This morning I was the only passenger on the 8 a.m. ferry from Bellagio to Varenna, to get the train to Naples via Milan. The morning was cool, and too grey to tempt the tourists from their breakfasts.
The letters which I made in New York and used again in Krakow are with me, still packaged in two plastic carrier bags bought in Harlem.
Now I am writing this on the Frecciarossa, the fast train which is at this moment snaking its way through the Tuscan hills south of Florence, and no, the hill towns with their distinctive architecture do not remind me of certain wannabe areas of Johannesburg.
I am leaving behind the peaceful haven of Bellagio with its ritual of working days and the long, conversational evenings which begin with drinks before dinner and end hours later. But I will only be away for six days.
In Naples I will do a Neapolitan version of the Other Voices, Other Cities series. Through the extraordinary help of Laura Bardier, a Neopolitan now living in New York, a group of more than 15 artists, curators and other people have agreed to meet at PAN, the Palazzo della Arti Napoli on Tuesday night, to try to arrive by discussion at a statement which describes what it means to live in Naples.
I can’t wait.
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