Athens, Greece. On meeting up with bae.

The daughter and I did a roundabout trip to Greece. Flights are sometimes cheaper in different cities and it happened that Bologna had cheap flights to Athens. It would have been better to pay the extra and go from Naples but you live and learn. We flew to Bologna, then got the train from the airport, walked a long way in the summer heat to our Air BnB, had to eat out that night and then get a taxi to the airport the next day to get the no frills flight. We took all day to get to Athens with a layover in Rome. We lived and we learnt.

We met my bae at a gorgeous apartment in a an old shattered looking building. She's Greek and she shines in Australia but in her country of origin, she positively sparkles. We dressed up for the evening in celebration of months apart. We had souvlaki and boiled horta, a green vegetable that we become obsessed with. All Greeks are out for the evening it seems, high heeled, sparkling with rhinestones and jewels, big glorious hair and the men sleak and chic. The night is warm and we're catching up on months of news.

My bae is the woman I have lived next to for thirty three years, she has lived all her life in the house next door and my late husband knew her as a baby. We weren't that close before my husband's death but when the lights in her salon kept on blinking just after his funeral (we assumed it was his ghostly self making his presence known) and more so when I went for a hair cut (she's also the best hairdresser/counsellor around), we became bosom buddies as was the old expression and now it's been replaced with 'bae' - before anyone else. We prop each other up with wine and food or a listening ear when we start to dissemble.

The daughter has had enough socialising and heads off to bed but the night for us older, more mature women, is but young and we go out for cocktails at a really cool shabby chic type bar. We have Limoncello Spritz's and discuss life and how we're handling or rather not handling our issues. I've run away for a year, she's run away for ten days.

The next day we explored Athens, wandering past amazing shoe, jewellery and clothes boutiques. We find a beautiful old church which makes you want to become religious and buy some rosary beads. I smell the honeyed wax of the candles and the walls seem impregnated with frankincense and myrrh. Old ladies drift in and out, clothed in black, rosary beads in hand, as do the men.

Then we meet up with the daughter at a restaurant where we had eaten at a few years previously. Another chic but shabby place, with retro paraphernalia and the best food. I let bae order (big mistake to let a Greek order, the food just kept coming), surprisingly we ate it all. Moist zucchini fritters; succulent octopus, an eggplant dip and horta - our staple food now. We eat, drink and are merry and every time we ask for the bill, more food arrives - free! A chocolate slice with biscuits, watermelon and then liquor. No wonder Greece went broke, they're too generous.

Then bae unpacked her hairdressing equipment and the daughter and I were restyled. Products just kept coming out of that bag, even ammonia got through customs. I can imagine if she had been stopped in Athens they would have looked in her bag and understood a woman's need to travel with beautifying products. In Australia, on the other hand, you probably would have been delayed and questioned. We were given new streaks and a new 'do' for both of us, these were her gifts.

We dressed up and headed up to a restaurant that overlooked the Acropolis. We dined on succulent fried zuchini slices in breadcrumbs; halloumi in crispy phyllo with tomato jam; a creamy soft cheese dip; olives; a salad of the sweetest squashed tomatoes, fetta, olives, oregano and a wholemeal bread soaked in olive oil; lots of wine and again, upon asking for the bill, free extras. A moon drifted into view over the Acropolis as we walked back home from the Plaka.

It was that night that the partner and I parted company, we were living separate lives and it wasn't sustainable. I drank more than I should have that night. I was single - again. What better place to drown a few sorrows and be bolstered by my 'bae'.

Ischia - Island of rest.

We arrived by ferry to the tourist island of Ischia in the heat of mid morning, walking to find our hotel at the end of the town. It had a 70's vibe and included breakfast as most Italian places do which is weird, as most Italians do the stand up coffee and croissant on the way to work. It has wonderful views and two private swimming areas. We wander down to the deck chairs that are laid out with umbrellas near the rock pool and sun ourselves. After two days of this, the daughter thinks she has a tan line (she is sadly delusional but like every good mother, I agree with her).

We walk to the port in the cool of the evening. The restaurants are plying their trade and eager to outdo each other. We are adamant not to choose the first one and check them all out only to return to number one. The waiter is triumphant and shows us to our seats with a flourish. The free glass of prosecco did the trick, what can I say, we are cheap and we are tourists. It's slightly more expensive than we had planned on but the seafood pasta was fantastic.

