Judging by the journal entries, some of the highlights of George's time in Italy were the trips-within-the trip: day trips to to small towns and ruins within shooting distance of Rome, and longer excursions to Florence, the Abruzzi, Puglia, Sardinia, Naples, Venice. He always seemed to enjoy the adventure but was rarely unequivocally impressed with these places; about Florence, for example, he writes “on the whole didn’t really like the city itself apart from the incredible art works--rather Northern, very American, cold, narrow streets, dull colors--not unpleasant, but not magical either.”
Napoli is something of a different story: this is no cold, touristy art-town but a chaotic, teeming metropolis. Naples is the closest thing I've seen to India in Europe, and for my father in the Spring of 1974 it made a big impression, which he however distills into a few characteristically terse phrases ("crowded streets, insane vitality, extreme contrasts...the contrasts in the same streets from day to night").
The account begins with the drive toward Naples.
Reach the massif around 5, incredible drive along the coast to Vieste. Very poor ugly town with cheesy modern tourist hotels--very sad. At restaurant a local buys us drinks--which end up on our bill. Hotel is freezing--haven’t been so cold at night since camping in winter. Wake up in middle of night with a horrifying vision of returning to U.S. to teach at Harvard--based on previous day’s conversation at G. Bar with Leon + the frightening realization at the concert of the total irrelevancy of a teaching “career” for a composer.
...waiter did the classic hand-biting forehead-hitting routine to perfection.
...get lost going into city, which gives a pretty good idea of Naples--crowded streets, insane vitality, extreme contrasts. Finally find the hotel, Albergo Colombo, near Stazione Centrale, walk down Corso Umberto at rush hour, stop for cinzano at galleria, check out the opera, have excellent, inexpensive meal at Ciro’s - obviously the tourists are not flocking to Napoli.
[Next day] Walk around the fish markets, go to Pompey, there from 9-4 with a break for lunch--much bigger than I expected--very curious place, since there’s little of artistic interest + since I am repelled by the morbidity of its appeal, why is it so interesting? apparently it’s the possibility, given a little imagination, of evoking a way of life which is both very distant + very close (“cave cave”) to life since. late afternoon trip up Vesuvius--mostly by car, then easy climb, guide is evidently a sort of patronage job. impressive view (the weather has cleared since leaving Naples), the cone is quiet but threatening (at the end the guides drop the garbage into it, which seems almost sacrilegious); am impressed by the lava flows, which are still obvious. After meeting at hotel, go to a fancier 1-star Michelin restaurant towards S. Lucia, which isn’t really better than Ciro’s, but more elegant.
Sunday 24th March - Our taste for ruins temporarily satisfied, we take the boat to Capri, spend the day enjoying the sun, sea + landscape, without doing or seeing more. very pleasant, even though we didn’t really see enough to even decide whether it would be worth coming back. but my taste doesn’t run towards fashionable international resorts; it might be a nice place to grow up, or to spend a few weeks on vacation. Beautiful return trip via Sorrento.
Monday 25th - Plans disrupted by Dan’s losing car-key, so we stay in Naples--national archeological museum, much of which is closed + which seems to be falling apart, then lunch and aquarium, back to Ciro’s. Naples is definitely not beautiful, but it’s quite an experience--the locksmith, the flea-bag hotel, the 10 lire “private” sidewalk, “sprika dish,” the world war II GI fascination with Americans, the contrasts in the same streets from day to night--it’s very enlivening, yet there’s no reason to go back.
And he never did. His few days' experience in Naples crystalized over the years into a two or three well-loved anecdotes, and a smile-and-shake of the head whenever he mentioned Naples. I remember him telling the story of the vendor dumping his garbage into the crater of Vesuvius at the end of the day. The "10 lire 'private' sidewalk" refers to a narrow street he was traversing when suddenly--thwap--a stick comes down in front of him, barring the way. He looks over to see an old woman, who matter-of-factly demands 10 lire (probably less than 2 cents) to pass. It's a tough town, but also a "vital" one, full of expressive energy: the waiter's "classic hand-biting forehead-hitting routine" upon realizing he had brought the wrong dish out was a gesture my father would imitate for decades to come. Here's how it's done. First you slap your forehead, then bring your hand, fingers extended, down to your mouth and place the blade of your hand squarely between your teeth. The very picture of contrition. Solo in Italia!
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