Our fourth day in Italy began with a fairly early trip to a flea market held at the Ippodromo di Agnano (racetrack) in Naples. However "flea market" barely begins to describe the scope of this event. There were hundreds of booths set up, with people selling the contents of their attics and basements. Younger Daughter has purchased the bulk of her apartment furnishings through this source.
While driving to this function, we passed through the classic "rotten egg" smell of sulfur, and caught a glimpse of steamy volcanic gases escaping the ground, part of the Campi flagrei sulfur fields.
I hardly took any photos from the flea market itself. There wasn't much interesting to photograph ... but it was wildly interesting to look at everything (if that makes any sense). We stayed for three or four hours, examining every table and booth.
Unlike what you might find at American flea markets, there wasn't a lot of cheap plastic junk from overseas. There were some genuine antiques, yes, but the vast majority of it was just stuff people were selling from their attics and basements. Almost everything was inexpensive. I purchased a small backpack for 5 euro. Younger Daughter purchased a dress, also for 5 euro. I purchased a 5-euro copy of Puccini's "La Boheme" published in 1895 ... not because I can play the music, but because it was beautiful.
I got an Italian copy of "Jane Eyre" (one of my all-time favorite books) for one euro ... not because I can read the language or even because it was a handsome copy of the book, but because ... well, why not? (Actually, I can dip into the book almost anywhere and know where I am in the story, which shows you how well I know "Jane Eyre.")
The variety of merchandise was broad. Here was a miniature reel-to-reel tape recorder, doubtless popular in the 1960s or 70s.
Or how about an American Indian diorama?
I was actually rather taken with this print, but (a) I wouldn't be able to schlep it home even in my ridiculously oversized suitcase; and (b) we have no place to hang it on our walls, so I passed it by.
There was an even larger print that I liked even better, but I passed it by for the same reasons listed above.
Younger Daughter said she and her friends play a game whenever they come to this market as to who can find the ugliest or creepiest item for sale. This was a winner in my book: A nearly life-sized headless dummy of cotton wrapped in twine, lying on the ground. I mean ... why?
Normally I'm not overly taken with tea sets, but I thought this one was exceptionally lovely. I'd never use such a thing so I didn't buy it ... but isn't it pretty?
After the flea market, Younger Daughter drove us into Pozzuoli, where we planned to have lunch and then tour the Flavian Amphitheater in Pozzuoli, the third-largest Roman amphitheater in Italy and located practically in Younger Daughter's backyard. Remarkably, she found a convenient parking space not too far from the ruins and adjacent to a tiny grassy park with olive trees, and immediately slotted into it.
What we couldn't find, however, was a restaurant. We had hit that awkward interval between lunch and dinner when many establishments were closed. So we embarked on a half-mile walk up hill and down dale until we found a place that was open.
On the way, we passed this group of orange trees. They're common around here, and nearly everyone has at least one in their backyard. The fruit looks huge and ripe.
Many of the streets were either paved with large cobblestones, or paved with asphalt over cobblestones.
The restaurant seemed far too fine a dining experience for a slob such as myself.
But the waitstaff was kindness itself – especially since, we learned, this is International Women's Day. Apparently in Italy, this holiday has supplanted Mother's Day, and women are given free access to all national museums, historical sites, etc. At this little restaurant, the girls and I were presented with charming little cards with flowers pinned to them, and offered an extended menu selection as well.
We ordered pizza (which, in Naples, is not just a fast-food selection but can be something of a gourmet experience). The "personal"-sized pizzas were so large that we could only eat half, and we kept the rest for dinner.
The restaurant, it turns out, was literally next door to the same Roman marketplace ruins (with the three high columns) we had viewed on our first evening here, but from a different direction.
As we turned to make our way back uphill toward the amphitheater, I noticed this tile rendition on the side of a building depicting life in this exact spot in the 1700s, so I snapped a photo. (Notice the Roman ruins with the three columns.)
