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Napoli

August 8, 2012 at 11:18 am

I hardly know where to start with this trip.  It was so last minute and sooo unplanned.  Elliott had work in Naples last week and thought that Jess, Lena, and I could come along.  Of course I said yes… I always say “yes!” to traveling.  We could see Naples and then spend a long weekend on the Amalfi Coast.

However, we got into our car last Tuesday morning with no maps or planned routes (just my iPhone) and the vague idea that we would drive an hour north, take the ferry from the island of Sicily to the mainland, drive approximately 6 hours north to Naples, and hopefully find lodging waiting for us.  We had tried to be a little more organized, but it just didn’t happen.  Two friends were staying with us almost since the moment I got back from the States and there was just no time to plan.

Unbelievably, over the course of the day everything eventually worked out.  The roads were straightforward highways, the ferry was a total breeze, and our baby Lena stayed happy all 8 hours of the trip.  It might have been because her mama sat next to her the entire trip (and pregnancy + back seat = carsickness for me :-/), but I give the credit to God’s grace.

Around 1pm on the road our potential reservation for that night fell through.  We were hoping to stay in a gorgeous apartment in downtown Naples that we found on AirBnB.com, but the owner never responded.  Thankfully, I’d made an additional reservation at the hotel on the U.S. Navy base outside of Naples where Elliott would be working that week.  Although Jess and I would have preferred to be steps from Neapolitan pizzerias and gelato shops, it ended up being our only option, and I’m so glad we had that as a backup.  Elliott walked 5 minutes to and from work that week while Jess, Lena, and I enjoyed the luxuries of base (grocery store, pool, and a place to buy a travel crib because we forgot ours…).

On Thursday morning Jess, Lena, and I packed up early and hit the road for Naples.  We took a short bus ride and a loooong train ride (maybe we should see which city the train is going to next time?) and finally got out in crazy Naples.  We spent the day on our feet in the city and I fell in love.  I must go back… next time hopefully to a studio within steps of a pizzeria!

Applying her sunscreen on the train.

Stop #1: Shopping for sunglasses.  Ray Ban knockoffs for 5 euro?  We bought ’em.

 The city of Naples invented pizza and I had been dreaming of pizza in Naples for days now.  On a little side street in the Quartieri Spagnoli (Spanish Quarter) we found a teeny tiny little pizzeria.  For 3 euro each, we got the pizza of our dreams.

 

Putting together our pizzas.

Sliding the pizzas into the wood-burning oven.

Sliding them onto plates a couple of minutes later.
 And viola!  The original pizza, one with fresh tomatoes and one with sauce, and both made with buffalo mozzarella cheese, fresh basil, and olive oil.  Truly heavenly.

 Someone fell asleep!

 Our gelato melted faster than we could keep up with it!  Mine was dark chocolate with oranges.

5 :: in eat this, family, Italy, Naples, travel

one month

August 7, 2012 at 1:27 pm

Today I finished the slim, powerful little volume “Lament for a Son.” Somehow it took me a long time to read, but I was also savoring it, re-reading most sentences, writing notes on almost every vignette. Nicholas Wolsterstorff included this quote towards the end of the book:

“Mortification–literally, ‘making death’–is what life is all about, a slow discovery of the mortality of all that is created so that we can appreciate its beauty without clinging to it as of it were a lasting possession. Our lives can indeed be seen as a process of becoming familiar with death, as a school in the art of dying. I do not mean this in a morbid way. On the contrary, when we see life constantly revitalized by death, we can enjoy it for what it is: a free gift. The pictures, letters, and books of the past reveal life to us as a constant saying of farewell to beautiful places, good people, and wonderful experience…. All these times have passed by like friendly visitors, leaving [us] with dear memories but also with sad recognition of the shortness of life. In every arrival there is a leavetaking; in each one’s growing up there is a growing old; in every smile there is a tear; and in every success there is a loss. All living is dying and all celebration is mortification too.”

-Henri Nouwen,
“A Letter of Consolation”

We’re on our way back from a lovely week near Naples, where Elliott tended to a couple of military working dogs. The trip away and just with family–Elliott, Lena, and Elliott’s sister Jess, who is visiting this month–was refreshing and filled with laughter. Of course there was some tension because, as always with our travels, we didn’t plan anything until the eleventh hour. Every day. Hmm.

I’ll be back tomorrow with some pretty photos!

