It's a Big Day in the North

First off, a shout out to Cats On A Hot Tin

Debut EP be with us shortly, paws crossed. 

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Q: Which is the only European country to not have Starbucks? 

Q: Which European country ended WWII with more Jews than it started with?

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On Vesuvius I was almost engulfed by the Stone Beast who lives a hardened life within the rock face. His bulbous igneous nose travels just beneath the surface and sniffs out anyone who's feeling really cheeky. I was lucky to escape with my garters. 

It was ganz toll up the volc, feeling the weight of hope and hate and history curdling underneath me and biding its time until bade sing, by the gods, and bade blow and overflow, quash the lives below. There are people who live right up on the sunny side, and the dark side too. But it's active. And all of Napoli is right there. Pompei is still populated - modern Pompei. It's due an eruption. The original one only actually killed a few thousand, displaced 20,000, or thereabouts, I forget my figures. But the point is that this ancient city, cultural aorta of southern Italy, veritable cornerstone, only had as many people as live in two and a half Totneses, or a section of Kingsland Road. Now there are probably one, two, three million people living in its basin, waiting for the giant rain to fall, hoping against time. But time is the all powerful, all singing all dancing. What they gonna do then?

The view changed with the light. There are a bunch of bars / events places dotted up the road to the National Park bit of Vesuvius, and in the late evening, from where I was surreptitiously camped, the sounds of a right hoe-down knees-up jounced over the rocky outcrops and filled me with strange wonder. It started with the YMCA and ended in a trance. There was lots of singing along, lots of Chic, and I'm sure there was lots of moving around unabashedly on the dance floor.

Next day I went to that place they sing about, and saw a hunky dory cache of potted goods. That is, goods of pot. And shelved. They liked them, did the Romans. It's pretty swell, walking around pretending like you own the place. What you up to tonight, Antonio? Dunno Octavio, was thinking about going down to the amph, they got that new play on. Oh yeah? What's it about? Kid who falls in love with his mum or some shit. I dunno. It's got good reviews. Sounds weird. Yeah, but you know, it's the way of the times. It's the Zeitgeist. Safe, all right, get Euripides to come along, and Eumenides. Can't have one without the other. 

Along the Amalfi coast from Napoli and Pompei is Sorrento, and then Salermo. 

I find huge container ship ports to be beguiling and overwhelming places. Like hideous but beautiful, gross in a weird way. I think about civilisation and history, and Age of Empires III, and the Ottomans, and the Silk Road and galleons and slaughter and riches and the naivety of a species hell bent on destroying itself in the name of progress. Then in town and city squares I think about it all all over again and it lifts my spirits, but also sets them off kilter. 

So much in one view! I find it weird.

Watch out or it will get you. Is it a monster? 

When the whitewash white washes over your earwaves for long enough for the sound wobbles to become actual reminiscences and real life auditory hallucinations you know you have hit the right spot and have reached a destination, which is a means.

The Grapes of Wrath is ace.

Stonking hills of southern central Italy struck with the vengeance of a dozen kings and Queens, denizens of the green almighty. Oh!

I forgot. The artichokes. Bustle of streets post-Pompei, suburban, hive of activity. Mechanics' oil mixed with spatters of rain so that you don't know what's hit you, exhaust haze, cars turning and people negotiating, everything happening all at once, and the intoxicating fumes of barbecue and rotisserie chicken, street vendors selling carciofi, or artichokes, fresh off the smoking bbq, wrapped in tin foil and stuffed full of garlic and salt and basil and a delicate spring floating onion, eaten with hands, taste lingering on lips and in chops and burps for miles, very memorable.

Downpours and cows tinkling. 

Essential bike maintenance by a stone igloo in the eastern plains. 1 2 3 4 punctures in a day and a half, thank you roads, new tyre, new inner, brand spanking, back on and even more better than before!

My foot turned into a repair kit, just in the nick of time.

And rolling into Bari! You beaut. The south of Italy is wilder and significantly more something than the north. Falafels and an ice cream the size of a small head. Preparing for an overnight ferry, Steinbeck forever the giver.

Here she is! It's 40 euros for the trip, sans cabin. There is a bar on board which I can only describe as Balkan. I don't know what that is exactly, but it's shiny and the music is too loud, the plush bench booths easily comfortable enough to sleep on, and the barista smartly dressed. What's the occasion? 

Albania! Bollocks to Brexit.

After national controversy and architects weighing in from all corners of the world, they have decided not to demolish but to refurbish the pyramid of Tirana. From the top you can see much of Tirana. Tirana is wonderful. Albania is great. 

Italy is the only European country to not have Starbucks. Albania is the only European country to end WWII with more Jews than it started with. 

It is hot and I have already eaten much baklava, much byrek, other sweet things, sugar buzzing in the kitchen, in a hostel with a roof terrace and a sunset, excitable folks from around the place. Peace and love to the family.

It's your big day in the north
It's your big day in the north, love
Sha-sher sha-shy pinapple
When you smile en coeur le Big Apple
Attention, get up charge your face
La ou mais ou mon ami

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