Mom's Blog

It's long overdue but here is Mom's version of Naples!

Since I’m the first house guest to visit Tricia and Ben in Naples, Tricia has gracefully acquiesced to allow me to be a guest blogger on her blog for the chance to write about my visit with them from my perspective.  So here goes…

After a long, seemingly endless journey to Naples that included 19 hours of travel time and a tight dash between airlines in Munich, I finally arrived in Naples met by Tricia and Ben’s smiling faces. That precious sight melted all the fatigue away. They’ve been so eager for visits from family and friends, I truly felt received like royalty, but wish the weather was as welcoming. The stifling heat and humidity, reminiscent of my years in Manila, took my breath and energy away.

The 25-minute drive to their apartment from the airport gave me the opportunity to observe Ben’s driving skills as he weaved in and out of traffic in his Fiat Punto, honking his horn like a native. He can certainly “run with the champions” at this point and from what I hear from Tricia, his indignant road rage has given way to a cunning, calculating passive-aggressive style that assures his survival on the Italian roadways. He maneuvered his way through some narrow city streets on teeth rattling cobblestone roads, some made for four-legged transportation ages ago.  One way streets would go any way the driver wanted it to be, making it necessary to lean on the horn at every blind turn. Driving there, like their strong espresso coffee, is not for the weak-hearted.  I guess Ben’s military training is coming in handy.

It was an experience entering their lobby to look up and see five flights of stairs (107 stairs in all), without elevators, to get up to their penthouse apartment (they are on the 4^th floor but the Europeans count the ground floor as 0). Tricia wasn’t kidding when she said it was a “mini-workout” to get to her floor---that is, depending on how old you are; it was a maxi-workout for me. Let me tell you, after 3 weeks of climbing stairs and walking long distances on those uneven city streets, it guaranteed firm glutes and thighs. Thank God Ben was there to bring up the suitcases.

One last aerodynamic Feldman, Athena, was there to greet me as she “flew” around the room in such a state of ecstasy to see a familiar face, or is it because she knew there would be forbidden tidbits coming her way in the kitchen? We finally settled down to Tricia’s special chili—the All- American comfort food for the travel weary. There’d be plenty of time for Italian food.

Jet lag can be a good thing. I woke up before the Italians did and took pictures from Ben and Tricia’s veranda overlooking a piazza on one side and the most magnificent views of Mt. Vesuvius, the Gulf of Naples, old castles and the city skyline on the other. There were residences and inns on the cliffside with an elegant, gated villa (most likely Mafia owned) on the promontory.  In the soft, early morning sunlight, it was a little like paradise.

First order of the day was --you got it-- a trip to Tricia’s weekly one-day Neapolitan street market.  Leave it to Tricia’s Filipino genes to find all the bargains complete with her “fluent” Italian to haggle for bigger discounts.  They had clothing items, Italian shoes, kitchen items (where I bought more espresso cups for Ben’s mean brews), flowers and various other sundry items. It was a lifesaver to buy lighter clothing to survive the summer heat.  Watching people was just as fascinating as watching what people bought. Ben was the great tour guide in the afternoon where we strolled through the shady streets in Vomoro to window shop, people watch, and eat gelato.

Their apartment is located in a great area called Posillipo, complete with macellerias (butcher shops with great salami, sausages, prosciutto and cheeses), pizzerias, beauty shops, little groceries stores, a polleria (rotisserie place), a seafood shop, a churros with nutella stand, pharmacies, coffee shops and even a church just a few doors away that summoned me to mass with its church bells on some mornings.  The piazza below provided some weekend entertainment for us as we leaned over the balcony to watch  crowds of people—families with babies, amorous  couples (I mean amorous) and groups of friends who came for pizza and gelato until after midnight.  Parking their motorcycles and tiny cars in tight spaces facing every which way, always left us wondering how in the world could they untangle themselves to get home?  Even a garbage truck on a late Sunday night got into the act!  Across the street is a bus stop—which has delighted Tricia because she refuses to drive in Italy. She has become a whiz at getting her way around by bus, metro, funicolare, boat and speed trains (for longer distances).  When commuting with her, she only had one request—no English spoken lest it attract the wrong attention; so I found out the hard way. No sooner did I say something in English when we’d feel several pairs of eyes staring at us. For some reason, people there are fascinated by people who speak English, like we belonged to some unusual human species.  I suppose the pickpockets would feel the same way, too.

