Ciao Bellas e Bellos!

Me with two of my newest BFFs.

The people of Naples have had a very deep and profound effect on me. Whether it's been a shop-keeper locking the doors of his establishment to personally walk us down the block and around the corner because 'there is a Carravaggio painting in this little church that you simply must see', or children smiling at us and waving shyly as we walk by, or hearing an enthusiastic "Buon Giorno!" from passersby. The people in this city are incredibly friendly.

This young girl was bombing all over the quarter on a motor-scooter. She couldn't have been more than 9 or 10 years old.

But the people who affected me the most, changed me actually, were the residents of the Quartieri Spagnoli. In particular the people who live on Vico San Sepolcro where we rented an apartment.

We didn't spend much time in our apartment. Only enough time to sleep, shower, eat and drink. And so we walked up and down Vico San Sepolcro many, many times a day.

People in this neighbourhood live out on the streets when it is warm. And because we passed them so many times every day, we got to know them a little bit. And they got to know us. And I learned that you don't need to speak the same language to understand another person.

Sometimes it felt as if we were walking through someone's living room when a dozen or more family members were sitting out on the street in chairs. Because the streets are so narrow we had to dodge in and around them, being careful not to step on their dog. Everyone took it in stride.

Maria (on the right) was the bossy ring-leader of this trio of giggling girls.

The evening before we left, people made a point of saying good-bye to us. The grandmas two doors down. The green grocer. The butcher. The lady 5 floors up who always called, "Bella!" and waved to us from her balcony when we stepped out onto the street. The grumpy looking man who would ask in his gravelly voice, "Everything okay?" as we passed by.

The green grocer says 'Arrivederci' to Joe. He was his best customer of the week.

The butcher came running out as we passed by. "Have a wonderful holiday in Rome!" she said in perfect English. We heard shouts of "Where are you from?" from the other butchers in the back of the shop.

This group of ladies got together after work every evening and sat in the street to visit. They were always laughing. Especially the gal in the blue shirt.

As we turned the corner to head down to the local pizza restaurant for dinner, I waved to the handsome Sri Lankan university student who worked 15 hours a day at the internet place we frequented on a daily basis. He saw me, dropped what he was doing and hurried out into the street. I said, "We are leaving tomorrow. Thank you for everything." He took my hands in his and gave me a kiss on both cheeks.

And that is when I lost it. Then I did what I do best. I cried.