At 8:00 pm on a Friday evening, I was standing at the passport control counter in Naples airport. The gentleman behind the glass, wearing a Polizia batch, was carefully examining my passport. A signboard behind him glowed 'WC Disabili / Disabled Toilet'. I wondered why was the toilet disabled? But this was a wrong time to lose my concentration. I was trying to put up a sincere and genuine face of a posh traveler before the officer. The queue behind me was already shuffling on their feet, probably cursing me and my Indian passport for slowing them up, because the other queue beside us had already moved 15 places.

So what was I doing in Naples on a Friday evening with my passport in the hands of an officer?

It all began with the Belgian GP. I wanted to see the Formula 1 race at Spa with Adi (it's one of my favorite circuits) in September. I applied for a Schengen visa at the Belgiam embassy in London. The application fee costed me 66 pounds. I made reservations in coach (15 pounds) and hostel (3 pounds). I reserved tickets in the bronze stand (thank God I didn't pay for them). But I never heard back from the Belgiam authorities about my visa. I had to lose my 18 pounds.

I heard from them a week after the GP was over. They said I would have to submit fresh travel and stay reservations if I wanted the visa - the earlier ones had expired. I didn't want to lose the 66 pounds I had paid in application fee. So I made reservations in coach (35 pounds) and hostel (3 pounds). I finally got my Schengen Visa. Single entry, 4 day validity. Bastards!

Now I could travel to Brussels in Belgium on a weekend. But if you have a single entry visa to Schengen states, what would you rather do - Italy or Belgium? The choice was clear. I cancelled my Brussels reservations (I lost another 38 pounds), booked my flight tickets from London to Naples (240 pounds) and booked a hostel in Sorrento for 3 nights (54 euros).

All this to save a 66 pound application fee?

My trip also coincided with Kashyap and Shruti's mega vacation in Italy (infact, more a cause than a coincidence). I was really looking forward to Italy and meeting them in Italy. But a couple of days before my travel, a friend of mine suggested I may not be able to gain entry to Italy if my visa is issued by Belgium. What!

I frantically read the web. He was right, or at least not entirely wrong. To enter a Schengen state, I should obtain a visa either from the country of my main destination or from the country of first port of entry. So ideally I should have a visa issued by Italy and not Belgium. So the only way for me to enter Italy was to convince the officer that my main destination was Belgium and I would fly to Belgium after entering Schengen boundry in Italy. To prove my point to him, I would need to show him a Naples - Brussels ticket. I was so tired of all these rules that I wanted to cancel my entire Italy trip and just take the coach to Belgium. But the EasyJet flight tickets were non-refundable.

To cut a long story short - I decided to get a dummy Naples - Brussels ticket issued for 300 rupees and take my chances at the airport. You may cry it was unethical and I would say 'everything is fair in love, war and travel'. If you still cry foul, I would smash your head with a sledgehammer and ask you the question, 'do you still think it is unethical?'

Althought it started with the effort to save 66 pounds, it was no longer about visa fee or air tickets. And here I was - standing at the passport control counter at Naples airport.

The middle aged officer looked at my passport and then looked at me. He browsed through the other visas in my passport - by now a mildly impressive list - US, UK (2), China (2), Switzerland and Schengen. The expression on his face said, here - is - another - brown - face - blue - indian - passport - who - needs - a - visa - to - enter - Schengen - states - and - he - is - slowing - me - down - when - I - am - supposed - to - be - moving - this - line - faster . He keypunched my last name, first name, middle name with a single finger. He keypunched my date of birth and hit enter. He squinted through his glasses to look at the information on the screen. I don't know what came up? Wanted: Key accused in 9/11 twin tower blasts and 7/11 tube blasts. He went back to look at my visa. It took him ten seconds, and each second seemed like a millenium, to check my visa. He finally moved his hand to lift the stamp and brought it down on my passport. OK.

I quickly grabbed my passport, said thank you and slipped through the turnstile. Yo Italia! Here I come.

I didn't have any euros on me. And somehow my instincts told me that credit cards are not as popular as in the US. I walked to the money-changer in the airport and handed her a 50 pound note. That's like 100 dollars. I asked if I could have some euros in exchange. The lady behind the counter smiled and asked me if I wanted to convert only 50 pounds. When I said yes, she punhced her machine a few times, counted some cash and handed the money to me. I looked at my palm and then I looked at her face. 54 euros, 60 cents. Gracie!, she smiled.

Lesson # 1: Never change money at the airport.

Use your debit card to withdraw cash. The bad exchange rate offered by your bank is probably better than the money-changer's. No commission charges (8.5%). And a lesser transaction fee (3.5 euros!)

I walked out of the airport to the bus stand. There was only a single soul waiting for the bus. I asked him 'You - English?'. I skipped the verbs. He nodded to said no but gestured that I should speak and he would understand it. Within a few seconds, I realised he probably knew three words in English. These were three more than I knew in Italian. What followed next a flurry of dumb charades. I told him where I wanted to go - Sorrento. He said something like boose and tren. He knocked his left wrist with right index finger and then showed me ten out-stretched fingers. I appreciated his help and body language - but I couldn't make any sense out of it. He removed his wrist watch, pulled the pin and stopped the hands of his watch at 10'o clock. Something in his gestures told me that I wouldn't find public transport after 10:00 pm. I kept saying Sorrento - my destination. And he kept saying Aaleyboose and Circumvesuviana - my two golden passwords. He also kept saying uno something and tre ooro.