Climbing back up to the level where the amphitheater was located meant ascending a LOT of stairs (this is only two of the three flights, and doesn't count a steep pedestrian bridge). Notice the wine bottle randomly left on one of the steps, because Italy.
We stopped at YD's car to put the box of leftover pizza inside, and to rest from that uphill climb for a few minutes. The olives in the trees above us were just starting to grow.
Here is one of the olive trees.
After this, we made our way to the Flavian amphitheater. (Remember, we got in for free because we're women.) This is a photo of an aerial photo of the theater taken in 1935.
And what do you know, the first thing we saw when we entered the grounds was ... cats. Had to stop to pet the kitties.
This amphitheater originally could sit upwards of 50,000 people. Its ruined appearance stems more from gradual decay and enthusiastic looting of the marble cladding (and other construction components) than from any natural disaster.
But even stripped of its glory, it was a remarkable place with its low tunnels leading into the bowels of the theater (where visitors were not permitted to go), or its high archways allowing patrons access to higher seats.
The grated spots are rectangular pits called "maneuvering shafts" which contained hoists, gears, and pullies to raise people, equipment, and animals from the underground chambers.
In numerous places around the perimeter seating, openings from stairs below (called "cavea") allowed patrons to flow into the bleachers (for lack of better term).
Here is a schematic showing the layout of the seating and cavea.
Restoration of the cavea was undertaken at various times over the years, most recently under the direction of architect E. DeFelice in 1977.
On (at least) two places on the floor of the amphitheater, Mr. DeFelice had no qualms about reminding visitors of this feat, using original bricks.
Now the only occupants of the bleachers were gulls...
...including this pair who were enthusiastically "doing what comes naturally."
In the center of the amphitheater is a pit with the below-ground chambers, tunnels, and holding pens.
We caught a glimpse of some of this intriguing infrastructure down there, but that was it. For whatever reason, visitor access to this area was restricted (we don't know if this was a temporary or a long-term closure). We saw interpretive signage and ramp access, but we couldn't go there. Pity, because it looked fascinating.
In this tunnel, you can see some slabs of the marble that once clad the entire facility, inside and out.
In its heyday, this theater must have been a dazzling sight.
Frankly, the outside of the amphitheater was just as interesting as the inside. A lot of broken bits of statuary, grave markers, columns, and other stone debris were strewn around the perimeter.
The amount of sheer labor and degree of skill on even the most modest adornment is incredible.
We assumed these were wine vessels.
In a couple of the exterior arched lintels, preservationists had installed some of the better-surviving statues.
These two are identified as Emperor Traiano and his "beloved elder sister" Ulpia Marciana.
Here's Traiano's info:
And here's Ulpia's:
We saw everything we could inside and outside the amphitheater, taking our leisurely time. Apparently the interior of the amphitheater is in conspicuously better condition than Rome's Coliseum (which we'll be visiting tomorrow), so in the interest of efficiency we may skip seeing the inside of the Coliseum and focus on its remarkable (and better preserved) exterior instead.
Besides, the advantage of viewing the Flavian Amphitheater is crucial: There was no one there. Seriously, while we didn't exactly have the place to ourselves, it was close (though the groups we did see had a suspiciously high proportion of women). My understanding of Rome is that the popular spots are overrun with tourists, so being able to explore this more local attraction without the press of too many visitors was wonderful.
We made our way back to Younger Daughter's car. We thought about taking advantage of Women's Day to investigate another historical site, but found out that one of YD's car tires was dangerously low on pressure. She'd had it pumped up earlier in the day and it was close to being flat again, so clearly it had a slow leak. (Considering the state of the roads, this isn't surprising.)
However, this development encouraged us to return to her apartment instead, where we relaxed the rest of the evening and ate leftover pizza. Early tomorrow morning, the plan is to take the car to the auto shop directly across the street from her apartment (she knows the people who work there) to get the tire patched before our day trip to Rome (via train). She borrowed a portable tire inflator from a friend just in case we can't get the tire patched in time.
And that was Day Four in Italy.
