We decided against driving our car to central Naples, our experiences in the suburbs and countryside were harrowing enough. We took the train, hiking to the next town, Torre del Greco, to the train station. We purchased tickets and found ourselves on a platform on one side of the tracks. My sense of east-west was that we should be on the other, so I asked Poldi how she knew which was the one we should be on.
The station markings were inadequate, so she approached a man to ask if this was the right platform to go to Naples. It was a simple question, yes or no, but he gave a lengthy answer (in Italian of course, which I did not understand).
It may be that he felt compelled to explain that HE was going to Naples on his way to Rome on a business trip. He had a small suitcase.
The discussion continued. I imagine that Poldi explained that we were headed to the Archaeological Museum, after which he offered advice on which subway line to take and what stop to get off.
All this engagement was too much for a man sitting nearby with his wife, who jumped in to offer his opinion on the matter.
Curious about her accent (not American, but northern Italian—Italy has north-south accents like the U.S.), she was asked where she was from. I could tell she was relating her exchange student story and learning Italian in the north near Milan.
When they asked where she was from, Poldi, embarrassed at being from the U.S. in these dark days of Trump, evaded, perhaps by saying “Minnesota, south of Canada”, hoping that they might not recognize that Minnesota is one of the states.
This prompted another round of vociferous opinions from the two men, and now the wife joined in: “How could Americans elect Donald Trump?” Poldi expressed her mutual dismay, but by then the discussion had grown further. A red-haired woman added her Buddhist-style opinion that “we are all of one family”.
The discussion could have gone on indefinitely, but the train, westbound on the track next to us and headed for Naples, arrived and disrupted it.
Actually, the discussion did continue, on the train, and attracted a few more individuals wanting to weigh in.
Not understanding what was being said, I am only speculating on the topic, it may have returned to discussing the best subway stop for the museum. But after hearing Poldi’s joke about five Italians in a room representing six different political views, I don’t think so.
