The Italian Affair (5 page)

“Er, well” hesitated Dan. “There are a few reasons why I’m here, but the main one I am prepared to share is that I’m an artist and it’s the only way I can do what I do. I work for a few months, pack my bags and move onto new places. I’m a bit of a nomad. I arrived here in early July from Rome when the school term ended there. Someone had told me how beautiful the coast and islands near Naples were and that they would be good for my creative portfolio and my mind!”

Issy nodded in agreement. “The coast looked stunning as we drove in from the airport. There were a lot of contrasts. Fabulous views but loads of poverty.”

“Yes I know,” agreed Dan. “I tested the waters here first and did some really interesting paintings around Vesuvius, Pompeii and the Costiera Amalfitana earlier in July. I loved it so much I decided to get a teaching job so I could stay on. I was lucky – or unlucky depending on how it goes – to be able to find a job with Gennaro.”

Issy laughed. “You’re not by any chance staying in an apartment owned by Pasquale, the man who owns the posh pant shop in the piazza are you?”

Dan finished his breakfast and looked up smiling. “Pasquale and a posh pant shop ....?” Dan said. “No not that I’m aware of. But nothing should surprise you around here. It really is a crazy place. The thing to hang onto, when all about you descends into madness is that the surrounding area is beautiful. If you’d like to be shown around a bit, when we’ve finished the induction today, we can go to the coast this afternoon and I’ll introduce you to some really cool places I’ve already found.”

Issy’s face lit up with a wide smile at his suggestion before wiping her tongue self-consciously around her front teeth. “I’d really love to Dan – if you’re sure you don’t mind me tagging along?”

“No, of course not,” Dan replied. “I’ve managed to get hold of an old Vespa, and we can head off on that together if you don’t mind travelling slowly on a clapped out scooter. I’d really like it if you could come. I’ve been doing it for the last few weeks on my own and I’d love to share what I’ve found with you.”

“You don’t mind that I’m English and not Italian?” teased Issy.

“No” laughed Dan “because you’re not really all English are you? Let’s face it, you’re from Yorkshire. And besides I want you to come. I wouldn’t have asked otherwise. So what is your answer? Sorry to press you” continued Dan, “But I need to know.”

“The answer is a big YES” Issy said. “It sounds brilliant and it might clear my head a bit. I’m not sure how long I‘m going to be here so seeing as much as I can early on would be really great so thanks so much for asking.”

As they wandered back up the stone stairs to the school, Issy felt that maybe her decision to come here wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

“This may well turn out to be just what I needed,” Issy thought as she entered the school to be inducted into the nomadic world of Teaching English as a Foreign Language (TEFL).

Naples
– Ravello 12.30pm local time August 30th 1986

As the Neapolitans were preparing their lunch before their obligatory siesta, Dan and Issy exited the city unnoticed in tandem on the back of a dusty yellow Vespa.

The journey to the coast, unlike the one back from the airport, was relatively traffic free. As they drove through the ancient and cobbled narrow streets of mid-town and then down-town Naples, the smells of roasted meat infused with garlic wafted through open windows and doorways.

Big rotund mamas, some dressed in black, laboured over large metal pans and the intricate preparations for a hearty Neapolitan family lunch.

High above them washing that spanned the generations, fluttered gently in the breeze haphazardly strung out to dry in the midday sun. Old men sat on rickety chairs and loitered in the shade, playing cards and chain-smoking, waiting for their women folk to serve the food.

That day, there were other things that Issy noticed from the back of Dan’s yellow Vespa that were peculiar to her.

The first was the way ALL Neapolitans used their hands and bodies when they spoke in an extreme and exaggerated fashion. Italians do it generally, but the Neapolitans REALLY do it. And when you witness it, it is like watching a live comedy played out in a giant Amphitheatre.

Issy had watched Gennaro and Pasquale in her flat on Saturday contorting themselves to explain things. But watching a whole city in action as they played out how they felt as a kind of prelude to eating their lunchtime plate of pasta was a spectacle to behold.

Different finger digits and hand movements were used to weigh up situations, be rude about someone or to reinforce particularly important points that were being made. Compared to the English, who were so reserved with their feelings about anything, it felt strangely liberating that expressiveness was celebrated so freely.

Issy closed her eyes and breathed in the atmosphere and thought about whether living somewhere so expressive would open up the well of emotions that had been dormant for so many years before Jeremy had recharged her with a new and vibrant energy.

As these random thoughts entered her head she decided to just revel in the drama, taking in each and every new sensation and smell as they wound their way down through the myriad of cobbled streets that led them closer to the ancient city centre.

“We’re just about to drive through the most ancient part of the city, which isn’t the safest of places” Dan shouted above the noise and frenzy of Vespas, shoppers and loiterers. “Just be careful and hold onto your bag,” he continued. “There are thieves around and you need to keep your personal possessions as close to you as possible.”

“Ok,” Issy shouted back as they passed eerily lit religious statues and figurines that sat within roadside shrines each one either wearing a garland of old flowers or rosary beads with other mementos to invoke the power of God.

Whilst still hot, the density of the living quarters in this part of town blocked out the golden sunlight making everything appear dark giving the streets and the people an air of foreboding and danger. At almost every street corner men furtively sat on wooden fruit containers.

“Why are all those men selling cigarettes and lighters on street corners?” Issy shouted to Dan from the back of the Vespa.

“It’s the black market or the contraband as it‘s known locally.” Dan shouted back. “There’s a lot of it that goes on. You can buy cheap cigarettes on the streets or, you can buy the more expensive exact same packets in the tobacco shops. It’s something you get used to after a while.”

As they got further into the ancient quarters of town, the Vespa travelled down ever narrower and darker cobbled streets all filled with litter and dark skinned youths who looked slightly wild astride clapped out scooters.

