Napoli is falling apart just like Venice, except differently, too. Venice is decaying grandly, decadently. Venice is like falling into a swimming pool wearing a tuxedo. Napoli is like falling into a pond wearing short shorts and a tube top. Napoli has been rode hard and put away wet.
It makes sense to me that this is where my family is from. I remember little of my grandfather, but what I do remember fits with these people more than anywhere else. I love these people; they sing more than anywhere I've been yet. They grow flowers on balconies and in the cracks of walls.
I took my life in my hands and agreed to go on a motorcycle tour of the city yesterday, which was terrifying. I went to Pompeii today. I am allergic to something that raises angry red bumps on my right hand and I think it may be garlic. Tomorrow I will spend some time in the orange and lemon groves in Sorrento, and then I will make my way home.
My hands feel less like they are made of hurricanes than they have since Thanksgiving.