1 :: in grief, Italy, Julia, travel

one month

August 7, 2012 at 12:27 pm

Today I finished the slim, powerful little volume “Lament for a Son.” Somehow it took me a long time to read, but I was also savoring it, re-reading most sentences, writing notes on almost every vignette. Nicholas Wolsterstorff included this quote towards the end of the book:

“Mortification–literally, ‘making death’–is what life is all about, a slow discovery of the mortality of all that is created so that we can appreciate its beauty without clinging to it as of it were a lasting possession. Our lives can indeed be seen as a process of becoming familiar with death, as a school in the art of dying. I do not mean this in a morbid way. On the contrary, when we see life constantly revitalized by death, we can enjoy it for what it is: a free gift. The pictures, letters, and books of the past reveal life to us as a constant saying of farewell to beautiful places, good people, and wonderful experience…. All these times have passed by like friendly visitors, leaving [us] with dear memories but also with sad recognition of the shortness of life. In every arrival there is a leavetaking; in each one’s growing up there is a growing old; in every smile there is a tear; and in every success there is a loss. All living is dying and all celebration is mortification too.”

-Henri Nouwen,
“A Letter of Consolation”

We’re on our way back from a lovely week near Naples, where Elliott tended to a couple of military working dogs. The trip away and just with family–Elliott, Lena, and Elliott’s sister Jess, who is visiting this month–was refreshing and filled with laughter. Of course there was some tension because, as always with our travels, we didn’t plan anything until the eleventh hour. Every day. Hmm.

I’ll be back tomorrow with some pretty photos!

2 :: in grief, Italy, Julia, travel

Greek beaches and losing plane engines

July 6, 2012 at 11:25 am

On our last morning in Crete we carpe diem-ed and went to the beach.  I’m rarely at the beach before 9am, but my goodness… they are such peaceful and lovely places at that time of day.  At first we were the only people there, spreading out wherever we wished and basking in mellow early morning sun.

We saw a bucket of old lost-and-found toys and Lena went to town with all those treasures!

Sometimes you want to splash and play and sometimes you just want a hug.

Eventually we headed back to the hotel to shower, finish packing, and head to the little airport.  Once again we had no idea if there would be space on the plane for me and Lena.  I waited in prayerful apprehension, watching as the waiting room of the terminal filled up with passengers.  The tiny C-26 we were scheduled to fly only has 10 seats:

And then suddenly the woman in charge of seating was standing in front of me, saying firmly and apologetically, “I am so sorry.  There are 11 passengers and just 10 seats.  You will have to stay behind.  We will try to get you on a flight back to Sicily as soon as possible, maybe tomorrow…” 

I gulped, anticipating a long weekend by myself in a hotel room, wandering around base trying to amuse a baby and sitting in the air terminal waiting for a seat.

Suddenly, once again, our hero in a flightsuit walked into the room, did an official count, and announced that there were only 9 official passengers.  There was space for us and Lena could sit on my lap.  What?!  The woman must have miscounted and included Lena and me (the 10th and 11th passengers) among the official count.  Praise God!  Within moments we were walking across the tarmac to the plane.

So close.  Both times, so close.  Crete is great, but… do I want to go through this every time?

We boarded the plane, ducking down the narrow aisle to find a seat.  Lena promptly fell asleep in my arms, exhausted from the beach and missing her nap.  I fell asleep only moments later.  

I woke up to hear a crewmember yelling down the aisle over the noise of the propellers.

“WE LOST PRESSURE IN ONE OF THE ENGINES.  WE HAVE TO TURN IT OFF AND DROP TO 10,000 FEET.  WE HAVE ABOUT AN HOUR TO GO.  WE’LL BE OKAY.”

Elliott and I stared at each other, eyes wide.  Outside his window I could see the left propeller slowly coming to a stop, then rotating lazily in the breeze.  Our entire plane was now flying on just one propeller engine.  The pilots were busily balancing the plane in the cockpit, making constant manual adjustments and pressing buttons that had turned red and yellow.

My mind started to go crazy thinking of all the things that could go wrong.  Where there parachutes in this plane?  What would I do with Lena?  I guess strap her to me with the Ergo carrier and then strap the parachute over both of us.  But there probably were no parachutes.  What would we do with life jackets??  And if the other engine went out, would the plane glide for awhile, or just… dive?

This was useless.  I prayed, closed my eyes, and determinedly slept.

About an hour later, I could see land below the plane.  Sicily!  We flew in south of Catania and in a moment I could see the base, and then the air strip, and then a small army of firetrucks waiting for us, lights flashing in the hot sunlight.  Oh boy.  Elliott wrapped both his arms around Lena as we dropped closer to the earth to land.  The wheels touched.  We bounced, jostled a little bit, raced down the runway.  Home safe.