The day dawns on the day of my birth . Breakfast is amazing, with a view looking over the Tyrrhenian sea. We feast on creamy sheeps milk ricotta, sweet juicy tomatoes and peasant bread that is amazing. Then we lounge on both beaches and swim in the clear waters .

We are also entertained by a family group that have arrived. Sisters we assume, with their children, mothers and every now and then, a gold laden husband or partner turns up with toys for the kids. Botox, boobs, very long fingernails, diamonds and every day a different minimal bejewelled bikini along with a constant amount of selfies. The daughter stalks them via the hotel and we go through their posts, it's like a reality TV show.

We lunch in the town centre on bruschetta and eggplant fritters and browse the beautiful ceramic shops, amazing coral jewellery and gelaterias. I brought a pair of hand painted tambourine and coral earrings, will now have to be brave enough to wear them.

That evening we eat at the hotel, the sun blushing apricot as it sinks behind us.

The next day, after availing ourselves of all the swimming locations and checking out the daughter's every increasing tan, we walk back into town for a fritto misto lunch of delicate seafood and later that night we had a really interesting gorgonzola and turmeric pasta with thin slivers of zuchinis and their flowers.

Ischia was the holiday from the holiday, we tanned, ate and rested. Our next port of call would be Greece, to meet up with a girlfriend .It would be a whirlwind tour of three islands in 10 days. We're rested and ready for action.

Naples - Out of this world.

Whatever you have read about Naples, it doesn't prepare you for the reality. The taxi driver that I had booked turned up late, his car battered, reeking of cigarette smoke, skinny and slightly angry, this part of his character came out as soon as we entered into traffic. I was in for a ride. He had tattoos, symbols I'd never seen before, probably some sort of mafia art and for some reason he was uncomfortable in his seat and kept moving it up and down, backwards and forwards. If I'd have been Catholic I would have clutched my rosary beads and made the sign of the cross. He shoots in and out of the traffic, weaving his way and cursing when he had to stop but in the end, I made it in one piece to my hotel (even though upon arrival, you couldn't tell it was one but the driver assured me it was).

And it was. There were two huge doors with a smaller door opening up in one of the doors but it was so small I had to step over a step and bend down to get in. It was hobbit like. Internally it looked like it hadn't been renovated since WWII, (which is when Naples was heavily bombed) but I discovered an ancient creaking lift that jolted me up a couple of floors and there was a newly painted door and inside a beautiful series of rooms. This place would have been a palazzo once long ago and hopefully they'll continue to do these ancient beauties up. Looking out my window, there is colourful washing drying in the summer heat, noises of kids and the low hum of Vespas in the street. I feel like I'm in a movie.

I walk the streets and feel like I'm in Bangkok. I wander through the Spanish Quarter, full of little alleyways, washing draped across every available space, old ladies in black sitting on their tiny balconies, watching the world walk by below them. Guys and girls on their bikes, immobile, smoking, tattooed and looking incredibly cool. Young boys huddled in doorways, sharing cigarettes.

I've stepped back into the 50's; I can imagine Sophia Loren leaning out of a window, screaming in Napoletano to someone below. Tiny shops full of cheap clothes and junk. Hot and tired, I stop for the best gelato at Infante, pistachio which they serve with a dollop iced pistachio paste on top. It's a fascinating, dirty, run down place full of ancient medieval architecture that must have been stunning in their heyday and could be again if anyone cared. It is the biggest culture shock so far.

Later that night I dine at Trattoria Nanni on tiny succulent seafood and salad, watching a couple across from me flirting. She ,with black lustrous short curls framing her face, dark red lips, a floral off the shoulder dress displaying her tattoos; he in a tight black t shirt, leaning in towards her, playing with a curl of her hair. This is life being lived out loud. Outside the Vespas roar, music is playing in the apartments, cats are curled in doorways. The restaurant staff are friendly and playful. Am loving it here.

I remember stopping here once at the port ,on the way to Sicily, with my late husband and he warned me that this wasn't a safe place, as we ate big pieces of thick pizza topped with sweet tomatoes and basil and drizzled with oil. Maybe times have changed.

