Mad in Napoli

I hadn't felt so suicidal since my first solo week in Europe as I waited at the Rinella dock mesmerised by the glorious dawn. The sun's first rays crept from behind the peaks as I thought how ironic that my impending depression was brought on by my reluctance to leave, compared to my first lonely night in the freakin' 90-euros-per-night designer hotel in Barcelona. I memorised the awe-inspiring Salina landscape one last time and sobbed quietly on the hydrofoil passing Lipari and Vulcano to Milazzo, overwhelmed by a flood of mixed emotions.

At 10.30am, Milazzo's motor and human traffic were already peaking and the blazing sunrays made me squint as I slowly woke up from my daze after my late morning obligatory caffe latte and ciccolato brioche. I caught a bus to the Milazzo treno stazione where the grouchy ticket officer told me I had to wait 2 hours for the 1pm train which would reach Napoli at 7.20pm but based on my well-honed Amazing-Race instinct, I decided to try my luck at Messina instead (30 mins away by train). And true enough, the motherly assistant there told me I could still make the 2pm Eurostar from Villa S. Giovanni on the mainland which would roll into Napoli at 6.18pm, an hour earlier than the other train! At that moment, I felt like the frontrunner in the Amazing Race!

With the help of a scruffy-looking boatman who was so tickled by the fact I spoke some Italian, I strolled into the cavernous belly of the large cruise after it was emptied of a long train of heavy containers. The girl in front of me was struggling with her luggage on the flight of stairs to the open deck so I asked her "è pesante?" (is it heavy?) and gave her a hand. Plus I also wouldn't want to miss the lovely view of the Messina town as we pulled away from the port.

As I sat there enjoying the warm breeze, I bid a heartfelt farewell to Sicily which had been so hospitable; her beauty was simply breathtaking and so timeless. The 20mins ride was non-eventful except for B, a therapist from Messina, whom I chatted with and he seemed genuinely friendly until he insisted on a complimentary pizza lunch but I politely declined giving an excuse that I was afraid I'd miss my train when I rather preferred to have some quiet time to digest my thoughts and my proscuitto-parmiggiano-funghi panino (3euros).

At S. Giovanni, the luxurious Eurostar (36,36euros) cruised past the rural, unspoilt Calabrian hills to my right and I battled fatigue and kept my eyes open catching last glimpses of the familiar tranquil blue sea on my left all the way to Campania where I spotted the sign for Paestum, bathed in the soft glow of the dipping sun.

Right on the dot at 6.18pm, the train rolled into Napoli and its first impression was a frenzied, chaotic concrete jungle - molto brutto (very ugly). And for the first time on my trip, this hooligan jumped in front of me for a cheap thrill and gave me a shock! I gave him a rude stare and told the old woman next to me that he was molto mati (very crazy), to which she agreed and pointed out where the main Piazza Garibaldi was.

The young receptionist Luigi and the bellboy at the nearby 3-star Hotel Ideal were suitably impressed by my Italian (by now I was already dreaming in Italian!) so I took advantage and bargained the price of the last double room for 45euros. When I told Luigi I'd like to explore the city, he warned me not to bring my bag out, advised on avoiding certain neighbourhoods and insisted I take the R2 bus if I really had to see the monuments at Piazza Municipio at that hour.

Sensing the caution and concern in his voice, and not wanting to court trouble on my last evening in Italy, I decided to call it a night and just enjoyed dinner at the popular Iris Ristorante a few doors away. The menu was mind-boggling and I remarked to the 2 lovely Australian ladies seated next to me that I was stumped for choice. Margie from Perth was nursing her fractured right arm in a sling (from netball, she pointed out)and her mother Rosemary had gladly accompanied her on the one-month holiday in Italy, relieved to be away from Papa New Guinea where her husband was posted.

We struck up a long hearty conversation while they shared a thin pizza and I went mad and indulged in the spaghetti alla frutti di mare (5,20euros), followed by the polpo (octopus) cooked with pomodoro, capers and olive oil (5euros), vino bianco and a glass of sweet but potent limoncello for dessert. I couldn't believe how cheap the dishes were and they couldn't believe I could eat so much for a tiny Asian girl.

We wished each other safe journey and I returned to the hotel and chatted some more with young Luigi who seemed adamant on marrying an Asian girl, preferrably from Japan or maybe Singapore, he added. I told him Italian women were so gorgeous but he mumbled something about them which I didn't understand. I also teased him that he was just a bambino (kid) at only 27 (he thought I was 20) and declined his kind invitation to check out the local nightlife because firstly I was molto stanca (exhausted), plus I didn't want to deal with his advances later. Yes, I could see it coming!