Three Days in God’s Country

Contradiction is the oxygen in Naples: beauty mixed with grit, romance with violence, life with death. You hear it in people’s voices: defiant without a hint of arrogance. You see it in Diego’s face, posted up next to shrines of the Virgin Mary. When you leave, you might be lucky enough to experience it again, but surely never with the same intensity as you did in Naples. Maybe that’s why they say: ‘vedi Napoli e poi muori.’ Go to Naples and then die.

I spent three days in this city with my other half. This is how it went. Our trip began with a 20-minute bus journey from the airport to the port. The bus swayed into the city under the weight of around 40 people and their luggage. Gazing out of the window I was provided with my baptism of Neapolitan life. Dampened by spats of rain and flapping in the coastal wind, streaks of light-blue and white tape ribbed every street. These were complimented by flags, banners, and quasi-religious iconography. The week before we arrived, Napoli had won the Scudetto for the first time since 1990. With its victory, Naples had experienced an eruption which would make you question whether Mount Vesuvius actually lives in the shadow of the city, not the other way around. Like the volcanic ash which encrusts ancient Pompeii, steaks of light-blue and white had settled on the landscape of Italy’s third largest city.

The walk from the port to the Centro Storico took around 20-minutes, leading us across the wide boulevards that characterise the coastal edge of the city before delving into the cobbled veins of the old town. Our apartment was situated in a tight courtyard adorned with washing lines and electricity wires. In this environment, we immediately felt intrinsic to the city’s story; echoes of football celebrations, familial disputes, the Camorra? What secrets do these walls conceal, I wondered, before being interrupted by the clanging of our neighbour’s broomstick on the air conditioning unit. In a fervent tone which I soon learned to be ordinary, she told us that she could hear everything and for us to close our windows.

Our first foray into the city began at the renowned ‘Gino Sorbillo’ pizzeria on Via Tribunali. Escaping a midday burst of rain, we dove into the pizzeria before sinking a glass of wine and a garlicky marinara. If you want the purest culinary experience in Naples, look no further than the marinara and margarita; the two staples of the city’s celebrated pizza scene. As we cleaned the rich sauce from our plates with remnants of chewy crust, we were unaware that a queue had formed which extended out of the front door and curled around the corner. Names were being listed off by a member of staff with a microphone. After being summoned after a long wait, patrons ambled in and were guided to their seats. Go early to Gino’s early, at around midday, unless you want the microphone treatment.

There is a funicular in Montesanto which ascends to the Castel Sant’Elmo. Despite being nestled between crumbling apartment blocks, the comparatively modern Montesanto station somehow appears both older and more decrepit. Smashed windows and grimy surfaces betray the apparently modern façade of the station. Nonetheless, its services are integral to the city: carrying commuters to the suburbs and elevating us to the ancient roof of the city via the Funicolare Centrale.

Moving upwards and away from the city centre, the short funicular journey provides a unique perspective of the city; similar to the frenzied transitions between sets in a theatre production. After disembarking, a quiet and winding road led us from the funicular to the foot of the castle. On a clear day, you are provided with a view of the entire city and its natural backdrop of green mountains and blue ocean without needing to go into the castle. However, obscured by swathes of misty rain our view began and ended with Naples. The city’s vastness rolled out before us like a carpet of spires, domes, and red-roofed apartments. Like an insect on a leaf, it seemed impossible to me at that moment that life could exist beyond these streets. Encased by low-hanging mist, the city somehow appeared both confined and boundless.

After tentatively following the slippery footpaths back into the bowls of the city, we found ourselves in the Quartieri Spagnoli, Spanish Quarter. Narrow roads wound into a maze, laced with clotheslines and omnipresent light-blue and white. Streaks of late-afternoon sunlight had begun to break through the clouds and flood into the Quartieri’s tight alleys. As we navigated our way through the maze, open windows and doors resembled portals into Neapolitan life: the nonna sat with floral-patterned attire, the child with dark-brown hair playing at her feet, the boxy television in the corner below a tile-sized vignette of Santa Maria on an otherwise plain wall. Motorbikes shot by unwaveringly, bouncing on the cobbles as they went.

The clouds had parted and light shone onto a busy courtyard. With a distinctive blend of excitement and reverence, visitors stood before a mural of Maradona which spanned the entire side of an apartment building. Never Diego, nor Maradona, but ‘Dios’ (God) was always the label given to the late-Argentine. Written on walls, printed on banners, internalised in the Neapolitan mind, Dios had existed and had worn a light-blue shirt with the number 10 on the back. Below the mural stood a cabinet containing artefacts of Diego’s life in Naples. Amongst photographs and memorabilia, the centrepiece was a portrait of Maradona, with curly locks and a magnetic glint in the eye, hanging above a small statue of Jesus dressed in the light-blue and white of Napoli.

We had dinner in the basement of a family-run ‘taverna’ in the Quartieri Spagnoli. Spaghetti with octopus dowsed with an oily tomato sauce was paired with an earthy lentil soup and marinated anchovies. Walking along Via Toledo back to the Centro Storico, we were illuminated by shop-front fluorescence and splashed by cars shooting through puddles. An unorthodoxly romantic walk which fitted the unorthodox romance of Naples. 

