April 3

This morning began in the 5 o'clock hour. Mom, Grandma, and I had the tickets to catch the first train out of Florence to Naples. I had one of those mornings where my eyes couldn't shake their tired feeling. I spent the 3 hour train ride asleep on my sweet Grandma's shoulder. Naples is a world of its own. Busy with people and traffic like Rome, but the buildings and homes look like they have taken a beating from time and poverty. The landscapes are lusher and even more tropical looking than Florence. The Italians even look different than the Tuscans I am used to seeing: their complexion and hair are much darker and many have stunning bright green eyes. We transferred to a local train to make our way to the Pompei ruins. It was difficult to figure out which train line we were on and we ended up striking up a conversation with a man from Milan and his Brazilian fiancée. When I told him I was from North Carolina, he started rambling about Duke, the Panthers, and the Bobcats. Never, ever have I met an Italian with such an interest in American sports. It was wild to have a Carolina-is-better-than-Duke debate at a train stop in Naples. We finally arrived at the ruins and swiftly purchased tickets and self-guided tour "phones." It was incredible to see the city that I have studied for so many years. I recognized some of the spots from pictures in textbooks and documentaries I had watched. Pompei is most known for the 79AD eruption of Mount Vesuvius that covered the city in ash and rendered it frozen in time. It was not discovered again until the 1800s and underwent excavation. I was struck with how large the city was. For whatever reason, I thought it would be smaller, but we absolutely could have spent an entire day there exploring each nook and cranny. The coolest part, in the most un-morbid way, was seeing the bodies of the Pompeians that were preserved with Mt. Vesuvius's unforgiving ash. We could literally see their last moments before the hot, dense ash, sadly, suffocated and buried them simultaneously. Most of the bodies were turned to the ground or covering their face, in a last stitch effort to protect themselves. We checked into our Las Vegas-esque hotel later that night. We had the pleasure of getting lost and stumbling upon perhaps the best restaurant I have tried in Italy. The city of Pompei is, well, sketchy, and we had reservations about walking the streets at night, let alone finding a delicious, authentic restaurant. We ate at Primmo Ammore. We were seated at a table right in front of the chef. We could see all of the happenings of the kitchen. After a local bottle of white wine, focaccia, and the most beautifully-plated complimentary grilled eggplant appetizer, I dug into my entree. I was feeling adventurous and asked the chef to make me a vegetarian pasta however he would like. Who needs a menu? I was served a homemade tagliatelli with grilled artichokes and some sort of olive oil-based yum of a sauce. Grandma had bomb dot com seafood risotti overflowing with clams and Mom had seafood ravoli with lemon tomato sauce. For dessert, we ordered the fresh fruit platter, and were served the most ornate plate of thin, thin sliced pineapple, melon, blood oranges, strawberries, and raspberry sauce for dipping. We were unsure of what the cost of the meal would be--ordering dishes not on the menu, picking a bottle of wine based on description and not price, appetizers and bread--and were shocked at the 55 euro bill. It was a steal.