(I wrote that last part to sound dramatic, but really, this entire country could blow at any time.)
Con: The commute is no joke.
Pro: We live in a safe neighborhood, on a country road, where traffic is slow enough to ride bikes to the gelateria and even go for a run from my front door. Within a kilometer we can access the train to downtown Naples, several fruit stands, a pescheria (seafood market), Paolo's macelleria (butcher shop), and half a dozen cafes.
Today was a day for a run. By getting out early I managed to beat the relentless rain that has been drowning our crater for three weeks now*. My route is only 2.3 miles, but honestly, I can't find a reason lately to run any farther than that unless I am training for something. It's a good loop with the right amount of gradual hills and only about a third of it feels like a cross-country obstacle course. In 2.3 miles I feel I can paint a clear picture of where we live.
Gear note: This year I invested in truly wireless headphones, and a little backpack that fits my mom-sized iPhone plus (in its case) and my house keys. Nailed it, recommend.
Out the door I always choose the main entrance, rather than the parking lot entrance, because the road leading to the main entrance is one long bit of pavement, a pretty vineyard, and some nice houses. The road leading to our parking lot is a patchwork of concrete, each piece poured sometime within 40 years of the piece next to it, with a gutter running down the middle and some jagged potholes. Ain't nobody got time for a sprained ankle.
I head down the good road and suspiciously eye the two dogs trotting up the hill.
... Let's talk about strays for a minute. There are so many here. A lot of them are cute, healthy-looking dogs. They live on the street and many have adopted families who leave out food and water but never really let the pet inside. Some travel in packs, others are loners. They're just part of the Neopolitan way.
Vaglio is the dog who lives on the back road. I trust him and sometimes he hides under my porch when it thunders. We tried to feed him once but he doesn't like leftover steak. Weirdo.
The two dogs trotting my way always travel together. Sometimes I see them darting through the vineyard; sometimes I catch them sneaking in to a parco (gated community) behind a car, probably to leave a big steamy dump like Vaglio does in our parco. (Vaglio really gets a pass because he looks like our old dog Garrett.)
... Today these two rogues are running right at me and I wish I had a stick. I squeak over to the side of the road, stare at the them, the big one barks one bark, and they continue their mission up the hill. Like many of the locals, they are harmless, content, and just trying to get by.
At the bottom of the street I hang a right on to a wide country road where there is enough room for me, some teenagers walking to school, and a car going each way (I am describing a very wide Italian road here!). I'm able to zone out until the roundabout, where I have to switch to defense.
At the roundabout I encounter the commuters and hang a left. This points me to the heart of Quarto. It starts raining. I see a worker picking up bits of sidewalk trash and think to myself, "That's weird. I've never seen anyone assigned to roadside trash pickup in greater Naples." I can only assume he's hired by Anfra, the local health club, who seems to sponsor the entire crater. I like Anfra because they do things like send a guy out for trash pickup. I'm reminded by this train of thought that I promised Levi I would sign him up for hip-hop dance lessons at Anfra. Put it on the list.
I look left and am treated to a pink sunrise coming up over the crater's rim.
Eyes back on the sidewalk since it'll soon become an obstacle that I hop on and off until I get through the village. I pass the pescheria on the left. They've just hosed down the sidewalk like they do every day, and the trays are out but the fish aren't yet. Next I pass the fruit stand I don't go to because the one around the corner (not on my route) is way better. Although I do like how this one sells homemade wine for €2 in bottles they labeled with a label maker.
I think to myself, "I can't wait to take my sister on this loop." She's bringing her family out for Christmas. My homesick heart swelled 3 sizes when she bought those plane tickets.
I arrive at the main church which has just put up Christmas lights and a tree in the piazza. We can hear this church's bells from our house every evening at 6:30. I wonder if the village will decorate for the holidays like it did for the festival of Santa Maria back in September.
I hang a left and chuckle at "Cafe 54." I think this is a funny name because to say it in Italian - Cafe Cinquanta Quattro - takes a long time and I wonder if anyone actually calls it that.
The train roars overhead as I approach the underpass. It's covered in graffiti and has no schedule to stick to. You just buy your ticket and wait. I think, "The Germans would never stand for this!" (We're going to Germany for Thanksgiving.) It boggles the mind how different two cultures can be in such close proximity. The Alps obviously formed an effective barrier for all those years before air travel.
As I play chicken with the cars on the one-way portion of the street, I pass Paolo's macelleria and smile. He speaks exactly two words of English ("steak" and "grill"), is so patient and gracious with my Italian efforts, and always sends me home with two incredible filets for exactly €10.
Next up is the mud obstacle. I don't know where all this loose dirt came from, but the constant rain has pushed it all in to the middle of the street. I wonder if Anfra will take care of this too.
Rounding the corner to home I pass the other macelleria that we don't go to, because the one time I went in there I watched the owner remove paper towels covering all the meat and then swat the flies away. When I asked him for beef filet I walked out with shaved beef that I probably should have dried in to jerky. Va bene.
Next is the pizza place where Andrew takes the kids when I work late. We would eat here more often if it were possible to have a meal before 7 p.m.!
I turn and trudge up my hill as 'Gasolina' comes up on my playlist. It makes me forget I am 38 and is just enough to get me up to my gate before I catch my breath, fish for my keys with swollen fingers, and pop an earbud out so I can listen to the neighborhood sounds while I cool off down our walkway.
Not a suburb. Quarto.
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