The next day, I'm excited to explore this city. I start my day with a croissant, filled with pistachio crema, my eyes closing in rapture at the flavours; along with a deadly macchiato and fresh orange juice at my now favourite cafe from yesterday.

Then I walk to one of the city's oldest remaining cafes, Cafe Gambrinus, 1860, a meeting place for intellectuals, artists and writers including Oscar Wilde and Ernest Hemingway. The front section is crowded with stand up Italians, drinking their coffee and buying beautiful boxes of cakes to take home. I go to the back to sit down and have another deadly coffee and a tiny hazelnut profiterole. I sit with other tourists and Italian mamas, taking in the beautiful surroundings, mirrors and paintings.

Caffeinated, I walked down to the bay, sweaty and hot from early morning heat to see the Fountain of Giants with Vesuvius in the background.

Walking back into the city, I admire the street artists, middle aged men mostly, salt and pepper hair in pony tails, big rings on their fingers, brushes in hand. The poor are settled into doorways, even in their poverty, proud of their clothes and their looks, like figures out of Renaissance paintings, little dogs with heads on their paws next to them.

I wander through the famous Galleria Umberto 1, built in 1887. The astrological mosaics on the are stunning. Music from buskers echoes through the colonnades and up into the large ceiling. How it wasn't destroyed during the war, is a miracle. It was the most heavily bombed Italian city during the last war.

I find another 1920's chocolate shop, Gay Odin and buy a couple of it's beautiful retro oval chocolate boxes and then it's time to have what Naples is most famous for - their pizza. Napoli en Bocca is the place to go. I'm early enough not to have to join a queue. They only serve two different types. I go for the Margherita, it is simple and superb. Sweet, tangy tomatoes, oozy soft mozzarella and big leaves of basil.

The afternoon is spent wandering via San Gregorio Armeno. This street is mind blowing. Here artisans create wooden nativity scenes, shop after shop, with artisans that have had their training passed down through the centuries. Antique shops with beautiful displays of hand painted tambourines are in between the Nativity shops. I happen upon a church where there's a huge Italianate wedding taking place, everyone fanning themselves in the heat, the bride in a voluminous lacy, frothed concoction.

I wander into the Gesu Nuovo church, the outside of which is made of three dimensional pyramid shapes. This was originally built as a palace but confiscated and made into a church a hundred years later. Internally it is over the top but stunning. Another strange church is the Church of Santa Maria delle Anime in Purgatory in Arco. Should have gone in, the church dates back from 600 and underneath there's a crypt where anonymous human remains are used as intermediaries for prays and requests.

There are cornicellos everywhere (large red chilli like objects), a sign of good luck; shops full of them, jewellery, keyrings, lamps. There are shops full of Taralli, a donut shaped biscuit made of white wine and fennel seeds, which I buy and eat on my discovery tour, only to find out later I should have dunked them in wine. There are tiny little antique bars everywhere. It's Saturday and all of Naples is out for their passagiata.

The heat is palpable as I walk back, my mind alive with images from this place. I dine at Biancomangiare, a traditional welcoming trattoria, saffron yellow walls and ancient kitchen utensils on the walls. I have stuffed squid and friarello, a bitter green with garlic and chilli and there's a little basket of homemade bread. I order wine and there's no line of demarcation here, it's full which is good because my mind is on overload. Tonight the daughter is meeting me, she's arriving from Nottingham, England and she said she didn't feel that safe there and yet I've wandered all parts of the inner city of Naples today and have felt safe, but I have been careful with my bag across my body.

There were huge delays for some reason at customs at the airport for the daughter so she's late but the taxi I ordered for her waited and has delivered her to the tiny door of my hotel. I go down to meet her and we have a laugh at the tiny doorway.

The next morning we're leaving but I take some of Naples with me. The scale of the old palazzos that are decaying, buildings left deserted from the war; looking into ancient courtyards where once horses and carriages would have carried the rich. The noisy vibrancy, the cool young crowd lounging on bikes, in doorways. The stunning artworks in chalk on the footpaths, the beautiful galleries that I will have to leave to my next visit. The rawness, the poverty, the craziness, at first confronts you and then draws you into it's web. I'll be back Napoli.