Mike Senese

LLHS, UCLA, Universidad Carlos III

selling things i find in the basement

photography, biking, old scooters and cars, traveling, living in spain, speaking italian in italy, making things, tornados, big bright full moon, listening to rain, the boys, the gals, dancing my ass off, staying up late, buying things with money

On the Road, Road Fever, Chasing Che, Junkie, anything that involves roadtrips or extreme lifestyles or both together

Crouching Tiger, Cinema Paradiso, Billy Elliott, Almodovar, Shawshank

Cafe Tacuba, Los Amigos Invisibles, the second Daft Punk album, Kylie, Fugazi, Smiths Cure Depeche Mode, Phil Collins, Madonna Lionel Richie Huey Lewis, Boards of Canada, Massive Attack, Nick Drake, Elliott Smith, Old Def Leppard, Old Ozzy w/Zakk Wylde and GnR's first album, live jazz, kickass dance music

If you don't know what Italy is like in August, you'll be surprised. It's hot, damn hot. The entire country takes off for vacation, leaving for the coast to stay cool.

As I flew into Rome, things felt amiss. On my rented bike I was only finding tourists: Spaniards, Germans, Americans. My plan was to take the train straight to Naples and get a slice of pizza; my trip was only supposed to last a couple days. One week later, I was finally riding the rails south.

Stepping into the piazza from the Napoli train station was unbelievable. My previous trip, it was a deathtrap of screeching cars, pickpockets, hustlers and hookers. This time, there was nothing but scraps of paper blowing across the hot, empty streets. All the shops had their metal gratings closed and locked. "This can't be," ran through my mind over and over. I found some shade along the edge of the sidewalk and I wandered. I was looking for the old part of town, where the pizzeria I had been dreaming about is located.

When you see pictures of Naples, its the old town they show. Narrow streets with laundry lines up above. Intricately tall buildings stretching up three or four stories protecting you from the sun. The area has a bazaar feel, but not in August when it's damn hot, quiet, and desolate. As I approached Pizzeria DiMateo, a terrible feeling came over me. "Closed until September" the sign said. "No, no..." All this way with one goal in mind. I settled into a cheap hotel with a ceiling fan blowing the humid sticky air down at me. There was no way that I could wait three more weeks.

And that's when the adventure began.

I like people who make a point to be positive.