Mangia! Mangia!

It's amazing how fast one could put on weight. I was so contenta last week when I lost 2kg eating miserably on my own but since I had arrived at Pozzuoli 3 days ago, I think I'd probably put it back on and di piu (more)! Gulp. It's all Luigi's mamma's fault who fed me round the clock and consistently implored me to 'Mangia! Mangia!' (Eat! Eat!) untill I exploded with buonissimi homecooked pasta, pesce, cane al ragù, insalata, dolci and vino. She'd then asked: 'Ti piace?' (You like?). Si si, certo!

La cucina di mamma è sempre il migliore. Luigi had complained to me that all his mamma cared about now was what's on the menu for Carla. She was worried if I'd eat well and told him not to let me starve and stashed biscotti and acqua in his bag for our day trip to Procida on Friday. Yesterday we had set off for a giro di Napoli, starting from the lively (aka watch your borsa) Spaccanapoli - the infamous straight street that housed rows of cramped miscellanous shops, bars, churches and piazze. I had wanted to bring my camera but L said it was better to leave it at home cos we didn't want to risk it being snatched away. Penso che sia meglio cosi' (I think it's better like this - has become my fav phrase).

It's a pity though as Napoli was indeed beautiful and photogenic once you got past the mad chaos. What stuck me the most was its unpretentiousness and realness. That aside, the magnificent Duomo, with its series of jaw-dropping Mannerist paintings set into the carved glided wooden ceiling above, was stupendo! I've seen a lot of duomos but this artistry was senza parole. It so happened they were celebrating San Gennaro that week and on that day (19 Settembre), the blood of the saint that was kept in 2 vials miraculously turned to liquid.

We saw the priest brought out the vials to the faithful crowds and then hurried to glance at the Castel Nuovo, elegante Palazzo Reale, Galleria Umberto I, Teatro San Carlo (tried to sneak in) and San Francesco di Paolo (chiuso!) at the grande Piazza Plebiscito. I also took a long time to decide on a merenda (snack) and finalmente indulged in a dense sfogiatella frolla, which L preferred over the other flaky version.

For Friday, I was deciding between Ischia or Procida (having been to the infamously expensive neighbour Capri isle) and the smaller, piu rustica Pro-ci-da won hands down since it was just 30mins away in the traghetto (9E for 2-way). The weather was freaking hot yesterday despite the arrival of autumn. We sweated like mad, sizzling under the sun with a birra in hand, and walked a piedi dappertutto, each with a song stuck in our head (me Tiziano, him Cure).

Deciding that the spiaggia was too warm, we found a charming quiet porto where a handful of late-summer turisti were lazing around like the gatti. I went trigger happy, finally found material for my cat photo exhibition next year as the cats posed for me, each dazed under the sizzling sun. I was starving at 2.30pm but held on for a late lunch at Luigi's mom later. We had another birra instead and bought the local dolci 'Le Lingue' - crema-filled pastries shaped like tongues for his famiglia specialmente Gino.

Da sua, his mamma presented me with a huge plate of linguine alla vongole (the sweetest smallest clams), followed by a heap of pesce fritto - made up of alici, small local fishes deboned and flattened, then sprinkled with sale, coated with egg and flour and fried to a nice brown crust. After dinner, we picked up his cousin Gino and went to catch up with his amici - mattissimo Antonio and mild-mannered Gennaro - at Gino's cousin's bar at the porto. The mojitos were kickarse and soon I was saying 'O fra! Tappost?!' (local slang for 'Yo brother, all's good?) to all the ragazzi.

The boys were soon getting too loud especially Ant who wanted to dance and he drove us sigaretta in mouth and fist pumping the air, blasting the music in his macchina, to a packed local ristorante-pub La Bavarese. I was the only Asian persona there among a mad throng of drunk locals openly checking out one another. Le ragazze were all wearing boots, short skirts and low tops with their huge titties hanging out. I suffered from the worst tits envy here. Veramente (really).

We drank more Sangria and the boys stuffed their faces with tapas and bruschette. I was shivering with cold and dragging on my sigaretta outside, wondering how these girls could endure the late-night chill in their skimpy state. We left for another bar Molt and then a cafe at the porto for caffe. Ant insisted I have one too but it was almost 4am so I declined, otherwise I'd not sleep. L was too brillo (high) to drive back so I took over the wheels and drove back piano piano (slow) on the right side. When we reached home, we both pronounced me 'brillante'.