No flight would ever been complete without the rebellious, non-conforming child. As we ascended the clouds, the relative tranquillity was pierced by the high pitched screams of a toddler. Eventually, these began to fade. It is conceivable that the parents were forced to "bribe" their reactionary son. Any deviation from this path would have resulted in disquiet from fellow passengers. Additionally sales of paracetamol would have climbed to an all time high at Naples Airport pharmacy.
After 2.5 hours, we began to descend. The unmistakable contour of Vesuvius was the first landmark to greet us. The mountain was adorned by a necklace of light emanating from the city and villages located at its base. As we headed ever closer to the runway, a woman in front made herself presentable. Fixing her hair and mascara, she briefly embraced her husband. Following this Public Display of Affection, some aesthetic heresy had been actualised. Not only had the mascara run down her cheeks like a car haemorrhaging oil, but the cosmetic had made its mark on the husband and his white polo neck. I only hope the purported brand name was a knock off!
I am glad to report that Naples airport was fairly amenable and didn't present me with any bureaucratic or logistical nightmares. It was a peculiar phenomenon. Although by this juncture it was pitch black, the runway was completely empty save for our plane. After removing my handluggage, I alighted the plane and boarded the transit bus. The girl with the faux eye had evidently triumphed over security and was sitting placidly. Other passengers from the flight now broke their silence and began to express themselves in the vernacular. For my part, I didn't have a clue what they were discussing. Perhaps it was just as well. But that said, actions speak louder than words. The Italians are masters of gesticulation and even if I didn't gather the content of their message, I could discern the temper and tempo.
If I may be forgiven for using a nautical term, I sailed through passport and luggage collection. The latter was an added bonus. Believe it or not, my lime green case was the first of the carousel. However, once more this was the calm before the storm. Expedia, in their infinite travel wisdom, had not afforded me the opportunity of booking a transfer to my hotel. Thus I was at the mercy of unscrupulous taxi drivers. Not knowing better I was quickly lulled into a flase sense of security and snared by one of these pernicious characters.
My driver for the night attempted to curry favour by relying on broken English. He asked me where I was from - France, England, Spain, whatever? The gentleman in his middle years and sporting a brown leather jacket was quite sprightly and manifested all the signs of an overactive thyroid. He raced over to his vehicle before taking off at breakneck speed. It was then that I realised I was on my second "flight" of the day. Whilst my body was firmly affixed to terra firma, it was my piece of mind that took to the skies. Those of a certain age and stage will recall an arcade game from the 80's called pole position. For the uninitiated, as the name suggests this was a racer. As the driver weaved his way between one car and the next at an average speed of 70 KM/h, I was reminded of this episode in my misspent youth. That was where the comparison began and ended. This was real life. Unlike the arcade game, I wouldn't get another chance if this all ended unhappily. On a separate note, I was somewhat disappointed because I wanted to enjoy the picturesque nightscape of Naples and its surrounding environs. Instead, I would have to focus my mind on hope and perhaps a wayfairers prayer or three.
In a matter of minutes, if not micro-seconds we arrived at my hotel - the Cavorre. Shaking like the proverbial leaf, I left the car still somehow intact. For experiencing this mercurial talent on the road, I was asked to part company with a kings ransom. It had been a long day and I was loathe to argue. I gave the asking price more in the hope that I wouldn't see his dereliction of duty again.
Upon checking in I was presented with yet another bill. This time it was for municipality tax. It seemed to me that my current rate of expenditure was on par with a budding Rockefeller. Shame that I didn't quite have the deep pockets to match!
The porter at concierge, Paolo, was an amenable fellow. After all the usual bumpf and red tape was finalised, he offered me Room 79. I stated that it was an easy number to remember in the context of Vesuvius history. For whatever reason, the point seemed lost on Paolo.
My room was situated on the fourth floor. In order to reach it, I had to pass through the Entertainment room (consisting of one 28" CRT television) and the Business room (consisting of one overused and abused Dell Tower), before I reached the lift. I must be perfectly honest. I have never seen a smaller lift. For practical reasons, it could accommodate 6 munchkins or 3 homo sapiens. The interior gave pride of place to an advert for a myriad of excursions. Well beaten tracks were on offer - Pompeii, Pompeii and Vesuvius, the Amalfi coast and Napoli at night. Whilst the descriptions were highly tempting, the price provided a reality check. Even at low season, savouring the sights and smells of the locality came at a prohibitive cost.
Upon reaching the fourth floor, the doors opened to reveal a rabbit's warren. A dimly lit corridor led down to room 79. After adjusting my eyes, I crossed the threshold into my temporary abode. The inside was spacious, albeit spartan. The most important thing I suppose was that it was clean. One could hear the incessant traffic outside. Daredevil commuters hooted more as a reprimand than a warning.
After my great expense, I was in need of an ATM. I ventured outside to explore my immediate area. The bus station was immediately opposite, but this proved difficult to negotiate due to hoardings, boardings and the accumulation of rubbish which was ubiquitous. In around 1908, a meteor hit Siberia causing extensive devastation. What I saw outside my hotel was probably comparable.
Eventually I was able to withdraw funds. I then ambled about taking visual note of the streets, their shops and the Neapolitans. Two gentlemen greeted one another " Salam Alechem " - " Alechem Salam" came the response. Whilst Naples gives the impression of an affluent, western metropolis, it is somewhat dispelled by the recession. The economy has particularly suffered in Italy. It is in such dire straits that managers stand sentry outside their concerns hoping to attract well-healed customers. Fortunately, that isn't me.
