I remember the backstreets of Naples,
Two children begging in rags
Both touched with a burning ambition
To shake off their brown tags, they try
We landed in Rome after ten days of drinking in Ireland. Rome is sticky and crowded and I had a burning hangover that drinking throughout the flight hadn't numbed. So we made our way to the hotel and barely opened the suitcase before I was leaning out the window, smoking, with a glass of wine in my hand..
That afternoon we walked around Rome in sandals and made a booking for dinner at a restaurant. Pasta with Black truffle. After a few days meandering through the cobblestone streets we tired of lining up and buying tickets to touristy things. The garish opulence of the Vatican City was simply overwhelming
Naples is a crowded, greystone city we drove down into, stopping lost a few times as we circled towards the center of town. Finally after asking for directions we made our way to a hotel that had rooms in our price range. We parked the car for three nights and paid, and as I watched the man drive it away I hoped it would still be there when we were back.
The streets of Naples were quiet and narrow. Our hotel looked over a plaza and we were woken each morning by a garbage truck squeaking outside our top floor window. It was voyeuristic to watch the other windows and people going about their business with the lights on. no blinds.
Just across from our apartment we saw all the locals and the market where they were selling fish and vegetables. Walking down the street, looking at the fish and produce, we were met with looks of disdain from the locals. As though we were inspecting their products and, when we didn't stop and buy anything, rejecting it. But the truth was we had nowhere to cook or prepare or store food, so we had to eat out every night. But the looks of almost contempt was what I remember. Maybe it was our new clothes, or something, but we definitely felt their gaze.
But still ever the alcoholic, we got home from an evening of eating and drinking, and I couldn't lie down and admit the night was over. So I crept out the apartment and went down the stairs, out onto the street. It was around midnight and I was clearly drunk, looking for some cigarettes or something.
And walking along I saw the local younger men standing by the cafe as it closed, and I just felt something, somehow, that told me not to go any further, and that I should actually go back upstairs and go to sleep. Like a feeling or danger, or fear. Out of my depth. So I slowly turned on my heel, and tracked back to the hotel, and closed the door behind me. Deserted of all that drunken bravado when faced with some street toughs in Napoli.
Two children begging in rags
Both touched with a burning ambition
To shake off their brown tags, they try
We landed in Rome after ten days of drinking in Ireland. Rome is sticky and crowded and I had a burning hangover that drinking throughout the flight hadn't numbed. So we made our way to the hotel and barely opened the suitcase before I was leaning out the window, smoking, with a glass of wine in my hand..
That afternoon we walked around Rome in sandals and made a booking for dinner at a restaurant. Pasta with Black truffle. After a few days meandering through the cobblestone streets we tired of lining up and buying tickets to touristy things. The garish opulence of the Vatican City was simply overwhelming
Naples is a crowded, greystone city we drove down into, stopping lost a few times as we circled towards the center of town. Finally after asking for directions we made our way to a hotel that had rooms in our price range. We parked the car for three nights and paid, and as I watched the man drive it away I hoped it would still be there when we were back.
The streets of Naples were quiet and narrow. Our hotel looked over a plaza and we were woken each morning by a garbage truck squeaking outside our top floor window. It was voyeuristic to watch the other windows and people going about their business with the lights on. no blinds.
Just across from our apartment we saw all the locals and the market where they were selling fish and vegetables. Walking down the street, looking at the fish and produce, we were met with looks of disdain from the locals. As though we were inspecting their products and, when we didn't stop and buy anything, rejecting it. But the truth was we had nowhere to cook or prepare or store food, so we had to eat out every night. But the looks of almost contempt was what I remember. Maybe it was our new clothes, or something, but we definitely felt their gaze.
But still ever the alcoholic, we got home from an evening of eating and drinking, and I couldn't lie down and admit the night was over. So I crept out the apartment and went down the stairs, out onto the street. It was around midnight and I was clearly drunk, looking for some cigarettes or something.
And walking along I saw the local younger men standing by the cafe as it closed, and I just felt something, somehow, that told me not to go any further, and that I should actually go back upstairs and go to sleep. Like a feeling or danger, or fear. Out of my depth. So I slowly turned on my heel, and tracked back to the hotel, and closed the door behind me. Deserted of all that drunken bravado when faced with some street toughs in Napoli.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Join my email list here