Napoli, the only city we came to, that we could smell the day before.
A couple of us were on our way up to Maincomm, when we stopped on the ASROC deck and had a cigarette. The sky was a deep, deep blue, the rolling sea the same. It was only the white caps that told us where one ended, and the other began. After spending a week below decks, it was glorious to have a wind in our faces again. (There were extended periods, when we might as well have been on a submarine). We stood admiring the view and enjoying the wind, when we all twitched our noses at the same time. One of the guys said “Naples” and we all just nodded our heads.
It’s not one particular odor, but rather a boquet of them; diesel fumes predominitly, but with a mixture of fish, decay, feces, and just a hint of decedence. Most cities have their own aroma, but Naples was truely different. We arrived working against that same offshore wind, and once we were tied to the pier, we either became adapted, or we weren’t getting the whole effect. Must be the decedence was happening on the other side of town, but before the night was over, we knew we’d find it.
The crew had been prepped the night before, with a brief history lesson, and a long list of things to do and places to see. Many of the ships crew (including Butch) were off to Rome on a photographic tour and an over-nighter. Those guys really made out; spent all day hangin’ with the Pope, and all night hangin’ with the hookers. Radiomen weren’t that lucky, as we weren’t allowed to be off the ship overnight. Too many communists would have been more than happy to snatch up an RM and take him to his local cell leader for an interview, and never seen again. So, we stayed in town, frequented the local bars, restaurants, and of course visited the camp fire girls.
One of the other things the ships Chaplain talked about the night before were the taxi cabs. Any nightmares you’ve had, movies you’ve seen, stories you’ve heard about taxi drivers in Naples, is probably true. We were told that there was one taxi company that had hooked up with a cameo factory, and if at all possible to use them. They were at least honest. The offer was if we were taken to the cameo factory first, we’d then be delivered, free of charge, to any location in Naples. Frankly I didn’t believe him. I’d read enough history to know to never trust the Italians, and enough message traffic to believe it, but I was wrong. We even lucked out on our taxi driver, he was a U.S. Marine recouperating from a wound suffered in Viet Nam. The wound was caused by a rocket grenade that didn’t explode, it just passed through the left side of his head. It gave his head an off kilter look and partially explained why he spent so much time driving on the sidewalks. Because we spent so much time driving on the sidewalks and doing everthing else possible with a car that small, I didn’t ask him about the particulars. There was one stretch there, where I’d lifted myself up off the floor to ask, but before I could, there were a half dozen dissedents throwing rocks and calling us baby killers. “Next time, I’ll get yours too, motherfuckers!” was what the Marine yelled as we drove through them. He was good for his word though and took us right up to the cameo factory.
Naples was making cameo’s before Vesuvius was a mole hill, and the art work looked it. Each setting was of pure silver and hand etched, or carved I guess, and the image would be bass reliefed (relievo) using oyster shells as a medium. The best part was you could tell the guy exactly what you wanted, and then stand there and watch him do it. The whole process was fascinating and for a long time, was my prized posession. I wasn’t a M.S.U. fan at the time, but it would have been a fine showing had I been.
The Marine was dutifully awaiting, and took us to where ever we wanted to go, for free. (I still didn’t believe it) I believed it though when he dropped us off at a restaurant, and left careening alongside a building, avoiding a kid on a bike. I have no idea how many world travelers are reading this, but I’m sure they’ll all agree on two things. One: Pizza over there is a pie, and it’s gooood, and Two: eating pasta in Naples ranks right up there with a 19 year old sitting on your face. You just have to be there to appreciate it. Tomato paste was never seen nor mentioned while we were there, and I for one, appreciated it. All they use is cheese. Oh! if I had the vocabulary to describe what it does…(I probably wouldn’t have had to use the 19 year old simile for one thing)..it gives you the feeling of contentedness without the indegestion I guess. We were in a dinning room that would seat 500, and there were five of us there. Each of us had our own waiter, who stood 5 paces behind with eager anticipation to please. After a while, we got used to them; stepping forward to gather used plates, refilled our glass’s of wine, present the next course, stuff like that. Four of the five of us smoked, and after finishing we all reached into our socks for our smokes. By the time we straightend up, there were four lit lighters waiting for us. The fifth guy got a mint. We sat for a while and drank up another couple bottles of their wine, and decided on our next course of action. The next course of action was an easy pick, which road you went down was another. Speaking of roads here, it should be mentioned that there were still many streets in Naples, where raw sewege flowed down the middle of the street. I suspect that’s still the case.
As much as “traveling the road less traveled” sounds romantic and all, we weren’t after romance, we were after pussy. Romance was what you read in letters from home, pussy was found standing next to bonfires alongside a road. The Italians were a civilized people who passed civilized laws preventing it’s population of free spirited entrepreneurs, dwellings to pursue it. It was nice in Barcelona, with everything done indoors, with mirrors no less, and here we have bush’s, of all sorts and types. It was interesting, and fun as well, to walk along the trees and see the different positions being displayed, and endurance capabilities rising to new levels. I could see how the orgy’s of old caught on so quick; what with warm temperatures and more than willing participants. American’s are way too hung up on it’s sexual moores, and if we were more open about it, it wouldn’t have the commerical allure that it has. It didn’t take long and I had a pair of 15 year old virgins (HONEST JOE, NO BULLSHIT, SHE VIRGIN, I KNOW, SHE’S MY MOM) and her virgin sister. Thinking back on it, I should have got a third one to hold the beer.
