Goodbye, Positano. Hello, Naples!

Surprisingly not hungover, we packed up, stored our luggage with Claudio (the very friendly proprietor of our hotel) and set off for a goodbye brunch with the ladies and their men. In various states of recovery, we recounted some of the night’s more memorable moments, including one wedding-goer who, his wife having left earlier than he, wandered in search of his hotel only to completely overshoot it and end up in the wild hills above the town, where he fell down a ravine and was knocked unconscious. Awoken and driven home by a passing motorist, he received, I believe, six unanesthetized stitches and, I assume, a worried/angry tirade from his wife.

We spent the day lounging on the beach with my friends that still remained, discussing film, sex offender rehabilitation and why some of us were charged €10 for our umbrellas while others charged €12.

While Positano drips with dewy-eyed romance, the swooning can easily fade over the weekend, when hordes of Italian weekenders clog the narrow pathways to the beach, slowing foot traffic to a sludging geriatric sightseeing pace. Take this image and crank it up to 11 on the awful scale when you add in a holiday weekend. The masses swarmed the small town and it dawned on me: I was in the Hamptons of Italy.

Sad to leave my friends, but more than happy to escape the throngs, we booked a ferry back to Naples — one of the best moves of the trip, given the increasingly dire luggage situation. By this point, both wheels on the large suitcase had snapped and Sean, go bless him, was physically carrying this monstrosity down whatever stairs stood in his way, which was many. The hour-long ferry meant avoiding the bus>train>subway option that carried us to Postiano in the first place. But there was still the question of how top get our crappola all the way down to the port, as a good portion of the town restricts cars. Claudio (God, please bless him as well) came to the rescue by calling a porter service, the miracle workers of the Amalfi coast.

We arrived in Naples around 7PM and decided to head out on the town since this was the only time we had here. My friends could not warn me enough about how terrible Naples was, and the NYT was so kind to print a story about the overflowing trash problem only about a week before my trip. I, however, witnessed no stinking heaps of refuse nor felt any repugnance for the city. In fact, I thought it was pretty OK. Not amazing, but definitely worth a 5-hour stop, most of which included the fulfillment of a pilgrimage upon which I had long wanted to embark: to dine on the famed and beloved Neapolitan specialty in the land of its origin, that amazing culinary delight for which my cravings never cease.

Pizza.

Pizza Napolitana, recently winning the title of “regional specialty” by the EU, consists of fluffy, chewy crust topped with buffalo mozzarella and fresh Italian tomatoes. Popping into an no frills but packed pizzeria, we quickly ordered the meat version and the DOC, speckled with cherry tomatoes. In this unassuming shrine to one of my favorite foods, I offered silent, masticating thanks to the Italians for the many cheap and late night meals their ingenuity has afforded me. We leave not so full that we don’t have room for gelato, knowing this will be out last night in Italy. One thing’s for sure: I’m not leaving Italy hungry.

[08.06.01] Positano Day 4 / Naples

Positano: Day 3

The big day had arrived! This marked the middle of Sealleen’s World Wide Wedding tour. Three weddings. Three weeks. One world. The weekend before, my NYC friend Carrie has gotten hitched much closer to home, in Manhattan. Now, I was half a world away, helping one of my dearest friends prep and preen for her special moment in one of the most heart-achingly gorgeous places on the planet. The other bridesmaids — Emily, Heather and maid-of-honor Cristina — plus Alli’s mom helped the bride dress at Covo dei Saraceni, a posh hotel right on the water. After a few hours in hair and makeup, then taking photos, Em, Heather and I, completely famished, snuck off to grab some pizza and take a few of the funnier photos from the wedding day.

While the heat was brutal on the walk over, we hardly noticed it as we stood outside the church, clutching each other with excitement and trying desperately not to smudge our mascara with tears of joy for our friend. Alli radiated beauty, serenity and the a happiness distilled to its purest essence. i can only hope I embody a fraction of the elegance she embraced on her wedding day.

A full Mass, the ceremony was tinged with notes faith, devotion and love. We had barely bowed at the aisle before we were headed back out again, ready to shower the newlyweds in rose petals and well wishes.

Party time! The reception was back at Covo, and featured champagne, caviar, risotto and overflowing wine. Alli and Pete flew in Henry, their favorite piano bar singer/musician, and what a treat he was, slamming on the ivories with Billy Joel, Elton John, Bon Jovi and even a crowd-pleasing rendition of “Bohemian Rhapsody”. The crowd moved to the afterparty at Music on the Rocks, where I incredulously yelled to the bouncer trying to extract €15 cover from partygoers, “I don’t even pay that kind of cover in New York!” Poor form, as we were actually getting a 50% discount over the usual €30 cover. I slapped on my sunglasses and down some mojitos as we boogied the night away with the newly betrothed.

[08.05.31] Positano Day 3

Positano: Day 2

While Sean slumbered, I skipped down to the wedding rehearsal at the church of Santa Maria Assunta. An ornate yet intimate church, the tiled dome rises from the villas and homes in the center of Positano, a beautifully colorful landmark.

