theatre of the absurd: Italy, part X - Mount Vesuvius (ii) and last night in Naples

After coming down from the volcano at 16.00 ish, I went to the bus stop, which was located just outside the ticket booth. I didn't want to be stuck inside the park after it had been closed, and I had spent much more time on the peak than most people had, so figured I could take the 16.40 bus. Going down was a task that required concentration - the slope was so steep that you had to run down to keep your momentum. Anyone who's climbed a mountain worth their salt knows what I'm talking about. Add this to the fact that there were no real paveways, just slippery dirt and a dodgy-looking wooden banister. I wouldn't be surprised if there have been accidents there before.

It was freezing when I went down, and everyone else there was visibly shivering. I don't feel the cold as much (I really do think that where you grow up as a child affects you more than most people are aware of), but it was certainly a bit chilly and boring just standing/sitting there, watching the cars go by. Most of the people had bought EAV return tickets like me, as it was the cheapest way of getting up and down from the volcano. Private-owned white shuttlebuses would stop by from time to time to ask if we would like to go down with them, for an exorbitant price. A couple in their early thirties was swayed, and the woman asked the driver how much it would cost to drive down to Pompei Scavi. 5 euros, the driver said, for the two of you. The woman turned to her husband, almost as if she couldn't believe their good fortune, and said, let's go. The man jauntily clipped their EAV bus tickets to a nearby bush (I have no idea why there were clothes clips there) and followed his partner in. I heard the woman ask the driver again if it was 5 euros - no one had bothered to lower their voices, and it was quite silent there, so everyone could hear what they were saying - and the driver replied, clear as day, "50 euros."

"50 euros!?" the woman demanded, apoplectic with disbelief.

"50 euros," affirmed the driver. Everyone in the vicinity exchanged a look - I think we were all aware that we were watching a big scam in action.

The car door was thrown open, and the woman flounced out of the van furiously, her husband in tow, and she turned and slammed the door shut ferociously, her face thunderous. Her husband went to retrieve their EAV bus tickets, and the two of them walked back in the direction of the volcano entrance, whilst the white van drove off. For my part, I was disgusted, but also intrigued - I've seen tourist scams before, but none quite so blatant.

No matter. The bus came at about 16.10 and stopped about 2 metres away from us. We swarmed there - well, the others did; I straggled along, not wanting to jostle in the crowd - but the bus driver wouldn't let us on. Everyone retired back to their usual waiting places dispiritedly, and the bus drove away again, only to circle back again about 10 minutes later. An Italian couple in their very early twenties (probably still in university - they had that fresh look), who had been amongst the initial crowd trying to get onto the bus, went up to the bus and rapped on the door again, and argued with the bus driver, although none of us could actually hear what was being said. After about 5 minutes the boy poked out his head and beckoned to us with a smile, and said, "It's okay!" Everyone was glad to not have to stand around in the cold damp anymore, and gladly went up. I said thank you to the couple as I went up, and they both smiled.

The bus journey down was very pleasant, and we were treated to a stunning view of the Neapolitan vista. I maintain that one has not lived until they have seen the ripples of the setting sun dye Napoli bay scarlet and orange and black. The bus arrived at Pompei Scavi on time, and I walked to the train station, which was filling up with day tourists from the excavation site. I went and got my ticket - by this time it was dark - and took advantage of the station's free WiFi to use the internet whilst waiting. The train back to Napoli Garibaldi was crammed to bursting, but somehow the trip back did not seem as long as the trip there that morning. To my deep amusement, I thought I recognised some people who were also staying at my hostel, but I wasn't in the mood to speak frivolously, and kept my own company.

The metro back to Municipio was much less crowded, and by this point I was starving - I'd had nothing to eat the entire day, and although I'd broken my fast like a king that morning, it had been more than thirteen hours since I'd eaten anything else, so I decided to grab a pizza anywhere, because, I reasoned, it was Naples - how wrong can you go with a Napoli pizza? My verdict - not bad, still far better than pizza back home, but the one the hostel people had bought the other night was still vastly superior. I suppose local Italians do know their pizza a lot better than us plebs.

When I finally got back, I was exhausted, and wanted to spend a quiet night to myself. That being said, I obviously was not left alone - after I'd managed to make it out of the clutches of a bunch of boisterous strangers in the common area, I went off and took a shower, washed my hair, and had just snuggled down with my phone (none of the other occupants had returned to the room at that point) when an Asian-looking woman came into the room. She was very thin and quite attractive, but there was something a bit not-there about her clothes and makeup - her outfit was a little too fancy for the hostel, or any hostel for that matter, and looked like party attire from the mid 2000s. I was certain that she was older than me, and probably from southeast Asia, unless I was grossly mistaken. Nevertheless, she seemed very nice. She said hello to me, and we talked for a bit - standard boilerplate stuff - her accent, too, seemed slightly off. Her accent sounded like someone who hadn't grown up in an English speaking country, but had moved there in adulthood and spoke enough to get along, although she did insist that she was from Texas ("Ah, cool," I said sheepishly). It turned out that she was in her mid thirties, was ethnically Vietnamese, and had been teaching English in Prague and some other central European countries, which baffled/irritated me a bit. I suppose that's one of the many perks of having an American passport, people let you teach English regardless of how weird you sound.

At this point, a pair of young north Americans came in, your typical 19/20 year old gap yah yobs. One was from Canada, whilst the other was from the US, one of the southern states, but without the accent, surprisingly. I talked with them cursorily just to be polite, but tuned out when they started bragging about how awesome island hopping in Fiji was, and how they wanted to 'collect' every single country under the sun. It was pretty sickening, and I ended up flopping back onto my bed. The Viet woman had it covered, anyway - she was so busy gushing breathily over the two guys that the guys didn't notice my sarcasm (I think), and everyone was happy. At around midnight a very blond guy came in, and introduced himself as Yuri from Ukraine. His English wasn't particularly good, but we could understand each other more or less. He asked if I wanted to go out and get a drink with him, and I smiled and said I'd already showered and gotten into my pyjamas, which was perfectly true. After about ten minutes of unsuccessfully trying to talk me into going out, he asked if I'd like to join him for a beer at the hostel bar, then. I appreciated the gesture, and under other circumstances I would have accepted his invite, but I'd wound down for the day and didn't feel like budging out of my bed, so had to say no. After that, the Americans went out, and I turned off the light and put on my earplugs and immediately fell asleep.

This entry is already overlong, so I'll write about my journey from Naples to Rome in my next post, which was in a word calamitous, and only mitigated slightly by the fact that I met a cute guy who was.. wait for it... also from Ukraine. Italy seems to be swimming in Ukrainians.