I've never been seasick before. I guess never having been on a small tug boat bobbing along some choppy coastline would explain that. Heading south to the Bay of Naples, I thought I might get my first taste of ocean-induced nausea, but after multiple ferries to Capri, the only headache I came away with was a result of the sun rather than the sea.
    It wasn't until I headed further south to the Amalfi Coast that my first bout of nausea hit. Surprisingly, it wasn't from the waves -- the swift hydrofoils I rode on while sailing the coast were smoother than the NYC subway. In fact, it was on a bus from Amalfi to Positano that the sickness first set in. It is no exaggeration when people speak of buses recklessly swerving around the coast's sharp cliffs. Every time a big turn comes up, the driver lets out a long honk just in case there's another vehicle zooming round the bend. For the most part though, it's just a nimble driving hand and good eyesight that keep the bus on the road. (And after quite a few rides, there's some good luck thrown in there.)
    Midway through the trip, I could tell that the uneasy feeling in my stomach wasn't from hunger and it wasn't from the sun. I was as close to seasick as I've ever been. I closed my eyes to keep from seeing the winding road ahead. Ironic, I thought -- my first time feeling seasick, and it's bus honks instead of fog horns keeping me awake.

I was sitting on a train from Naples to Sorrento this afternoon, hot, muggy, and without water. Speeding past small beach towns -- scenes of laundry hanging out windows and children parading around in bathing suits flashed before my eyes -- I couldn't help but think about the utter opposite of all this Italian "summerness:" autumn in New York. Urban as it is, the city still gets its golden leaves on the sidewalk, its cool winds, and even a farmers' market. Rarely do I anticipate summer's end, but sitting on that train, I couldn't shake the autumn bug from my mind. And perhaps after seven weeks away, I admittedly feel my Northeastern roots are stirring. I thought, "All I want is to go apple picking. And then I want to come home and make apple pie." How American, but oh well. 

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    I am a paranoid traveler. In the past, I have slept with my computer in my pillow case, brought my purse into the shower stall, and locked my backpack to the bedpost with a bicycle chain. I still sleep with my keys latched to my bra.
    I thought it was impossible to up the ante from this absurd level of caution. (Most people roll their eyes when I tell them about my desperate safety measures.) Then I got to Naples. I settled in at my hostel, locked up my valuables (again, with a bicycle lock inside the locker), and headed out in the city with a day purse. By purse, I mean shoulder bag with a latch, outside zipper, inner zipper, and safety pin securing my wallet to the pockets. I was about to head down the stairs when the reception man stopped me and curtly said, "No money. No credit card. No passport." I looked at him, not fully understanding. He pointed to my bag and said, "Don't carry anything." I didn't quite believe him, but then I thought, "This is not coming from a worried mother or a cautious girlfriend. This is coming from a 50-something-year-old resident MAN from Naples. If even he is this paranoid, maybe there's something to what he's saying."
    Like an obedient child, I turned around and reconsidered my daypack. I put my credit cards in my passport and put the passport in a sock. I stuffed the sock, wrapped around a towel, in my traveler's backpack. I safety-pinned my money to my bra and took off all jewelry except for my rings. And then I transferred one of them to my ring finger, hoping to cultivate the impression that I have a burly fiancé waiting to clobber anyone who approaches me. The only object of value now in the "purse" was my camera. Walking out again, I must not have looked too different, for the man again looked at me skeptically.
    Now on my third day in Naples, I'm still trying to figure this thing out -- words from the "wise" make me feel as though even my level of caution is not enough. While I'm here the next few days, my goal is to walk the line between being paranoid and being a pansy.
    Or maybe I'll just become a paranoid pansy this week.

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