Naples - Beaches and babies.

  Naples, Italy
Friday, June 16, 2006

We woke up (reasonably) bright and early in Amantea, to pursue our monthlong dream of lounging on the beach. We trekked hopefully to the beach, singing all the way, located the perfect spot, and discovered that the water was not just a mite chilly, but downright cold. I managed to sidle in about waist deep before I gave up and retreated back to the nice, warm shore, where Sarah had enlisted some guy to lug over beach chairs. Chairs that evidently cost 4E apiece to rent. Thereafter followed a good hour or two of lazing on the beach, people-watching, interspersed with the occasional wading in the (icy) shallows, appreciating the wonder of The Beach. I noticed that all of the rocks and sand in Amantea contined mica, which gave everything a surreal sheen. The water would probably have warmed up to less frigid temperatures had we had the time to wait until mid-afternoon, but, instead, we had to spend the next four hours covering the distance back up the coast to spend more quality time in the train station at Naples.



When we returned our insanely expensive beach chairs, the man seemed hurt and confused that we were leaving so early, and handed us a bag of peaches and plastic silverware to take with us. This was mildly baffling, but I'm used to being mildly baffled most of the time when I travel. It's not the big things that seem foreign, it's the little gestures. The big things might be different, but I expect that in advance. It's the inconsequential things that no one thinks to expect. Like the peaches. Or the starfish. Or having the ground floor not be the first floor, so you end up getting out of the elevator at completely the wrong place. Or skeleton keys to all of the hotel rooms.



We stopped by Amantea Tony's before we left for another cappuccino for the road, and his grandson and friends were there and very eager to chat with us. Amantea Tony warned us (in Italian, with hand gestures) about the pickpockets in Naples, and how we were to be Very Careful and Pay Attention at all times. We nodded and chorused that we would, and his grandson took that opportunity to kiss us goodbye, startling Sarah (she was first), and flustering me. As we trooped out of the bar and over to the train station, we noted that the girls in town really didn't seem to like us much.

Our train was (as usual) running late, so we took the opportunity to Cross the Railroad Lines and take more pictures of the beach. This was in direct defiance of all of the signs and verbal announcements at every single train station, but Amantea? Not exactly a bustling center of transportation. It felt very freeing to wander back and forth over the tracks under the sun out in the middle of nowhere.

The train rides back to Naples were uneventful, though long. Made worse by the fact that we were headed somewhere we don't even like for the purpose of catching another ten hour train ride. When we got to the ticket window at Naples, the man would not put us on the train I wanted, in fact, he seemed to say that no such train existed when it obviously did, and we ended up not in a first class four-person sleeper, but a second class six-person car. I kept trying to rationalize to myself that it wouldn't be that bad, up until the moment I saw exactly how small the car is and that, as a bonus, there was a baby lying smack dab in the middle of ours.

But, hey, the baby was being quiet. Maybe it would sleep the night through, right? I am insanely optimistic sometimes. As the six people (plus baby) straggled into our car and we managed to get all six bunks set up, our conductor noticed that there was a baby in the car. This same conductor had already assured me he didn't care if our tickets were validated or not and that he'd hold the train while Sarah finished her cigarette.

He returned shortly with a borrowed Palm Pilot to take a picture of the baby, decided he didn't have a good enough view, and tried to pick up the baby. The little girl, who really had been very good through all the fuss, took exception to this and started to whimper. He hurriedly set her back down and quickly left. We all got situated (Sarah, me, a sweet girl with a crutch assigned a hard-to-reach middle bunk, a businesswoman who refuses to get into bed until the rest of us are, another lady, the baby, and her mother) and the baby's mother shut the window while the businesswoman shut the door. It is upwards of 85 degrees in the cabin already, so Sarah, the sweet girl, the other normal lady, and I all attempted to convince the baby's mother in various languages that we need to crack the window because it is incredibly hot and getting worse. She refused, getting louder and louder, almost hysterical, at the thought of having her baby in a room with an open window. (Sarah: "What? Does she think the baby is going to fly out the window?") She will, however, permit us to open the door a crack. Since this doesn't seem all that safe, the rest of us just gave up, kicked off the paper sheet, and tried to sleep.

Around four am, I woke up, positively sweltering, to the sound of the baby grizzling. The mother decided it was time to feed her, and made about as much noise as humanly possible getting a bottle together, including somehow dropping dry cereal onto my bunk, stepping on me twice, and shoving me over once. (I don't even know what she was using dry cereal for.) Finally, when the baby was almost outright howling, she took her into the hall, though she did take the time to make sure her shoes were securely tied and comfortable first. The baby stopped crying almost immediately once she was outside, lending credence to my theory that she, like the rest of us, was not actually hungry but was broiling alive, since not only was it well over 90 degrees by this time, but the baby was dressed in snow pants, a sweatshirt, a hat, and several t shirts. The mother came back in to change her diaper, and did not remark on the window I had cracked in her absence, which let in enough breeze that I was able to doze back off, sleeping almost comfortably as soon as madre e bambina got off the train. Up until the point the crazy conductor came back in at 7:45 and started stripping the beds. Sarah and I made a valiant attempt to ignore him, but he just poked us in the arm until we moved.

As we tidied up the cabin and tried to get ready and pretend that we had not all just spent the night on a train, we discovered that the Rude Mother had left the baby's old diaper in our car. Lovely. The baby, might I add, was a doll. I'd travel again with the baby anytime, as long as we didn't have to take the mother. Overnight Trains 2: Us 0.