, I hopped back on the convenient train to Napoli, and spent another large amount of time at the internet cafe. Then, as if to rub it into myself how comfortable I was feeling here, I had a kebab in the kebab place where 20 or so immigrants (of the so-called dangerous varieties) were drinking and watching a soccer match. Mouth of the lion, right?

The first day in Napoli

It was time to see what this city was all about. I slipped on my flip-flops, since there was no way my pinkie was going in that shoe, hopped on the metro, which conveniently was near the hostel, and hopped off at Montesanto, the center of town. Looking both ways, I stepped out into the daily hustle of the Pignasecca market, colorful and vibrant and just what I would have expected. I even permitted myself to enjoy it, to see what was on sale, who was buying, who was selling, and in what way.

In order to get something productive out of this "rest day," I set my sights on the tourist office, and followed the signs. Reaching a large piazza, I saw a demonstration, and three hundred yards away, some sort of military ceremony featuring every branch of the military in full uniform. Looking for someone to ask about the whereabouts of the tourist office, my eyes alighted on some policemen, and believe it or not, I approached them and asked. I say believe it or not because I typically avoid the police for a variety of reasons which I will not go into here, but since I risked being robbed blind by everyone else, I was actually happy to see them.

The cop I spoke to was extremely friendly, and it was not difficult to get him to shirk his duties for a nice long chat. Soon he was listing the must-dos for me as I greedily wrote down names, locations, and details. The best coffee, the best Sfogliatella (a pastry filled with cream and bits of orange rind, devilishly tasty), the best pizza, and the places to see. At one point, his buddy joined in, eager to put in his two cents. Sensing that we were buddies (the use of informal tu and formal Lei/Voi in Italy makes it clearer than in English), I asked him about the real crime scene here, and he told me what I wanted to hear: it's not bad at all, just don't be an idiot and wander where you shouldn't at night. Thrilled that I was not going to be robbed of all my clothes in broad daylight, I felt much more comfortable. Better yet, I now had a full itinerary of places to see and try after my trip to the tourist office.

So that's how I filled my day. Sfogliatella here, pizza folded in half (called portafoglio, or wallet), arancini (a fried ball of rice, tastes way better than it sounds) there, hanging out with the University students at Piazza Dante, and soon it was time for a late afternoon coffee at the cafeteria my harvest buddy Giovanni had suggested. So, having managed to walk all the way from my stopping point the evening before to the train station, I essentially crossed the entire city in one day. Not bad.

The rest of the day you know: four hours in an underground internet call center, the metro back to the hostel, and my encounter with the pizza chef. Things were looking up.

Entering Napoli

11/2 - Caserta to Napoli

Now, if you read the post before this one, then you will get a back to the future effect, since this post as well as the next describe events that took place before what I am now calling "the epiphany." If you have not already read it, then maybe you would prefer to read this post and the following, and then go back. Anyhow, do not read too fast, since it looks like this blog is slowly turning into a fortnightly publication.

And now to the post:

The day I entered Napoli was, by pure coincidence, the day of the dead. When I heard before coming to Italy that I would be safe and sound but should skip Napoli, I listened but thought it was a bit exaggerated, even though the person telling me was herself from Napoli. But when three out of four Italians, hearing of my plans, suggested and/or passionately urged me to skip Napoli, I started to take heed.

Still, there was no way I was going to skip Napoli, the third biggest city in Italy and home (arguably) to the best pizza, coffee, and dessert in the country. Add to that its position as staging point for Vesuvius, Herculaneum, Pompei, the Amalfi Coast, and over thirty museums in the city area, and you can see why I could consider it an absolute must.

When I started this walk, I faithfully donned my super secret double agent over-the-neck travel pouch, and held all valuables safely against my chest. Having protected myself against all too freuqent ibex muggings, I considered myself outside the danger zone about halfway through Piemonte. Barely escaping with my belongings all the way to Caserta, it was here that I decided to resume wearing that sweat magnet again. They pulled such a number on me that I actually carried my knife in my front pocket, and stuffed the wallet and mp3 player safely in the bag.

