An Amsterdam Sandwich

Let me take you back in time to November ... 2022. I fear that as time passes between happenings and publications, readers may doubt my memory and credibility, but I assure you, it is as sound—or unsound—as it ever was. A little prologue ...

Last fall, I went to Amsterdam with my dear friend Sarah; after a long weekend in my favorite European city, I went off to Naples, and she went home. I then returned from Naples to hang more with my friends Kevin and Scott—Amsterdam residents—and for a planned reunion with my friends that I had met in Tenerife, Ruchita and Philomena. Amsterdam is less a trip and more a holiday for me at this point, where little goes wrong, and what does go wrong is best kept unpublished. This story is about Naples; hence—An Amsterdam Sandwich. 

As anyone that has seen me on any trip ever can attest to, I exclusively travel with a backpack. Thanks to one Kevin VanCraig, this was not a possibility on this last venture. I was sent about 17 Christmas spools to smuggle out of the US, as was Sarah. So imagine double what you see depicted below. Actually, just keep scrolling, I found another photo. Thought that was funny ... now on to the journey to Naples.

Why Naples? Close to Amsterdam, but warm in November.

Early Monday morning flight to Naples (after a night at Brouwerij 't IJ). First stop was the Rick Steves' recommended Il Garum Ristorante Osteria ...

Then the Rick Steves' audio tour commenced ... 

Followed by some good 'ol WFH from the hostel roof (a true joy when the sun sets three hours after work has begun 🙃). 

I came back from dinner—with some more work to do—to a massive party at the hostel. Not a hostel party—a party PARTY. In not a good way. Hostel party means you can mill around and meet people, and they'll say "come hang out when you're done work." Party PARTY means that anyone sixteen and above within a couple of miles has come to hear the DJ and get cheap drinks at the venue that just so happens to be a hostel. I hunched in a corner on a bench, at 10:30pm, furiously typing away, connected to the WiFi that I could not get in my room, as 100+ teens milled and danced about. Do I sound like a grumpy old man? That's how I felt. 

With a slam of my laptop, I dashed off with my book to the nearest cocktail bar. Yes, an old man.

Day 2! Time to venture off to Mt. Vesuvius. At the hostel, hoping to hear of some tour I could hop in with to see the great volcano, I was told to take public transportation instead, so off I went—subway to train to train, if I remember correctly. 

Mt. Vesuvius was closed. Due to high volcanic activity. What luck. Thankfully, even though my first stop was closed, I could just hop right into stop two: Pompeii. I wandered in, and having not booked a guided tour, grabbed a map and was on my way. 

I turned on the only tour that mattered: Rick Steves' audio tour of Pompeii. Looking at timestamps, it was about 30 minutes before I happened upon a lovely beer shop—it hadn't been destroyed (ha ha ? )—and ventured on for over two more hours, map in hand, getting hopelessly lost.

I don't know how it went so wrong. I had my map companion piece to go along with the audio tour. When I do that in cities that have not been destroyed, I am completely fine. I followed the coinciding numbers that were mentioned in the tour to the map in my hands—and about 25% of the time—I would be headed in the right direction. 

The rest of the time? Well, I spent it trying to figure out where the numbers were, walking slowly near actual guided tours, or wandering aimlessly because Pompeii is an actual full-sized city, and it's unclear how large it is until you are lost within the city walls.

OK; must come clean. What I was really doing, masqueraded by all the above to-dos, was searching for the bodies. You know—the bodies from our history books that made it seem like the molten lava had turned 2,000 people to stone. (Yes, I know they weren't turned to stone, just covered in ash in their final moments, etc.) A few times, Rick Steves said, "turn to your right, there you will see a young woman ..." WELL. She was never there. A couple times I would hear another group say, "but where are the bodies?" and I would follow them for a bit, but they seemed to only get me more lost. 

I followed more lost people from one side of the railroad tracks to the next as I made my way back to Naples. To food! I tried to find a couple of Rick-recommended spots but was disappointed with "closed" signs and bad vibes. I eventually settled on some weird-ass dirty outdoor spot, with a view of the loud mopeds as they passed, and settled in for my pizza, wine, and a cigarette. 

Next, off to Castel Sant'Elmo. I had heard (read?) that this was a great sunset walk. I just typed in the castle on my phone and followed the GPS walking directions—which happened to bring me onto busy roads and empty alleyways, and in hindsight I may have done this differently BUT had some great views and some great vino at the top so ... left me feeling OK to make the same trek back down.

Back to the hostel to see if there would be a party PARTY again. Huzzah! 'Twas just people milling about, drinking, chatting, smoking. I settled onto a couch and pulled out my phone to see if I could find a way to get to the Amalfi Coast and back before work started at 2pm the next day. I had somehow not realized quite how close I was going to be to it, and thus had not planned to hit the coast on my day off. Just imagine the look on my face as I realized that I have wasted my one day off in Naples on a "closed due to high volcanic activity" Mt. Vesuvius and a Pompeii sans 2,000-year-old human remains in action, encased in volcanic ash. Panicked and despondent would be my best description of the look as I remember it.

It was at this time that Joao (I forget where he was from ... my best guess is Brazil ?) leaned over and began chatting with me. He detailed his excursion on his Vespa through the winding roads of the Amalfi coast, showing me some very breathtaking photos and videos. I told him of my current despair, having not been able to make it to the Amalfi coast, and now, I was out of time. The proceeding discourse went as follows* (*edited by the author for space and time purposes) ...