My definition of “walking distance” is very different from hers.  For me, it might mean a few city blocks, for Tricia, it means walking until your feet or stamina give out. We did a lot of walking by her definition, but it was also a good way to see places you might never see when you are in a car or to work off the pizzas and pastas.

The legendary Amalfi coast is more beautiful than travel books would describe.  Positano, a medieval port city built on a cliffside was one of the most picturesque places I have ever seen.  Some years ago at an art and wine street fair, I remember seeing a booth with a photography-as-art display of photos from a town built on cliffs in Italy—and I remember thinking, “I’m going to see that magical place one day, wherever it might be”.  It was Positano.  What a marvel it was to see how these homes were built tiered on the rock face and artisan shops, hotels and restaurants built on the bluffs.  There is only one narrow street that snaked all the way up to the top and stairs which provided the only other access up or down.  Bougainvilla vines and flowers grew around everything like a giant garden which made the whole picture a jaw-dropping  piece of Heaven---and Ben said his meal was the best he’s ever had in Italy.

Speaking of food.  Those who know our family know what foodies we are.  We believe that sampling a country’s cuisine is as important as appreciating the people.  You haven’t lived until you try the Neapolitan pizza (I am told, pizza was invented there) with its thin crust and salsa di pomodoro sauce freshly made with a slightly sweet variety of tomato.  Being seaside, my favorite was pizza with mozzarella and alici (anchovies) and Tricia’s more exotic favorites were the grilled squid or octopus salad. When Ben was hungry, we could entice him to sample some of our strange menu choices, but he drew the line at the octopus. He liked the vongole, pasta with clams topped with parmesan cheese (which is a mortal sin in Italy when served over seafood).  In Prague, we tried the fried cheese with boiled potatoes (not bad) and their thick, dark goulash soup (not too bad, either).  If we worked the farms like their people did in the past, we probably could eat their food everyday without turning into blimps.

 It is interesting to note that dogs are allowed in restaurants and many hotels. Here is a photo of Athena patiently waiting her turn to get a morsel of Ben’s pizza when we visited Vietri.  She likes Italian food.

Tricia’s pantry looked like a well- stocked Asian market with every imaginable ingredient you might need to cook up a meal because she loves Asian food and can’t find an authentic restaurant there.  She made a great Pad Thai, lo mein dish,  lemon chicken, and scallops with lemon grass among other things. Leftovers usually go with Ben to work the next day, probably making people wonder what asian smells are coming from his warmed up lunch—and where he is getting the stuff.  She’s become a great cook; I’d have asked for smelling salts a couple of years ago if I had been told what a talented cook she’d eventually become.  Ben is as talented at dishwashing  (without a dishwasher) as Tricia is at cooking.  Great division of labor.

Ben graciously let us take the opportunity of visiting Rome, the Eternal City, for a couple of days and Prague for three to take advantage of great summer fares.  Much as I love Rome with its mix of rich, historical monuments among the “newer” (later century) buildings, it was almost too uncomfortable with the suffocating heat and the crowds of people that travel in the summer months.  Long lines everywhere, packed metros—not good for the claustrophobic.  Nevertheless, we had a wonderful visit.

Prague, the city with a thousand spires, has been beautifully restored after the Cold War.  It is a completely different city from the one I saw in the early 90s shortly after the Iron Curtain came down; I would describe it then as a beautiful woman that aged badly.  Sadly some of the magnificent churches or basilicas that spoke of deeply Christian roots have been turned into symphony halls or places for performing arts.  It made one feel like a peasant to see the grandeur of the lifestyles that were lived in those palaces and estates. The rich and famous of today have nothing on those folks back in the day.   With Tricia’s ever roving eye on shop worthy stuff, she swears by their finest quality Turkish pashminas, her favorite Mango brand store and gorgeous crystal.