So, ready to storm Napoli but slowly convinced to take maximum precautions ("whatever you do, don't make eye contact!"), I embarked on my longest walk yet. Why almost 22 miles? Because I was told there was absolutely nowhere I could safely stop to sleep in between Caserta (or Capua) and Napoli. And it wasn't just anybody that told me this. It was the head of the tourist information office in Capua.

I hate fear. I detest having to "take precautions," as it makes me distrustful, anti-social, and skittish. The whole situation put me in an awful mood, and I walked without stopping for eleven miles.

It did not help that everyone, I mean everyone, was out on the street for the day of the dead. Traffic to the cemeteries was at a standstill as people lined up for hours to honor their deceased relatives. So, smog spewing cars stopped in traffic, combined with unseasonably hot weather and crowded sidewalks, made an already unpleasant walk even worse.

Then, at mile eleven, after stopping for lunch on the sidewalk near a blind curve (safer to eat unseen!), my right pinky toe gave up on me. There was no more putting on my shoe (yes, I know, first mistake was to take the shoe off) with this throbbing, aching digit. So, left with no other options, I switched to sandals. Have you ever walked eleven miles in sandals? How about rubber flip flops with zero padding and thirty pounds on your back? Bad mood.

Ok, the picture has been painted. It was a crappy day, and the sheer distance made frequent rests impossible. But I made it. I saw some horrible neighborhoods, felt ill at ease for seven hours of walking, and was technically an invalid by the time I arrived at the hostel. But I made it.

After a few hours of rest in the hostel, I walked to find dinner, and found a sandwich place in a lively part of town. By luck, I had stumbled onto the soccer game (Napoli-Milano, a great match), and joined dozens of rabid fans cheering on the home team, which unfortunately lost after a courageous showing against a much better squad. Then, rewarding myself with a gelato (where, I should add, the waffle cone was created before my eyes, a first), I returned to the hostel, and slept the sleep of the dead. On the day of the dead.

From Napoli

11/3 -

So I wander into a pizzeria, looking for a quick meal after a long day of wandering, and almost five hours performing what amounts to data entry, transferring handwriting to digital format. I look at the menu, taped to the plexiglas separator behind which stands the pizza chef and his ingredients. Since the chef is looking at me with expectation, I feel pressure to pick quickly, and I ask for a fried ripieno, something I had never seen before, and thought I might as well try.

Looking at me with an expression that is infinitely tired, he replies "forno," and with a flick of his head, motions toward the roaring wood fire oven. Okay, strike one. My bad. I smile and say in my best "street" Italian, "what you got that's fresh?" This time he laughs at me. "Fresh? Everything here is old, a few days at least. This is a pizzeria." I won't look for an explanation of why statement b so necessarily follows statement a. I swallow hard, forehead burning. Strike two. Here's my last shot, before walking out in ignominy amidst laughter from the entire city, condemned to try my luck foraging with the numerous stray dogs. I pick a pizza, any pizza, the one with salami and onions, safe bet, not the cheapest ("cheapskate") or the most expensive ("rich boy tourist"). He nods assent, I exhale, and in order to regain my composure (and because I have to pee), I ask for the bathroom. I go upstairs, realize that the pizzeria and restaurant was up here, and that I ordered directly from the pizza kitchen. Too late now. I walk through, pee, wash my hands, realizing that this as the first time I had done so since 9:30 that morning, and my mind races through all the dirt and sketchy situations I have encountered.

Coming back down, I see him making pizzas, but they're not mine. The delivery boy waits while he prepares six Margherita pizzas (tomato, mozzarella, salt, basil, and that's it). The man is an artist, a graceful dancer with the pizza oven spatula, and in three minutes he has prepared, inserted, turned, cooked, and dumped all six pizzas in their waiting boxes. I am awestruck. I also see that I am the only idiot ordering anything except a Margherita. Again, too late now.

