Ah, Naples. A great place to get your bearings while watching your six. Semi-deserted, weather a bit cool. Dig the Neapolitan ghost town mojo. First things first: pizza.

We were here when we were barely 30, two somewhat charming but foolish kids with grandissimo ideas. We rode in on wild horses, or maybe a Vespa. The 1970s version of “going rogue.”

Delighted to revisit Napoli’s enormous and distinguished archaeological museum, within walking distance of our jolly digs at Art Street Hotel. We visit the treasures of Pompeii, and spend more than our allotted 10 minutes in the erotica room.

The lovely island of Ischia is our second destination. We take the massive ferry, like old times, and the Mediterranean views are stunning.

We check into B&B San Pietro as a cluster of senior citizens emerges from the Hotel Fernando across the street. I think, oh wow, grannies, how cute. Then I remember that I am one. Sobering. Not enough Falanghina in the world to turn back time.

Small bouquets of dried yellow flowers are free to all women today, in celebration of International Women’s Day. This year, they are wrapped in yellow-and-blue ribbons in solidarity with Ukraine. They adorn the bar as I look up from these pages. 

Sturdy iris and one brave daffodil bloom in the courtyard. La primavera buoys our spirits. We are extra-grateful to be here, feeling the warmth in our bones. Palm trees wave in the surly ocean wind, but stand strong. I note the aspirational resistance carefully.  

We are all Ukrainian this week. •