A bit about the wedding: Allison and I met early into our collegiate years, immediately forging a lasting friendship. After living in New York for some time, London called and she set up a home there. In Londontown, she met Pete, the love of her life and now her husband. Pete’s from Australia while Alli hails from Oregon.

Then why the heck Positano? Well, Alli visited the picturesque village for the first time many moons ago, accompanying her mother on a business trip. When recounting her trip once back at school, she exclaimed, “When I get married, I want to do it in Positano!” When Alli and Pete realized that friends and family would have to travel extreme distances wherever they chose for the wedding site, they decided on Alli’s dream site and literally “put it there” (Positano’s Italian meaning).

After a lingering lunch with my girlfriends — almost all my college roommates had come — I spent the next few hours trying to steam my lovely Vera Wang bridesmaid dress. Unfortunately, that handy-dandy invention the iron seems never to have made its way to the city by the sea, and it was a rather fruitless endeavor. Life’s too short to worry about ironed dresses, anyway! So Sean and I hit the beach instead.

We spent the evening sipping prosecco and punch and nibbling fried mozzarella and rice balls at Hotel Pupetto, followed by a lovely multi-course dinner. We sat with many of Pete’s London pals, whom Sean quickly befriended and decided to start a boy band: Sean, John and Tom. Other highlights included quizzing everyone about the lyrics to the verses of “Mmm Bop” (Yes, there were actually words. Sentences, even!).

We topped off the dinner with a small glass of limoncello. Limoncello is a lemon liquor native to the Napoli-Amalfi region of Italy, where citrus trees abound. The drink, usually imbibed as a digestif, is simple in makeup — sugar, water, lemon zest and alcohol — but packs a wallop.

After dinner, we relocated to the world’s most awesomely cheesy club, Music on the Rocks. The name is apropos: it’s a music club … in a hollowed out cave! With the profusion of strategically placed colored lights, it was as if some club empresario had taken over a Badlands-esque cave and dropped banquettes and bottle service. The music, slap-happy Euro pop-house, fit the atmosphere perfectly, and while we called it an early night, I knew I was going to have way too much fun there after the wedding tomorrow.

[08.05.30] Positano Day 2

Positano: Day 1

Cleverly purchasing our train tickets the day before, we barely made our 8:15AM train to Naples, since once again we were stranded taxi-less. Two and a half hours later, we pulled in to Naples, where we jumped on the Circumvesuviana (literally “around Vesuvius”) to Sorrento, where we transferred to a bus to Positano. The road through the Amalfi coast offers jaw-droppingly stunning views – hence why car commercials often film here – but is not for the faint of heart. The shear cliffs easily inspire shear terror when gazing down their face from the swaying cabin of a commuter bus.

But when Positano comes into view, the fear melts into magic, as the town, clinging to the craggy cliffs, inspires awe and romance at first glance. That is, until you get dropped off at the top not knowing where the heck your hotel is. As we did.

Somehow in all the prepping and printing, we forgot to jot down the actual numerical address of our hotel, Villa Nettuno. Convinced Google Maps accurately showed the distance, we headed downhill on our own. Yeah, not a great idea. Two places we asked offered wildly different assessments of how far down the hill the lodging was. In the end, it wasn’t too far … until we got there and realized we had 5 flights of stairs to climb to our room. Positano is lovely, for sure, but not for those with weak knees.

Quickly changing into our beach gear, we navigated the sloping main road down to the beach. Covered in magenta Mediterranean blooms and quaint, colorful villas and cafes, the town oozes atmosphere. On a Thursday, Positano seems quiet and serene, the perfect place for love. The weekend is a whole other story (flocks of weekenders swept into town on Sunday).

We briefly met up with Allison, my former college roommate, whose wedding I was there for, and hit the beach until it got chilly. The water, that mesmerizing blue, was a tad cold for my taste, and the beach is more rocky than sandy, which is fine as it heats the towels for warm sunbathing.

After trekking up the hill (a thigh workout we would know well over the next few days), we met up with my friend Heather (another college friend) and her new husband, Brian, freshly eloped! Well, not exactly eloped, but they had a small family wedding last minute in order to make this trip their honeymoon. We called it an early night as we new the next few days would be packed with partying!

[08.05.29] Positano Day 1

Rome: Day 3

Time to cash in that 13 years of Catholic school and make my family proud by seeing the big man himself, El Papa. Upon arriving in St. Peter’s Square, we quickly realized the tickets we picked up the day before we no more than a good way for the distributing church to make a few Euros (there are worse people to give money to). At least they make a good souvenir for my great aunt. Thronged with people though not complete filled, the pilgrims released an uproarious cheer when the pope mobile entered the plaza. It was like a Stones concert, only with a lot less drugs and music and a lot more praying. Though, the crowd was probably about the same age.

After the Mass, we meandered down to the river and into some back streets. For the first time we found a non-tourist café to grab an affordable bite. The onslaught of Americans in Rome astounded me. Everywhere we turned, American accents. I felt like I was at the Italy pavilion in EPCOT Center not the real thing. Unfortunately, the pervasiveness of Americans may have had a detrimental effect on some of our experiences; we met some of the rudest people we’ve ever encountered in Rome, to no fault of ours. I still love the city, and would never let a few people to ruin my perception, but, man, it sucked.