We did some day trips to Sorrento and Capri that took us by hydrofoil in no time at all.  Sorrento is home to the Sorrento lemons that grow as large as cantaloupes.  Lemonade is not its usual by-product, but rather a liqueur called limoncello, basically made with 100 proof alcohol and a few drops of lemon. It must be drunk chilled to cushion the shock. Creamy limoncello is also an option. What can I say? Those haunting love songs that speak of romance in those places hardly do them justice. What makes these places more beautiful is their history. They weren’t built from designs of master city planners, but evolved over time with lots of stories to tell. Without our technology, they were still really built to last.  Capri goes all the way back to the Bronze age and one can also still see some Roman villas that were used as vacation homes by the wealthy Romans in the time of Tiberius Caesar.

Europeans know how to live. They take long afternoon rest periods called “riposos” to recharge their batteries and to take long leisurely lunches (if need be) or naps...and they drink plenty of wine.  If you haven’t done your shopping by 1 pm, you might need to wait til 4 or 5pm. They also walk everywhere and do a tremendous amount of socializing.  They also make time for public displays of affection (PDAs as my children call them).  Italy, the Land of Romance, is no myth. It is not an unusual to spot a couple locked in a death grip of a steamy embrace that makes one wonder when they will come up for air.  Sometimes, if these kissing couples might be around a coffee shop, the patrons make the scene their afternoon entertainment as they sip their cappucinos.  I’ll bet those stress -relieving habits offset their smoking habits.  They just might live longer than their non-smoking, stressed- out, workaholic counterparts in the West.

On one Sunday, Ben, Tricia and I got on a Hop On Hop Off bus that tours Naples. These tour buses point out significant monuments, streets or museums along the way where one can hop off to do more exploring.  After visiting the world class museum in the heart of town, we walked the streets to enjoy local color and to see how the Neapolitans live. We watched wedding parties coming out of churches and walked through little streets and alleyways in Old Town to poke into the little shops. We discovered a street that sold artisan pasta in every imaginable flavor, shape and color.  Imagine basil, pistachio, pepperoncini, lemon, sun-dried tomato, spinach, squid ink and carrot pastas?  A creative cook could go crazy with possibilities!

Seeing the American base was a real experience.  After wandering around antiquity and history, there is this little patch that looks like a total transplant from the US, as if some giant laser beam cut a slice of America and patched it onto the Italian countryside. Within the confines of the gates were immaculate lawns, modern apartments, basketball courts, football fields, schools, hospital, commissaries and anything else that would belong in a newly minted town in the US.  I suppose one would be able to live there and never feel they left America.

Before this comes to a close, may I add a few more points to Tricia’s travel advisories (if she had any)?

1.     Don’t go to Europe in July or August unless you want to encounter armies of perspiring Europeans.

2.     Don’t have a perm before travelling in the summertime unless you want to look like the wild man from Borneo.

3.     Don’t go without getting on the stairmaster to get in condition at the gym if you plan to stay at Tricia and Ben’s 5^th floor apartment (without elevators)

4.     Don’t speak English on public transportation when you get there.

This can go on forever with the million little impressions I came away with, but I need to say that this was never really meant to be a travelogue--- rather an account of the precious time I spent with Tricia and Ben in the faraway place they now call home.  

Ben, thank you for putting up with all the girl chatter, getting recruited to drive us places, doing dishes, bringing home Disney movies for mom-friendly entertainment in the evenings and allowing us to share some weird dishes with you. You are truly a son to me. Tricia, thank you for being my constant companion, tour director, translator, cook, and confidante. Thank you both for sharing your new friends, for loving your mother and allowing me a chance to get a wonderful glimpse into your newly married life.  What a special opportunity you have to start a new life facing many new experiences together.  I know it isn’t always easy to be far from your close friends and family and it isn’t as glamorous as it sounds living in Europe sometimes, but all of us who are an ocean away are always thinking of you and looking forward to being with you when you come home…and thank God, we are only a vonage call, skype, facebook or email away.

I love you both!

Mom

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