While I stand awkwardly placed in front of both the staircase and the cash register - he's already had to move me out of the way of the spatula once, and there won't be a second time, not again - I see him make two more pizzas this way. Then a voice from upstairs comes screaming down, followed by a man, and boy is he livid about something. I edge out of the way, now blocking the entrance, and watch these two have a full-blown argument. What was it about? I don't know. Why, you say? Don't you speak Italian? Yes, but that's just it: they're speaking the Neapolitan dialect, like everyone else here, and I only understand about 10%, if I concentrate hard. What I do manage to pick up is that the second man, who I assume is the manager, is calling the pizza chef lazy and/or slow, and the pizza chef is telling the manager that he should spend one day, just one day (he repeats over and over) in his place.

There was never, for one moment, any thought that a customer was witnessing this scene. Apparently, they didn't catch that whole "customer comes first" lesson. I just play fly on the wall, hoping that the stress of the situation doesn't translate itself into my pizza, but I see him make it as he argues, and with the same artistry he spins it round in the oven, cooks it evenly, and plops it in a waiting box. It's clear they've been down this road before.

He asks if I want a drink, I ask for a large Peroni, he says 7€, I pull out a 20€, he asks for a 10€, I don't have a smaller bill (blew it again, Hook), and I get my change. Then, out of nowhere, he smile this sunshiny, genuine smile, thanks me, and wishes me buon appetito. I compliment his chops at the oven, he says thanks again, and I walk out.

Deciding I want a dessert too (they are famous for their desserts, pizza, and coffee here), I walk with my open beer and pizza down the block, find a gelato place, and since it starts to rain, I decide against taking it all back to the hostel. I sit myself down on a stop in front of a closed butcher shop, eat my pizza, and drink my beer.

Pat, it's 9 o clock in Napoli. Aren't you scared? No! In fact, people speed up when they see me, scared of the vagrant with his duct taped feet wearing sandals in the rain, drinking a large beer on a stoop. I realize I would be scared of me too. I probably would speed up and avoid eye contact, come to think of it. I smile at the thought.

And I start to think about Napoli, about the episode I have just witnessed, about the past day here, and about the past few days in Campania. I realize that I have been subconsciously fighting this region, placing everything in contrast with the North, to what I have seen and done so far. Then I acknowledge that at least I have understood that the ill at ease I have been feeling, the frustration and unhappiness, is simply culture shock. This is day three of understanding that, and I pat myself on the back for having identified it early; I see it as the sign of becoming a true traveler. But despite recognizing the feeling I have had as culture, I have nevertheless rejected this region, judged it too quickly, and looked for its shortcomings instead of its redeeming qualities.

It hits me then and there, on that stoop in the warm and humid Monday evening, that this too is a challenge. Nobody said that walking twenty miles would settle it, that serving women would come with Tuscan wine and Valle d'Aostan salamis and bathe me in my 10€ 4 star hotel. Part of the allure of this walk for me, indeed one of the major reasons I embarked on it, was to set a difficult challenge for myself, one with unforeseen obstacles and no guarantees, and see it through to the end, with no exemption.

You know, it has not all been easy for me. I have created many of my own advantageous situations by energy and positive disposition, have relied on the wheel of fortune and the generosity of others to an unprecedented degree, and have smiled and nodded yes with all my soul every time a new and often difficult decision has presented itself. Not to mention that in many ways I have mortgaged my future so as to do this trip the way it should be done. So why would I shy away from this new and greatest challenge instead of seeing it as another opportunity to test my strength and determination and mettle and integrity? I do not know why I did, but sitting there on the stoop, I knew that I would not shy away anymore.