A couple of minutes later, an orange bus rode into the bus-stand. It had Alibus written all over it. I jumped onto it, waved my hand and said Gracie!. I didn't know if the driver would speak any English and tried my luck with two words - 'train station'. He said, '3 euros. 1 stop from here'. Suddenly my guide's Italian was making a lot of sense. Perfect!

It was already 9:00 pm by the time I got down at Piaza Garibaldi. The station had to be on one of the corners of this Piaza. Which corner?

Lesson # 2: Carry a map.

Even if you want to be brave and travel without maps, just shove one in your bag. You never know when you might need it.

I somehow reached the train station. tren stazione. On of the signboards, I saw my golden password - Circumvesuviana - I kept following the lead for about 400 m. I stopped at a ticket counter and bought a ticket to Sorrento. I tried asking the guy where the platform was. He aimed his hand towards left and grunted 'uh', then curved it and brought it down, another 'uh', right turn, 'uh'. Uh? Thank you. His uhs confirmed I was walking in the right direction. As I turned around, an old lady with a sick face approached me and said something like she needed money to get to Roma in a mix of English and Italian. I said, "What the heck! She speaks more English than the guy behind the ticket counter!" I told her I couldn't understand what she was saying and walked away.

The first thing you will notice about stations and trains in Italy is the Bronx style grafitti. The train looked like some giant earthworm smitten by New York bug when it rolled onto the platform. The train ride from Naples to Sorrento - along the Bay of Naples - was about 75 mins. The train wasn't exactly slow, but the 23,689 stops between Naples and Sorrento meant I wouldn't get to my destination before another hour and quarter. I was already feeling hungry and wondered if I would be able to find anything to eat in Sorrento at 12:00 am.

Italy is famous for its nightlife. But that's more Rome. To expect I would find food in Sorrento at 12:00 am just because Rome has a great nightlife could be like expecting to run into great lounge bars in Kanpur just because Bombay has loads of them. Luckily, I did find a restaurant still open. I digged into Margherita Pizza and souped out a bowl of Minestrone. The elephants in my stomach were put to sleep. The next challenge was to locate my hostel. I must admit Italy isn't as chaotic as India when it comes to road-signs. But this benchmark wasn't really helpful.

A taxi driver parked on the kerb offered to help me with the address. I suspected he was trying to solicit a cab drive and refused his help. He was very persistent. I finally told him the address and he gave me the (right!) directions to it - without offering to drive me there. I had left my office cubicle in London at 2:00 pm and reached the hostel cube in Sorrento at 12:30 am. Theoritically, I had just commuted from point A to point B in the last 10 hours. But actually my travel far exceeded the commute. See what I mean? It was time to get horizontal for a good night's rest.

Day 1 - Lost City of Herculaneum, Ruins of Pompeii

The Bay of Naples is a semicircular arch extending from Naples to Sorrento and further curving into Amalfi Coast. Midway between Naples and Sorrento is the magnificient volcano Mt. Vesuvius. The sites of Herculaneum and Pompeii are a stones (long) throw away on either site of the mountain. Circumvesuviana is the local train running along the coast between Naples and Sorrento. The view of the Mediterranean Sea from the train as it navigates the little towns along the coast is beautiful! How do you say magnificient in Italian?

Day 2 - Rains, Walks in Sorrento

Sunday was a rainy and windy day. It rained all morning and the wind was relentless all day. I think it was the coldest windy day I have been out in the weather. The Mediterranean Sea was wild and crazy. Needless to say, we had to cancel our day-out in Island of Capri.

Day 3 - Back to London

I didn't have a chance to explore much of Naples. But they say it's an unruly, untidy, uncouth yet thoroughly warm, vibrant and interesting city. The train took me from Sorrento to Naples in the morning. On the way, Mt. Vesuvius sat squatly with a new snow cap from yesterday's cold rains and windy weather.

I had an hour or two in Naples before the flight to London. I walked into a cafe on the corner of city square. It was bustling with people and energy. Like the Italians, I ordered croissant and cafe - a shot of espresso - standing on the bar. For 2 euro, this was a great breakfast. The cafe was smooth (you got to agree Italians get their coffee right) yet strong (you could probably do more shots of Tequila than shots of this Espresso). A bus took me from the city to the airport on the outskirts. As it wound its way up the hills and pulled away from the city, the view of densely populated Naples city was splendid. A brown-beige array of homes and buildings against a backdrop of mountains created a harmonious wave of music. Beautiful spires of old Churches jutting out of the skyline added a crescendo to it. Rough factories and dirty mills and tall chimneys added a dash of amplitude and madness to the entire orchestra. Ciao Italy!

I usually leave a note of approximate trip cost somewhere in the travelogues. This is one of those trips where costs are best forgotten. It was something like P 66 (visa), P 56 (cancellations), P 246 (air tickets), E 54 (hostel) and E 100 (food and admissions). At the prevalent exchange rates, it hovers around Rs. 41k.

The aircraft flew over Florence, Milan, the Alps, Switzerland, Paris and English channel before landing in London Stansted. The view of Alps from the flight was inspiring - the south side was a complex graph of brown contours while a white blanket of clouds covered the northern side. A couple of hours in train and tube after landing at the airport, I made my way to office to bury my nose in Excel sheet and PowerPoint decks for whatever remained of the afternoon.

For the rest of the evening, I was only glowing with happiness. A certain kind of happiness that only travel can give you. Happiness that is a result of acute wanderlust.