Realising that by now it was 11 pm, I decided to call it a night. I needed to re-energise for the adventures that lay ahead.
After 2.5 hours, we began to descend. The unmistakable contour of Vesuvius was the first landmark to greet us. The mountain was adorned by a necklace of light emanating from the city and villages located at its base. As we headed ever closer to the runway, a woman in front made herself presentable. Fixing her hair and mascara, she briefly embraced her husband. Following this Public Display of Affection, some aesthetic heresy had been actualised. Not only had the mascara run down her cheeks like a car haemorrhaging oil, but the cosmetic had made its mark on the husband and his white polo neck. I only hope the purported brand name was a knock off!
I am glad to report that Naples airport was fairly amenable and didn't present me with any bureaucratic or logistical nightmares. It was a peculiar phenomenon. Although by this juncture it was pitch black, the runway was completely empty save for our plane. After removing my handluggage, I alighted the plane and boarded the transit bus. The girl with the faux eye had evidently triumphed over security and was sitting placidly. Other passengers from the flight now broke their silence and began to express themselves in the vernacular. For my part, I didn't have a clue what they were discussing. Perhaps it was just as well. But that said, actions speak louder than words. The Italians are masters of gesticulation and even if I didn't gather the content of their message, I could discern the temper and tempo.
If I may be forgiven for using a nautical term, I sailed through passport and luggage collection. The latter was an added bonus. Believe it or not, my lime green case was the first of the carousel. However, once more this was the calm before the storm. Expedia, in their infinite travel wisdom, had not afforded me the opportunity of booking a transfer to my hotel. Thus I was at the mercy of unscrupulous taxi drivers. Not knowing better I was quickly lulled into a flase sense of security and snared by one of these pernicious characters.
My driver for the night attempted to curry favour by relying on broken English. He asked me where I was from - France, England, Spain, whatever? The gentleman in his middle years and sporting a brown leather jacket was quite sprightly and manifested all the signs of an overactive thyroid. He raced over to his vehicle before taking off at breakneck speed. It was then that I realised I was on my second "flight" of the day. Whilst my body was firmly affixed to terra firma, it was my piece of mind that took to the skies. Those of a certain age and stage will recall an arcade game from the 80's called pole position. For the uninitiated, as the name suggests this was a racer. As the driver weaved his way between one car and the next at an average speed of 70 KM/h, I was reminded of this episode in my misspent youth. That was where the comparison began and ended. This was real life. Unlike the arcade game, I wouldn't get another chance if this all ended unhappily. On a separate note, I was somewhat disappointed because I wanted to enjoy the picturesque nightscape of Naples and its surrounding environs. Instead, I would have to focus my mind on hope and perhaps a wayfairers prayer or three.
In a matter of minutes, if not micro-seconds we arrived at my hotel - the Cavorre. Shaking like the proverbial leaf, I left the car still somehow intact. For experiencing this mercurial talent on the road, I was asked to part company with a kings ransom. It had been a long day and I was loathe to argue. I gave the asking price more in the hope that I wouldn't see his dereliction of duty again.
Upon checking in I was presented with yet another bill. This time it was for municipality tax. It seemed to me that my current rate of expenditure was on par with a budding Rockefeller. Shame that I didn't quite have the deep pockets to match!
The porter at concierge, Paolo, was an amenable fellow. After all the usual bumpf and red tape was finalised, he offered me Room 79. I stated that it was an easy number to remember in the context of Vesuvius history. For whatever reason, the point seemed lost on Paolo.
My room was situated on the fourth floor. In order to reach it, I had to pass through the Entertainment room (consisting of one 28" CRT television) and the Business room (consisting of one overused and abused Dell Tower), before I reached the lift. I must be perfectly honest. I have never seen a smaller lift. For practical reasons, it could accommodate 6 munchkins or 3 homo sapiens. The interior gave pride of place to an advert for a myriad of excursions. Well beaten tracks were on offer - Pompeii, Pompeii and Vesuvius, the Amalfi coast and Napoli at night. Whilst the descriptions were highly tempting, the price provided a reality check. Even at low season, savouring the sights and smells of the locality came at a prohibitive cost.
Upon reaching the fourth floor, the doors opened to reveal a rabbit's warren. A dimly lit corridor led down to room 79. After adjusting my eyes, I crossed the threshold into my temporary abode. The inside was spacious, albeit spartan. The most important thing I suppose was that it was clean. One could hear the incessant traffic outside. Daredevil commuters hooted more as a reprimand than a warning.
After my great expense, I was in need of an ATM. I ventured outside to explore my immediate area. The bus station was immediately opposite, but this proved difficult to negotiate due to hoardings, boardings and the accumulation of rubbish which was ubiquitous. In around 1908, a meteor hit Siberia causing extensive devastation. What I saw outside my hotel was probably comparable.
Eventually I was able to withdraw funds. I then ambled about taking visual note of the streets, their shops and the Neapolitans. Two gentlemen greeted one another " Salam Alechem " - " Alechem Salam" came the response. Whilst Naples gives the impression of an affluent, western metropolis, it is somewhat dispelled by the recession. The economy has particularly suffered in Italy. It is in such dire straits that managers stand sentry outside their concerns hoping to attract well-healed customers. Fortunately, that isn't me.
Realising that by now it was 11 pm, I decided to call it a night. I needed to re-energise for the adventures that lay ahead.
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