Looking back, I see that part of me saw my arrival in Rome as the end. I had a pre-determined route (the Via Francigena), an active social scene awaiting me, and after all, the ultimate goal (as far as I can tell now) has been to find a job there. But it was just the halfway point. Things change now. The area is unknown: the money is starting to run low: the clothes are losing their sheen and still stink a little even after I hand wash them: I don't understand the language to the extent I did before: tourist information is hard to come by, and is often too localized to be of any use: campgrounds are closed, stripping me of my most affordable lodging option: the novelty of my trip has worn off, and my long and frequent silences have lost me most of my audience, already drowning amidst (perceived or real) economic woes and around the clock election coverage: winter is coming, starting with frequent rainstorms. Bring it on.

My mother very wisely tells me to stop, tells me nobody is keeping me on this track, or will think any less of me for stopping. She's right (right?), and her words arise from great concern for her little baby. She hears me mutter the truth of my situation (for, after all, I would never lie to her, and anyways it would do no good, as I am as transparent as they come in my dishonesty), and hears the uncertainty, and we should be frank here, the fear of the unknown. But it is in these mutterings that she has missed the message, and I cannot blame her, because so have I, even as I muttered it.

There is no more powerful and meaningful lesson that I can learn from this walk than the one I will learn after finishing this second half. This trip, a veritable pleasure cruise, a delight for the senses, would only be a long-term vacation if it were not for the rainy days, the blisters forming on top of blisters, and the feelings of helplessness in an alien and sometimes unfriendly land. It is by entering this crucible that my character will be tempered, and the full scope of this voyage, this dream dreamed through so many tosses and turns, post-work commutes, and empty Sunday evenings, will be realized.

So, once again, please forgive my absences, and, I will be the first to admit, the book report quality accounts that have popped up once or twice as of late. It is impossible to be inspired every day, and least of all when one has twenty days worth of stories to recount. I truly do not know where the next few weeks will take me, now more than over, but I will do my best to observe, enjoy, and share my increasingly exotic surroundings. And on a timely basis, too.

The worst of the culture shock has passed, and the lessons have been learned. Don't bullsh*t the pizza chef and waste his time, acting out the equivalent of an Oxford lad asking for a fresh salad (with escaroles, please) at a Waffle House in Birmingham, Alabama. Calm down, they're not honking at you; they just love to lean on the damn horn at every possible moment. Stop swearing that the next person who asks you if you're going skiing is going to get a trekking pole here the sun doesn't shine. If the rabid-looking free-roaming mutt runs out of his yard at full speed and looks like he is going to tear out your Achilles tendon, square up and show him who the alpha dog is. Most of all, don't apply old rules to new situations. It's time to see what the South is all about.

Happy 1000, Pat.

Halloween and All Saints' Day

10/31 - Sessa Aurunca to Capua - 21.46 miles

I walked to Capua on Halloween, which was also my longest walk yet. I saw a horse and buggy being used as an actual method of transport, had run ins with various unleashed dogs, both stray and otherwise, and was awestruck by the fact that everything closed at lunchtime for around two hours. A grey day, it will always stick out in my mind as a long ramble through decrepit and depressing ghost towns. The picture to the right says it better than I ever could, so I'll stop there.

Reaching Capua just after dusk, having performed a miracle seven and half miles in the last two hours, I collapsed into a cappuccino, sat for a good long while, and when I was ready, asked the old men in front of the (closed) information center about lodging. One man got up to help, opened the office, and got on the phone. After arguing with a nun for ten minutes in an attempt (failed, but with hilarious results) to find me a cheap place to stay, they sent me to the seminary, where I paid hotel prices but ate like a king. I barely made it through dinner before crashing fully clothed on the bed. Long day.

11/1 - Capua to Caserta - 11.43 miles

Since the old men had also warned me against walking to Napoli from Capua, or stopping anywhere in between, I heeded their advice, and headed eastward instead to Caserta, planning a walk from there to Napoli the next day. As it was the first of November, I was joined on the road by everyone else for All Saints' Day, a huge celebration in this still very pious part of the country. Accompanied by heavy traffic, short spells of rain, and near constant honking, I reached Caserta, the capital of the Province, with relative ease. Funny how eleven miles is a walk in the park to me now.