After all the flying I’ve done my entire life, I would have to say that is the closest I’ve come to knowing our plane could go down.  Not fun in a tiny little metal tube you can’t even stand up in, with a baby in your lap and the love of your life beside you.  But then I think… how many times has this happened on a plane and I haven’t known it?  How many times has a reckless driver swerved right before connecting with my car?  How many times have I been within an inch of my life and yet here I still am, typing this, on an ordinary Friday, living this ordinary life, very much alive?

Your eyes saw my unformed body;
    all the days ordained for me were written in your book
    before one of them came to be.
Psalm 139:16
5 :: in Greece, travel

Greek beaches and losing plane engines

July 6, 2012 at 10:25 am

On our last morning in Crete we carpe diem-ed and went to the beach.  I’m rarely at the beach before 9am, but my goodness… they are such peaceful and lovely places at that time of day.  At first we were the only people there, spreading out wherever we wished and basking in mellow early morning sun.

We saw a bucket of old lost-and-found toys and Lena went to town with all those treasures!

Sometimes you want to splash and play and sometimes you just want a hug.

Eventually we headed back to the hotel to shower, finish packing, and head to the little airport.  Once again we had no idea if there would be space on the plane for me and Lena.  I waited in prayerful apprehension, watching as the waiting room of the terminal filled up with passengers.  The tiny C-26 we were scheduled to fly only has 10 seats:

And then suddenly the woman in charge of seating was standing in front of me, saying firmly and apologetically, “I am so sorry.  There are 11 passengers and just 10 seats.  You will have to stay behind.  We will try to get you on a flight back to Sicily as soon as possible, maybe tomorrow…” 

I gulped, anticipating a long weekend by myself in a hotel room, wandering around base trying to amuse a baby and sitting in the air terminal waiting for a seat.

Suddenly, once again, our hero in a flightsuit walked into the room, did an official count, and announced that there were only 9 official passengers.  There was space for us and Lena could sit on my lap.  What?!  The woman must have miscounted and included Lena and me (the 10th and 11th passengers) among the official count.  Praise God!  Within moments we were walking across the tarmac to the plane.

So close.  Both times, so close.  Crete is great, but… do I want to go through this every time?

We boarded the plane, ducking down the narrow aisle to find a seat.  Lena promptly fell asleep in my arms, exhausted from the beach and missing her nap.  I fell asleep only moments later.  

I woke up to hear a crewmember yelling down the aisle over the noise of the propellers.

“WE LOST PRESSURE IN ONE OF THE ENGINES.  WE HAVE TO TURN IT OFF AND DROP TO 10,000 FEET.  WE HAVE ABOUT AN HOUR TO GO.  WE’LL BE OKAY.”

Elliott and I stared at each other, eyes wide.  Outside his window I could see the left propeller slowly coming to a stop, then rotating lazily in the breeze.  Our entire plane was now flying on just one propeller engine.  The pilots were busily balancing the plane in the cockpit, making constant manual adjustments and pressing buttons that had turned red and yellow.

My mind started to go crazy thinking of all the things that could go wrong.  Where there parachutes in this plane?  What would I do with Lena?  I guess strap her to me with the Ergo carrier and then strap the parachute over both of us.  But there probably were no parachutes.  What would we do with life jackets??  And if the other engine went out, would the plane glide for awhile, or just… dive?

This was useless.  I prayed, closed my eyes, and determinedly slept.

About an hour later, I could see land below the plane.  Sicily!  We flew in south of Catania and in a moment I could see the base, and then the air strip, and then a small army of firetrucks waiting for us, lights flashing in the hot sunlight.  Oh boy.  Elliott wrapped both his arms around Lena as we dropped closer to the earth to land.  The wheels touched.  We bounced, jostled a little bit, raced down the runway.  Home safe.

After all the flying I’ve done my entire life, I would have to say that is the closest I’ve come to knowing our plane could go down.  Not fun in a tiny little metal tube you can’t even stand up in, with a baby in your lap and the love of your life beside you.  But then I think… how many times has this happened on a plane and I haven’t known it?  How many times has a reckless driver swerved right before connecting with my car?  How many times have I been within an inch of my life and yet here I still am, typing this, on an ordinary Friday, living this ordinary life, very much alive?

Your eyes saw my unformed body;
    all the days ordained for me were written in your book
    before one of them came to be.
Psalm 139:16
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4 :: in Greece, travel
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