Dark eyes stared at them menacingly as they passed by. Issy clutched onto Dan and to her bag as she tried to avert their piercing stares by looking down alleyways which opened out into piazzas, with beautiful but run down churches, some with bags of litter unceremoniously dumped outside.

Finally, after navigating the chaos and darkness of numerous side streets they hit the motorway, which was baking hot as the strong midday sun, without the shade of the densely built palazzos, beat down fiercely from the middle of the sky. As the little yellow Vespa picked up speed, the breeze whipped their hair into distorted shapes until they looked like ice cream cornets from behind.

Unlike travelling in the deli van with Gennaro, being on the Vespa with Dan was exciting and as they ate up the miles Issy felt an increasing sense of freedom and escape. She loved the proximity to the Mediterranean, and the uplifting effects of the sun on her face, her arms and her legs. She’d spent too many weeks recently in a flat in Oxford in the semi darkness trying to survive and being here with Dan in brilliant sunshine suddenly made her start to feel alive.

As they got further away from built up areas around Naples, and closer to the town of Sorrento, towards which they were heading, Issy could see row after row of lemon trees clinging to the highest ridges of mountainous reaches either side of the road.

“Look at those amazing lemon trees Dan, you can practically smell the juice of a lemon from here.”

“I knew you’d love it,” replied Dan. “And you ain’t seen nothing yet. The best is still to come.”

As they continued to follow the coastal road, thousands of bright red, pink, purple and yellow flower heads provided splashes of vivid colour with their heads up towards the sun – delicate but un-wilting they seemed to thrive under its brilliant intensity.

Out and on past Sorrento, a new colour palette emerged as small pastel coloured villages in white, pale pink, the lightest shade of blue and eggshell yellow revealed them-selves one by one, nestling snugly into deep folds of a never ending and overwhelmingly beautiful coastline.

Down way below, small shingly coves were dotted with deep orange and dark blue fishing boats. Some turned upside down with their underbellies drying out in the hot sun.

“Look at that amazing village over there. It looks like it’s hewn out of the rock face.” Issy yelled as they blended their bodies to take a sharp corner in the road, whilst praying that the little yellow Vespa would hold up well to the twisting and snaking of the Costiera Amalfitana.

“That’s Positano” Dan shouted back. “It’s where all the beautiful people used to come. Richard Burton visited here with Elizabeth Taylor. And you see that tiny little dot of an island over there?” Dan continued over the putting noise of the engine and the revving engines of the traffic.

“What the little one directly below?” Issy asked.

“Yes,” Dan replied turning his head to the side as much as he dared. Taking his right hand off the handle bar he pointed down over the sheer cliff face which had no visible safety barriers. “That’s where Rudolf Nureyev lives. He owns that small island and comes ashore for meals sometimes. He danced on the beach right there when I was having dinner earlier this summer – it was pure magic with the dark night sea as his backdrop.”

Issy’s heart lurched at the drop to their right. Despite the proximity to potential death Issy was bearing up well. When you almost lose your reason for living, like she’d felt she had when Jeremy had shut himself up like an unopened oyster and ended their relationship, experiencing feelings of unexpected joy and exhilaration took her by surprise.

As did a blue Sita coach full of tourists which, appeared around the corner and just missed them as they simultaneously took a sharp turn around a hairpin bend. “If they were going to come off the coastal road and crash to their death it would be at this point,” Issy thought as she buried her head into the arch of Dan’s back unable to watch as Dan braked and the Vespa wheels struggled to hold the road.

“Shit. That was a close shave” said Dan as they came to a full stop. “Ok. That’s made my mind up. We can go to Positano later. But given the traffic, I think we should leave the coastal road and go up here to a sleepy little village I found recently called Ravello.”

Issy shouted back her approval. “Sounds good, I love the views as we’re driving but it’s a bit scary not knowing what’s going to come round the next bend. And sorry to be a pain but can we move away from this bit of the road quickly, it feels eerie.”

“What do you mean?” Dan said as he started up the engine.

“I don’t know. I can’t explain it exactly. It just feels like this is a place where death occurred many years ago. It’s strange I feel an incredible sadness at this point in the road it’s like I knew the people who met their end here I can almost hear them talking to each other and can feel the fear as they went over. They left this world together and were happy for that but were desperate not to leave someone behind. I can almost hear their screams. Please drive away.”

Dan listened and nodded his head before pressing his foot hard on the accelerator as he turned round the Vespa and started the ascent into a mountainous valley away from the coastal road. “It was certainly a sheer drop and that road has probably claimed numerous lives.”

“I’m sorry,” Issy said. “That was just such a strange experience I don’t quite know what happened.”

As they climbed higher, their moods lifted and the vegetation became greener and the landscape much more fertile.

“Ravello is my favourite place in the whole wide world so far,” Dan said as he manoeuvred the scooter. “I discovered it in July and come back here whenever I can. Just breathe deeply and you’ll get the most beautiful smell of jasmine, the citrus of the local lemon groves and fresh pine trees all mingled together.”

“Um. It’s delicious” said Issy with her nose in the air inhaling as much of the heavy scent as she could.

“Ravello has always attracted a lot of artists and writers,” continued Dan who had by this stage taken on the role of driver and official tour guide.

“Villa Rufolo is one of the main attractions and it’s attached to that huge tower on your left. It dates back to 1200 AD. They hold a spectacular Wagnerian music festival there during the summer, on an amazing terrace overlooking the sea.”

Issy was finding it difficult to keep up. There was so much to see. The sky was cloudless, the architecture was stupendous and little archways provided glimpses onto glorious displays of flowers on ancient terraces with small open doorways and windows providing a vista of the coastline beneath them.