Taking advantage of my early arrival, I found my way to the Palazzo Reale, a gigantic Baroque complex from the Bourbon dynasty days. Behind this building was a massive sprawling garden, and I thought about going but since it was raining hard, decided to eat lunch first. The rain stopped by the time I had finished lunch, but I was sorely disappointed to find that the gardens had closed, this being the first day of early closures (for winter). Sad to have missed what looked like a truly beautiful garden, I went to find a hotel, and after seeing that all my choices were equally poor and expensive, picked the last one I visited.

It was from Caserta that I wrote my "not in Kansas anymore" post, and I must admit that I was a bit overwhelmed by all I had encountered. The rules had changed down here, and now it was time for me to enter the mouth of the lion - Napoli.

Goodbye Lazio, Hello Campania

10/30 - Marina di Minturno to Sessa Aurunca - 12.09 miles

After a month and a half, it was finally time for me to leave Lazio and enter Campania. As always, I was excited for the change, and eagerly sought the sign. Right at the border, however, I was stopped by a large archaeological site, containing a beautiful Roman theater. Since the day would be a short one, and I had awakened early, I had the time to enter the old town of Minturnae and explore the ruins. Once again, it was just me walking on the Appia Antica, the same as the one I walked on my way out of Rome: just me sitting in the theater and picturing performance that took place here over the centuries: just me touching the stone columns.

Walking out, I saw an aqueduct which runs alongside the Appia all the way to Rome, and I wondered how it was possible that these works were still here, shading grazing horses and decorating the landscape so harmoniously.

I entered Campania without any fanfare, spying the entry sign into the region from the next bridge. Like a bad omen, it started to rain as soon as I walked across the border, so I fished out my rain gear, finished the Odyssey under the protection of a large billboard (thinking it fitting to finish the Odyssey after leaving the Riviera di Ulisse), and moved on. My first day in Campania was spent putting on and taking off my jacket, as the weather frequently changed from rainy and grey to warm and sunny. In between, I saw large fields of apple trees, and large expanses of farmland. When I reached my destination, a town called Sessa Aurunca, I walked to the main piazza, asked a man for information on hotels, and he kindly listed off all the options.

Having reached the hotel at 3PM, I dropped off the backpack and went to look for the one internet cafe in town, which turned out to be a driving school, and was closed for lessons. So, unable to use the computer, I went to a caffeteria, had a cappucino, and wrote in my journal (the old fashioned way).

Coming back to the hotel, I ran into the florist next door, who offered me the free use of his computer, which I used for fifteen minutes, not wishing to overstay my welcome. A lack of available services, a make-do atmosphere, and a friendly and generace populace all indicated that I had reached Southern Italy.

A trip to the tech store

Gatea to Marina di Minturno - 13.24 miles

After a heavy rainfall the day before, Gaeta was squeaky clean when I passed through, charming and glowing with the post-rain sunshine. Of course, now that I had no camera, various excellent photo opportunities presented themsevles, and I bit my lip each time.

After walking about two hours, I reached the tourist information center in Formia, where I had promised to stop upon leaving Antonio at the Gaeta tourist office the evening before. Together with his coworkers, they excited plied me with questions, gave me pats on the back, and even bought me a panino for lunch. When I asked about Campania, they printed out maps of the region for me, and gave me some advice about which way to go and what to see. Finally, they saw me off with precise instructions on how to reach a shopping mall where I could purchase a replacement camera.