We strolled the serpentine backstreets up to Piazza di Popoli (a large public square that come alive particularly at night), into the park around the Borgese Villa (now an appointment-only museum that we decided to skip) and down the Spanish Steps (more construction). I drooled in Pucci and Gucci stores, while Sean drooled over more gelato.

Trastavere was our evening destination, after a nap and a picnic snack from our local charcuterria. Lined with outdoor bars and cafes, the area pulses with activity as the sun goes to sleep and could be likened to the LES or East Village in New York for the young, hip atmosphere. Rebuffed from our first choice restaurant for lack of reservations – despite the many empty tables – we found our own piece of Roman culinary heaven at a tiny osteria called Le Mani in Pasta.

Out of the way of the tourist bustle, the tiny restaurant served up succulent fresh seafood and pasta. We devoured sea bass carpaccio with porcini mushrooms drenched in olive oil, linguini with bacon and cheese, gobs of fresh bread and olive oil and cooked sea bass, all washed down with a bottle of smooth white wine. I was afforded an excellent view into the kitchen, where the lighthearted staff laughingly played with tomorrow’s dinner, live lobsters and crawfish. We lingered until the wee hours of the morning, which would have been lovely except for the fact that we missed the last bus back and not a taxi could be found. If it wasn’t before, we made Rome a walking city.

[08.05.28] Rome Day 3

Rome: Day 2

Probably our most intense travel day over the whole trip. Since we had lost a day thanks to Aer Lingus, we prepped for some serious sightseeing. I should have shut up about being cold in Ireland, because Rome was hot as Hades. After a morning touring the famous ruins of the Forum, the Palatine Hill and the Colosseum, we stopped for a leisurely lunch overlooking the aforementioned ancient stadium, indulging in Caprese salad (refreshing mozzarella and lusciously ripe tomato) and the best gnocchi I have ever tasted.

Satiated, we zoomed over to the Vatican – what would be the seventh country on this trip for both of us. We had tickets to see the pope in the morning, but knew the crowds would be horrendous before or after the Mass. Torrents of tour guides and tourists flooded the Vatican Museums, obviously detracting from the experience. However, we particularly enjoyed the Braccio Nuovo (“New Wing”), as many of the guides skipped the austerely marbled hall, and the Gallery of Maps, adorned in gold-dusted cartographic frescoes. The Sistine Chapel was less stunning now as when I first saw it, but I admit the hordes of slack-jawed gawkers definitely detract from the masterpiece.

After a quick gelato break, we headed to St. Peter’s Cathedral, stunning as always. The church is so named because interred within are the remains of St. Peter, father of the Catholic Church, apostle, Jesus denier and the first pope. While St. Peter’s is rife with elegant and alluring art, I really love the touching, human character inherent in Michaelangelo’s “Pieta”. He carved it when he was just 21! Makes me feel like a slacker.

By far, the most interesting moment/detail of our visit to San Pietro was visiting the resting place of Pope John Paul II. Last time I was here, silence drenched the papal crypt, myself the only visitor. This time, a knot of people jostled for a quick glimpse of the recently departed pope’s humble tomb. People scratched prayers on whatever paper they could find and tossed them in the corner of the resting area. Nuns crossed themselves and children craned for a look. While I long ago resigned myself to letting go of much of my Catholic upbringing, I admit that I too was a bit moved as we walked by. Religion aside, he was a great man and a pivotal figure in 20th century history.

Exhausted, we headed home, grabbing some prosciutto, wine, cheese and salami on the way, a picnic-style tradition we would continue in most of or stops. Later that evening, we headed to Piazza Navarro, which we found rather touristy and unappealing, especially because construction dominated the square. We attempted to have a snack at a popular pizzeria, only to be berated by the owner for not ordering more than some wine and a few light bites. It was 11:30PM! Late by even Roman standards. The encounter left a taste in our mouths worse than that from the cheap wine they served.

[08.05.27] Rome Day 2

Rome: Day 1

Eight hours or so after planned, we arrived in the city of lurve: Roma. Unfortunately, the long day left us anything but amorous as we trudged into the city and up a huge hill to our B&B. Curveball numero dos: My brand new, never-been-used big suitcase, stuffed with 50+ lbs of formal attire and beachwear broke! Sorry, Sean! Luckily, our B&B was super cozy, and we could finally throw off our bags for a few days.

After a quick rest, we hit the town to see Rome the way it should be seen for the first time – at night. While my soles already know the Roman cobblestones, this was Sean’s first visit. Bathed in the soft yellow glow of the street lamps, we walked past the Colosseum (under which a bustling gay bar scene thrives), by the overwhelmingly opulent Vittoriano and over to the Trevi Fountain, where Fellini captured the very essence of the Roman joie de vive. Being a Monday, and very late – just past midnight – the fountain was not overrun with tourists and provided a wonderful backdrop to our first of many pizza meals. After a couple scoops of gelato – of which we would consume gallons over the next week – we walked back home, ready to pass the f*** out.

[08.05.26] Rome Night 1