FLASHBACK: La Dolce Vita (2001)

After working more than a decade at the National Council on Alcoholism and Drug Dependence, I decided to call it quits and celebrate by going to Italy with Victor.  It was my first trip to Europe since visiting Leon in Spain seven years earlier.  Air travel would change forever in less than four months.

Pompeii

Victor's arrival came as an enormous relief after traveling alone from Rome on the train.  Despite our jet lag, we headed immediately to Pompeii.  I couldn't believe these impeccably laid bricks might be centuries older than Christ.

 

We had the place to ourselves late on a spring afternoon.

The faded outdoor frescoes didn't live up to my expectations.

This ancient olive press, however, blew me away.  Leave it to the Italians to make their tools pretty!

Just like sitting down to dinner in the Pines.

Naples

We opted for separate rooms at our charming, inexpensive pension.  Victor paid extra for a larger room overlooking the Bay of Naples. Our economic discordance began to belch like Vesuvius so long ago.

He caught me journaling before we caught the ferry to Capri.  I always write better in the morning, after a cup of coffee when all the synapses are firing.

I LOVED the authenticity of Naples even before reading Elena Ferrante, especially an eerie evening encounter with young Italians playing soccer on marble floors in a classically enclosed, skylit space.  We never ate better pizza.  And I couldn't believe that people on the street actually said "Mamma Mia!"

Capri

Unlike several of our fellow passengers, we avoided seasickness prior to docking at the Marina Grande with Monte Solaro looming above.

I'm not sure I'd ever encountered a road-side religious shrine before, especially not one this elaborate.

We hiked nearly 2,000 feet to the top of Monte Solaro.  Thankfully, Apple watches were still far in the future so Victor couldn't live blog about his health stats as we huffed and puffed.

You can't beat the view, especially after the sun burned through the fog.

Most of my clothing--including the hat that I now use when house painting--came from a shopping spree at H&M, which had recently opened its first store on Fifth Avenue in New York City.

These gay boys from West Hollywood, who hadn't broken a sweat, had us all atwitter.  

We descended on the chairlift, the way they came up.

It took us directly over an immaculately tended garden with a koi pool.

I had wanted to see the Blue Grotto, our next stop, since early childhood, although I never got farther south in Italy than Lake Garda with my parents.  We had been warned it might be closed due to the bay's choppy waters.  A dead fish on the steps down to the dock did not bode well.

Missing Grotta Azzurra still tops the list of my travel disappointments but even we could see how treacherous it would be to hop in a row boat not far from where Victor is standing.

Rome

The modesty of our shared room--booked by me, of course--may have pushed Victor over the edge.

I bought my first Mac at Victor's recommendation and never travel without it, even after the advent of smart phones.  I'm not sure our hotel had internet service.  Can you imagine?

The Spanish Steps was our first stop after unpacking.

We hit the Roman Forum and Colosseum early the next morning.  WOW.  Just wow!

The Swiss Guards stationed outside Vatican City looked more decorative than protective, although that may no longer be true.

The Vatican knows how to keep the tourists coming.  It allows photos everywhere EXCEPT the Sistine Chapel.  That still leaves a lot of gorgeous art.

What I recall most vividly are the guards shouting "silenzio, silenzio" periodically when the crowd of people gawking at the ceiling grew too noisy in their appreciation for Michelangelo's masterwork.

.

We climbed 550 steps to the top of St. Peter's Basilica.

Vesuvius finally erupted when I gave my long-suffering companion a hard time about not walking to our next stop, the Pantheon.  "This is the Victor Zonana economy and we're taking a cab."  No fool, I caved after an exhausting day of seeing several of Western Civilization's most durable achievements.  Some superb gelato helped overcome our hangriness, too.

Taking our lives into our hands, we rented scooters the next day, after enjoying the perfect lunch in Trastavere, a much more authentic culinary experience than we had the night before dining at a restaurant where Victor thought dropping Danny Meyer's Italian name ("Maialino") would get us a better table.  Instead, the maitre 'd ushered us into a separate room full of tourists and handed us menus printed in English.  When we returned to the Pines, Victor reproduced the delicious chicken dish we'd had in Trastavere, although the subsequent kitchen clean-up made me wish we were back in Rome.

Here's Victor navigating the chaotic Piazza Venezia before we headed to the Catacombs, twenty terrifying minutes away.

Victor spent our final morning in the Eternal City shopping for business clothes with a charming salesman who insisted he looked fabulous in everything he tried on for size while I gave him my usual reality check.    Victor still wears some of the ties he purchased that day.

My more modest economy could afford only fruit.  It turned out to be marble!  I wish I'd bought some now as a memento of a wonderful trip that reignited my passion for international travel.