The shopping experience was interesting in the difference between what I expected and what I received. Going to the Italian version of Best Buy, Euronics, I found all the cameras behind a glass case, and had to wait ten minutes for someone to open it, so I could actually handle the cameras. When the service representative did come, he was mostly ignorant about the cameras, and was very pushy about slling them. The display said very little, the cameras were not charged so hands-on testing was impossible, and when I asked to see some manuals or spec sheets, I was told this was also impossible. So, I who read three online forums and hundreds of opinions before buying toilet paper (but the strongest, fluffiest, cheapest two-ply TP on the market, of that you can be sure) was forced to purchase a camera with my eyes closed, so to speak. I walked out feeling profoundly unsatisfied. How spoiled we are in the US, with the ability to touch and feel and test and research products before we buy them! You might think this whole discourse is petty, and you might be surprised I chose to mention it, but in the day to day errands lie the differences that make a foreign country feel different. These are the little things that expats find themselves missing: that is why I mention it.

The coastal walk, and goodbye to a trusty companion

10/28 Sperlonga to Gaeta - 17.52 miles

The bus from Fondi back to Sperlonga was at 10:10, so I was not in too great of a hurry to wake up. When I finally did step outside, I was surprised to find a dark and stormy morning with big thick rain droplets. Hoping that the coast would be better, I nonetheless armed myself for the rain. Though slightly better, the coast was still misty as I started my walk from the piazza where I had departed the evening before.

Since this area bordered a park called Riviera di Ulysse (this area seems to be obsessed with Homer's epic), I looked for some trails to avoid the busy coastal road, and finding one immediately after an archaeological site, started up the small hill. After a short distance, I reached a fork in the road with no indications, so using common sense, I took the trail that led over the coastal road rather than down towards it. By the time I realized that this trail was not actually a trail, I had climbed a very large and steep hill, so seeing a road above, I decided to see where it led. As it turns out, it led inland, exactly the opposite of what I needed, but by now it was too late to turn back and head down that crazy hill. The GPS rerouted me a little ways further, and deciding to be adventurous, I went along for the ride.

I found myself in a gated community with large houses, and soon found out why they were up here, cut off from both Sperlonga and Gaeta and linked to civilization by a single dirt road: each house had amazing views of the nature reserve as well as the sea. Taking some stellar pictures in the rain, I had my fill of the views, and began to pick my way back down to the road leading to Gaeta. However, taking the exact path described by my GPS, I found homes blocking the way. This was the first time my GPS led me astray, as far as I could recall, and I could not help feeling betrayed. I went through many of the steps: denial, anger, regret, loss of appetite, but since it was raining I skipped the rest, accepted the horrible truth, and moved on.

But where to go? Would I have to back track all the way to Sperlonga and start over again? No way! Walking a bit further, I saw that the mountain sloped down to the road that I needed to reach. And so I walked down a mountain (in the picture, from top left to near that big electrical pole, then straight ahead). No roads, no trails, just me picking out the best path. When I reached the bottom and looked up at where I had been, I was filled with great pride at my mountain man maneuver. I turned on the camera, snapped the photo, and watched with horror as the LCD darkened, darkened, fuzzed, and went black. I had just short circuited my camera.

Unable to believe what had just happened, I nonetheless stayed the sense of panic, and continued on my walk, hoping that a few hours of down time would restore it to its former glory.

I walked into the series of tunnels that ran under the mountains I had just explored. It was there that I saw my first major car accident, a truck and two absolutely totaled cars, with ambulances and police just arriving on the scene. As it had just happened two or three minutes before, people were just starting to get out of cars and walk to the scene. Never the one to stare at car accidents, I passed without even stopping or even slowing, and for the next fifteen minutes I became the information guy. For over a half mile, one out of three cars stopped me to ask what had happened. At first I enjoyed being the one in the know, but it grew old and really annoying quickly, and I was glad to be free from that responsibility once I had passed the area of the accident.

When I reached Gaeta, I called the church whose number I had, and learning that they were closed, was on my own. I walked in the late afternoon downpour to the center of town, and lucked into an open tourist information office in a side alley. The man there was extremely helpful and very animated, and within a few minutes, I was off toward a nice family-run hotel in the historical center.

