The plane is eerily silent as we begin to land. The Bay of Naples comes into view, along with its big brother, Mount Vesuvious. I sense a bit of haze which reminds me that it is going to be a hot day. The captain has reminded us to keep our seat belts fastened. We land in just fine. We grab our bags. We get on with it. We find a taxi as he drives us wrecklessly to our final destination.
This is Naples. Overcrowded streets, light smog, and crazy drivers. However, there emerges some sort of method to the madenss, as everyone is on cue - playing their part. The street vendor is working his bock, the housewife is dumping old water, the motor scooters zig-zag with ease. All I do is watch.
Lisa and I are staying in what is called the Centro Storico District. Otherwise known as the center of town. There is a university here. You know you are close when you see the anarchy symbols, reggae paraphanalia, and flyers to join up with the communist party. We scamper up to the Hotel Pignatelli, ring the bell and talk to Enzo. Enzo seems to be the common name because we confuse Enzo, the hotel man with Enzo, the hair stylist. One is flamboyant, the other one a plain bearded hotel worker.
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