La Piccola Principessa left Newark at 5:25 PM Saturday and took Alitalia flight AZ645. She arrived in Roma Sunday at 7:30 AM, then caught the flight to Napoli at 10, and arrived 55 minutes later. I told her to travel light, and she did. Her wheeled suitcase was among the very first to appear on the conveyor, and we headed toward the exit. A grim-faced Carabinieri gave us a once-over, and so did his big German Shepherd. Yes, we got ripped off by a Napoli taxi driver, but I didn't care. We had espresso at the bar at Porto Beverello and then got the ferry.
In no time at all we arrived. Ah, Forio Porto, the yellow dome of Sant Gaetano, the lookout tower, the rattling ride up the mountain in a three-wheeled Ape taxi, and then....finally, after nearly six years of waiting, Maria entered my villa.
Maestro! Please notify the Bishop in Napoli that a miracle has occurred! Please tell him to pass the news onto the Holy Father in Roma!
This morning my little sweetpea was still suffering a bit of jet lag. She said no, don't, but I snapped off this pic. She looked at me and said, "Until further notice I will be the one taking the pictures, not you." I said, okay. Whatever you say. You're the boss. And she finally smiled. "OK, dad," she said.
She likes to call me dad. Ernest Hemingway encouraged his women to call him Papa. Same thing.