The place was run by three little old ladies who argued amongst each other about everything, but all in all were very sweet. They sent me to a nice place for dinner, but finding it closed (it was Tuesday night, the universal closure day for Gaeta. Of course.), I was directed to a pizzeria down the street. There I was treated like family, spent the evening chatting with the chef and the owner, and ate so much that I had trouble sleeping. I just couldn't say no when they offered to share the desserts that mama had made that very day. How terribly rude to say no!

Back on Track - Sperlonga

10/27 - Terracina to Sperlonga - 13.07 miles

The Monday following my Rome weekend, Greg, by now very close to reaching guardian angel status, dropped me off near the train station, and I was off again on my journey. I think I even earned a rung on the "becoming a true Roman ladder" when I found myself tranquilly walking through a full-blown demonstration.

A few hours later, I wsa back at the Terracina train station, and off again down the Lazio coastline. Again, nothing to report about this walk, except that I ate lunch on a rock looking out at the sea, and walked the last three miles on the sand.

Sperlonga was truly beautiful, clean and orderly and thoroughly uncharacteristic of this area, from what I had seen. The streets were clean and free of litter, the grass was cut, the buildings nicely painted, everything in its proper place. I liked it here, and was excited when I saw that they had a hostel. That is, excited until I arrived at the doors to the hostel and found them closed. So, walking instead to the center of Sperlonga, I went to look for the tourist office, found it closed, and had similar results with the Municipio (town hall). The next step was to ask at a nearby bar, and they directed me away from Sperlonga, saying that there was nothing affordable in the area. They sent me on a bus to Fondi, a bit inland, where I could supposedly find cheaper lodging. So, as the sun was setting, I took a thirty minute bus ride, sad to leave such a pretty little town.

Fondi was not exactly a tourist town, and I think I must have been the only non local there. By no means beautiful, it was modestly attractive, like many other small to mid-sized inland towns I had seen so far. I found a bed and breakfast as darkness fell, realized it was not much cheaper than what I would have found at Sperlonga, and let it go, since there was nothing I could do about it now anyways. This 5:00 sunset thing is really tyrannical!

A Sad Goodbye to the First Pair of Shoes, and a gear update

My one and only care package arrived while I was away from Rome, and the timing worked out that I got to pick it up before heading back into the wilderness. The main thing to arrive was a new pair of shoes, slightly different from the ones I had used all this time (oops), but at this point I was just happy for any pair as long as it had fresh waterproofing. I took some goodbye photos and then ceremoniously threw them in the dumpster in front of Greg's house. Yes, I thought about keeping them, but I pictured them being thrown away two years from now and figured I might as well just get a jump on the Pat of the future. I am not so sure the Pat of 5 years ago would have done the same, and take this as another sign of getting older.

Since I realized that my stay in Rome would be the best and possibly only chance for me to store some unnecessary gear, I got rid of a few key items that have changed my life considerably. The biggest thing to go was the tent, as camping sites are now closed anyhow.

I also got rid of:
the Brothers K (wasn't going to brave a second reading on the same trip)
2 pairs of socks
camera case
sunglasses case
metal wine opener (exchanged for plastic!)
various maps and papers
bowl, cup, and spoon
My hat (worn a total of two times)
Mosquito repellent (note: sorely missed here in Campania)
Stove, Pan, Fuel Canister (ditched back in Paris, first things to go)
Treo and collapsible keyboard (the charger breaking was the last nail in the coffin)
Old Camelbak (as I predicted back in July, it did end up leaking, and was really gross at the end of three months anyways. Replaced with new one from care package)

So, the end result of this cathartic purge was that my backpack went on a major diet (Jenny Craig, gotta try it!!!!!). Last time I weighed it, I think I had it down to about 30 pounds, a full 15 pound loss from its heaviest days back in the North. You have no idea the difference it makes, especially around hour three.

And, just for fun, here is a clear difference between American products and Italian products, seen from the point of view of toothpaste.