Joao: "I was just writing in my journal, before we began speaking, about how I would like to do the same ride along the coast again, but be able to share it with someone."

Me: "Oh, that's a nice thought. Nice journal."

Joao: "I was just thinking ... would you like to share this experience with me?"

Me: "I have work tomorrow. Remember, the cause of all my troubles?"

Joao: "I promise to get you back in time for work."

I quickly consulted my people ... and by "consulted," I mean ... told.

Me: "OK."

I then made additional friends that were a bit more ... social than my current company, and he went off to bed with a promise to see me in the morning as I went off with some Australians in search of kebab.

The next morning, I met Joao EIGHT minutes late, and his look could kill. We said 8:50, and I arrived at 8:58. To be fair, I was in the main area of the hostel at 8:53, but he was already downstairs and around the corner with his Vespa. That had not been in the aforementioned itinerary. I apologized. He nodded and said "no problem” like it was a big problem, and we went to get me a helmet. 

Once situated, I climbed on to the back of the much-smaller-than-envisioned Vespa, and we were off ... onto the dirty streets of Naples, with Joao holding his phone in front of him for directions as we careened through the angry throngs that are the traffic of Naples. 

We approached a toll booth, and together, we scrounged up enough coins. He looked back at me with a grin after we paid, grabbed my leg, and said ...

"Isn't this such a romantic date?"

...

What. WHAT. I truly thought he was a bit of an awkward guy that just wanted a friend to experience the beauty of Italy with him. I thought he wanted to give me the gift of the Amalfi Coast. In hindsight ... duh.

I took a big gulp as I realized what the next five hours would consist of. For Amalfi!

To be fair, he did give me a gift ... just look:

Our stops consisted of me running to the edges of the cliff and getting photos of the views, while he ... watched me do this. We went through Sorento, Positano, Praiano, and whatever else came before the lovely town of Amalfi. Ah yes, the town that we strolled through looking at limoncello, lemon themed clothing, and, yes, lemons. His gaze continued to follow me as I considered these eccentric items. 

This lemon .. no; maybe this limoncello .. no; maybe this lemon bracelet? 

I settled on a simple gelato (not lemon flavored), to which he exclaimed, "I am feeling such Main Character energy right now!" To which I gave a thumbs up.

I gave a, "yeah, I should get back for work." And we hopped back on the moped. 

Not so bad, I thought. Then his gazes at me transitioned to the Vespa ride. As we careened around curves of the not-so-wide road, he would look back at me with a "you're gonna kiss me now, right?" look. WHILE HE WAS DRIVING. Even if I was into this guy; the answer is hell no if you are putting the thought of a kiss with me over my actual life. I just laughed and said, "the road, look at it" or ignored and pretended to enjoy the view, or just gave ... another thumbs up. 

Remember I mentioned that this Vespa was a bit smaller than I had envisioned? Well. On the way back, my legs weren't doing so well after three, four hours riding around on the back of this thing. My legs were so cramped up and kept slipping off of the tiny metal sliver my feet had been resting on throughout the journey. I was ready for work.

When we got back, I looked at the time with a, "oh no, I gotta go!" and he said he would return my helmet. Great. He had previously told me about all of his fun options for the day. Do you want to know that he did instead? 

When he got back to the hostel, Joao positioned himself between me and the water cooler, so that whenever I went back up to get more water, I would pass him. I shit you not, this lasted for my ENTIRE eight hour work day. I moved several times as I worked, and he would reposition as well ... to always be in my path.

I somehow snuck out for both lunch and dinner—lunch being a place where the youths hang out and dinner—the scene of my newest almost-incarceration. I had been to this place a couple nights earlier and loved it. Well. This time, they insisted they only take cash. I said, "OK, no problem; I'll go get cash." They said, "No, leave your computer with us." I said, "Leave my computer as collateral for a TWELVE EURO dinner? No." They said, "We're escorting you to get cash then." So, like a criminal, I was walked to the ATM which was none too close. Well, really I trailed behind my escort like a sulking teenager. They reminded me several times that tip was not included in the bill. I smiled, paid the exact amount, and left. OK, so not a near incarceration, but I was incensed by my treatment and really showed 'em!

I found my friends—not Joao—upon my return and was greeted with a beer and limoncello shot to celebrate the cessation of my work week. Look, I talked to Joao throughout the day whenever he would trap me in a conversation due to being in my way, BUT I owed him nothing, and was really feeling like I was being stalked at this point, so as he watched me, I went and sat with others, and he did nothing, and that was the end of Joao. 

My besties at this hostel were an Australian guy that was in his 30s and a Dutch 18-year-old that was treated to beers the whole night by me and the Australian because it became apparent early on that these  €3 beers were expensive to him. We bonded over our hatred for the hostel we were staying in as the hostel once again became overrun by the teens of the town. And before we knew it, the evening came to a close, and I packed up my bags for my return trip to Amsterdam.

When Scott and Kevin asked me how I enjoyed my time in Naples, I replied with a, "Eh, not my favorite. Didn't plan well."

Scott: "What the Hell. We love it there and could have mapped it out for you. I assumed you knew what you were doing if you didn't ask."

Ah. Always ask, Dear Reader, always ask.