A rocky road
Naples to Salerno, 5th - 6th May
Naples is a city you either love or hate. Having spent five days there, I'm happy to say that I loved it. Visiting a city with my sisters and parents (and baby nephew) was a very different experience to what I've become used to over the past month - almost like being back at home, but with fried pizza. Food, of course, is the best thing about Naples, but the atmosphere in the city is what makes it different to anywhere else I've seen in Italy so far. The streets are a beautiful kind of controlled chaos and the residents seem to have a collective disrespect for rules and regulations. In many ways it reminded me of India, especially the neighborhood which my parents booked our accommodation in, near Porta Nolana and Napoli Centrale stations. The cobbled backstreets were crammed full of markets: fresh fruit and veg, fresh fish, cheap handbags - it felt just like Chandni Chowk in old Delhi. A lot of the traders were of Indian origin too, which really sealed the immersion. It's not the location I would've chosen myself (I'd have preferred the Spanish Quarter) but I ended up quite liking it anyway.
Travelling with my family made me realise me how comfortable I'd become in Italy over the past month - I was ordering for them in Italian, translating, and explaining cultural norms as though I were some kind of local. Of course, I'm still very much a foreigner here, but it's now been long enough that I've picked up a fair bit through immersion. A month travelling solo in a country will do that, and I realised I've become quite attached to this place. The ferry port at Bari isn't so far away, perhaps a week of cycling, and I'll be sad to leave even though I know travelling to more new countries is what I want from my trip.
In practical terms, my family's visit was quite helpful. I ditched my gilet and thermos - not needed in warm weather - and got my old black dry bag to put on top of my rack. I was also very happy to have access to a washing machine through our time in Naples, a five day reprieve from sink laundry. Finally, a special shoutout to my dad for finding a tailor open in the evening to adjust my too-long hiking trousers. I'm looking forward to not stepping on the hems anymore! On a more personal note, it was lovely to see them all again and spend some time together eating good food. Leaving was an emotional moment as I felt an echo of how I'd felt when leaving London; I was reminded of the life I was sacrificing (or shall we say putting on hold) for my travels.
The process of cycling out of Naples didn't help. My plan had been to cycle to Sorrento, then towards Salerno and south along the coast to Paestum before cutting east through the Appenines to Bari on the other coast. I threw this plan out on day one after the sheer frustration of the terrain. My roads alternated between busy Neapoletan traffic on potholes, windy and cold coast, or inland smaller roads with constant hills. Going in circles in the town of Torre Del Greco, I couldn't take it anymore. Sorrento would be no fun in the terrible weather anyway, and I desperately wanted to get somewhere more rural. My new target was the small town of Sarno, nestled next to some hills that looked promising for camping. My route there actually took me partially up the slopes of Vesuvius, which was a fun novelty, and through some slightly less depressing villages. A sweet ginger flavoured fizzy drink helped with the heat at the cost of making me feel slightly ill, but zooming downhill on Vesuvius was still great fun.
Through my frustration with the terrain, I'd also not really eaten any lunch. Partially this was because of a lack of grocery shops, and partially it was my stubborn refusal to spend any extra time in such depressing areas. There were no parks to speak of or even accessible green fields, as everything seemed to be fenced off or within direct view of a house. My only option would've been to sit by the side of the road, and I never felt hungry enough that this was a compelling prospect. Thankfully, Sarno provided an opportunity to buy proper supplies before I headed off to find a camping spot. Finding a place to wild camp is always its own adventure, and the hills I'd seen on the map looked much more challenging in near life - practically vertical inclines. Mentally and physically tired, I did not want to climb hundreds of metres and still risk not finding a good spot. Five days off the bike had clearly brought me out of practice, because my whole body was complaining at me to stop cycling already.
I pushed on east to some gentler hills by Sant'Eramo and, thank God, I found a side entry into a closed park. Public land, flat ground, picnic tables and tree cover hiding my from view - it was perfect. All I had to do was chill for a few hours until sunset and I'd be set for the night. Unfortunately, it seemed like some local young men were in on the secret too as they pulled up on motorcycles at the park entrance and simply jumped the fence for some kind of gathering. I was very keen to avoid their attention and didn't dare risk taking the side entrance to the park again where I'd doubtless cross their view with my very noticeable loaded bicycle. They might have been totally harmless, but I'd prefer not to let any drunk young men know where I'd be staying for the night. I managed to find an alternative up the hill, and in some ways I even preferred it to the park. I had a view of Mount Vesuvius and the nearby hills around Sarno (part of the Appenines), with a big olive orchard behind me. Though I wasn't really hungry, I forced down some dinner for the sake of nutrition and watched the sun set behind Vesuvius. Beautiful surroundings, but I still felt pretty bad. Lying in my tent, I finally realised what was going on and why my whole body was in pain: I had a fever. Shit.
In the morning, I packed up my tent and made my customary morning cafe stop in a depressing nowhere town. I was a bit of an excitement and the woman behind the bar started telling her regulars about how I'd come all the way from Milan on my bike. After taking a sip of my espresso, however, I had to excuse myself to run into the bathroom and throw up. Travel is so glamorous! Clearly this was going to be a problem, and I considered my options. Ride to a hospital? Camp again? Take a train? And what could the cause be - perhaps one of my mosquito bites was actually from a black widow spider? Probably not. But it was definitely a good idea to take it easy, and I decided to take a train to the nearest big town, Salerno, and stay in a hostel.
In theory, it was a half-hour cycle and a twenty minute train ride to Salerno. However, I had the bad luck to be sick on a strike day so no trains were forthcoming. Thanks to Italian minimum service laws, peak time trains would be running - I'd just have to wait until 6pm. It was very tempting to just cycle instead: just thirty kilometres with mild hills, totally doable on a usual morning. It wasn't a usual morning, though, and it would've been the height of foolishness to set off while sick and having eaten essentially nothing for a day. So I ended up spending six hours in the small, sad town of Nocera Inferiore, waiting for a train to carry me thirty short kilometres. I wanted nothing more than to lie down, but settled for sitting in a cafe and nibbling a biscuit over an hour. Finally, a train arrived (late, of course) and I was incredibly thankful to be on my unassuming regional saviour.
In Salerno, my hostel was in a pretty, historic building and up three flights of stairs, so I left my camping equipment on my bike. My tent was still a little damp, but a day's delay before drying it out wouldn't be the end of the world, and I wouldn't be here long. Right?