NAPLES TO ROME.

It is often said that you don’t get what you wish for.

In one of yesterdays few quiet moments Ilze said, “do you know we have been here a week and have not yet been inside a church”

Fatal words.

First there was the Chiesa of the Sisters of Santa Chiara and judging by the commotion outside she was the patron saint of buskers. Then the Chiesa  e Chiostro di San Gregorio Armani, the patron saint of tailors and finally the Friary of e Scavi di San Lorenzo Maggiore, (try saying that one six times swiftly after a litre of Chianti with lunch) all because we were forced off the bus by a strike.  Struggling home on foot we were greeted by yelling and wailing as some sort of religious tour group emerged from our neighbours, the Sisters of the Immaculate Bell clangers who decided to bring forward their efforts at raising the tone of the area with their raucous campanological efforts and thus thwarting my plans for an afternoon nap, driving us back out on to the tourist trail.

I also think that that is also the longest sentence ever typed on a train doing 248kph towards Rome.

The transfer from our hotel to Naples Central went well after being momentarily parted from our luggage trying to get through the turnstile at Toledo Metro at which point Ilze announced that she was not travelling with me again until I soothed her with a chicken and salad Panini but more importantly the directions to the WC. At his point I spotted a familiar blue and gold back pack and discovered it was a World Masters games issue disappearing down the tunnel towards Garibaldi.

I always thought that the break-in of the Dodd’s car had all the hallmarks of a mafia hit.

Transfer at Rome was seamless until we arrived at Anthony’s BnB in Via Palestro.  Classic Roman upmarket apartment block, heavenly bronze and wooden doors, two places down from the German Consulate so armed Carabinairi march past with Uzis at the ready. A great comfort as I waited in the marble foyer as Ilze rode up in the retro fitted lift to the 5^th floor,  so small she only just got in with the two suitcases and sent it back down for me.  Our host Anthony then decided we need an upgrade to a larger three roomed apartment but it was in the building at the rear. Down we all went Ilze and the bags in the lift and Pete and Anthony pretending not to race down five flights of marble stair case.

Our suite is magic, ground floor, windows at the rear to private courtyard and utterly silent. It is so quiet I won’t be able to sleep and it is ‘round the corner and five flights up for before breakfast. Anyway it is perfectly situated in that area close to Rome’s Termini station not usually highly regarded and we thoroughly recommend it.

Just time for a quick gallop down the hill to the Forum to look at Trajan’s column. We missed it last time and in typical Yeates fashion we were the only people looking at it as the 3000 other tourists were looking the other was at the Victor Emanuel monument, that thing that look like a giant Remington typewriter that he had built out of the marble he had looted from the Colosseum.

Back home at the apartment the final drama of the day took place as we arrived at a row of similar doors into the building, none of them marked and Ilze trying keys into several under the watchful eye of our Uzi packing neighbour before finally getting in.

That’s it from me. I will be better in the morning.

Pete.