Breakfasts were spent sat in the Piazza San Domenico Maggiore with the sharp bitterness of an espresso accompanied by the creamy sweetness of a pastry. If that combination fails to dispel your slumber, then babá, a Neapolitan sponge-cake soaked in rum, certainly will. Whilst you will immediately get a taste of the city’s splendour by simply strolling its ancient paths or gazing along the shoreline, Naples’ unintentional beauty is most evident in the mornings. Dogs trail their owners in peaceful contentment despite the overwhelming scarcity of green space within the city. Empty beer bottles rattle along the cobbles as they are swept into rubbish bags. Fresh sunlight promises Mediterranean warmth, whilst buildings and statues cast pleasantly-breezy shadows. Empty pizza boxes pile up idly on street corners as squawking seagulls bicker over discarded crusts.

As well as being an attractive destination for students, historians, and artists, the Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli in itself is an exhibition of the city’s contradictive beauty. The weathered exterior of the building is pastel-pink with fringes of murky grey limestone. The interior layout is punctuated by two courtyards of shrubbery. Century-old statues line the corridors, fixed perpetually in poses of vigour and vulnerability. Greek, Roman, Jewish, and Catholic histories intertwining within their marble countenances. Without going to Pompeii, you will be provided with at least some sense of the historic origins of the city and indeed the country. The exit faces the Galleria Principe di Napoli, which is lined with graffiti, litter, and small tents; a sharp reminder of the many dramatic histories which this city continues to write.

Remember Gino Sorbillo? Well Zia Esterina is his aunt. She has two pizzerias which are also in the Centro Storico. Like thousands of other hungry visitors, we stopped here after the Museo for a taste of its fried calzone, known as pizza fritta. Besides pizza, there is a delightful range of options for the famished tourist. Cold buffalo mozzarella can be purchased in small tin trays for a couple of euros and enjoyed in the street, along with paper cones of deep-fried seafood known as cuoppo.

Buried deep into the earth, Naples’ metro is consistent with the theme of inconsistency which we had become accustomed to. As most areas within the city are within walkable distance of each other, metro usage is not essential. Nonetheless, the few stations that we did go to were spacious and clean, illustrating a high level of attention and investment into the system. Platforms are long and well-lit. Standing along these long and well-lit platforms, passengers are entertained by television screens hanging from above playing advertisements and music videos. This bizarrely serene atmosphere clashes with the screeching arrival of the train. After rattling through subterranean Naples for around 5 minutes, we arrived at the Toledo metro station, one of the Stazioni dell’Arte designed by contemporary artists. The blue tiles of the station fade from indigo at the bottom of the escalators to turquoise at the top, symbolising the ocean – Naples’ perennial sister.

After emerging from this clean, aquatic dream, you find yourself on Via Toledo, the commercial heartland of Naples. Neapolitan cafes with glass displays of golden pastries spot Via Toledo, along with suit shops furnished decoratively  with mahogany. Despite their authenticity, these appeared to be in scarcity along Via Toledo; exceeded by flagship fashion stores displaying faceless manikins and street vendors with foldable tables covered with designer sunglasses and belts. Just off of Toledo, the Galleria Umberto I is a renaissance-style commercial greenhouse with a curved glass dome adorned by large gothic angels. The galleria encases a series of golden storefronts and a patterned marble floor.

Departing the galleria and stepping yet further into Naples’ history, you will find yourself in the grand Piazza del Plebiscito, Naples’ Trafalgar Square. The church of San Francesco di Paola is an impregnable edifice. Roman columns stand at the entrance, towered by three windowless domes, winged by two rows of pillars which curve for around one hundred metres each way. The piazza is far more vast than the squares of the Centro Storico. When stood on the side opposite the San Francesco, the church’s seems but a superimposed background to a film production.

There is a certain sense of tribalism in Naples. Reluctant to say tribalism, I was tempted to use the word loyalty, or collectivism, but in truth neither would effectively convey this sentiment. Being Neapolitan is a central part of the identity of the people of Naples. Like other port cities, Naples has developed a hard-nosed working-class identity which is incongruous to the industrial  identities of the northern cities of Italy. Like what London is to Liverpool, or Paris to Marseille, Rome represents the embodiment of snobbery and is the focal point of much social disdain.  This is something which dates back to the mid-19th century. In 1861, the Kingdom of Naples became a part of Italy. With industrial and commercial development centred in the North, Naples and the South remained a land of mainly peasants and priests. God’s Country. In following decades, the North maligned Naples as destitute, dangerous, and dirty. Unprepared to allow their Kingdom to be swallowed by the prejudices of Milan, Rome, and Turin, Neapolitans adopted this tarnished reputation and transformed it into a sense of regional pride. To be from Naples is more than a mere geographic fact. It is the basis of an identity, and an exclusive one at that.

Evidence of this pride is tangible throughout the city. From the ubiquitous light-blue and white tape streaming down from apartment windows, to a mural of Fidel Castro graffitied on the side of the university building, and Juventus toilet paper being sold in the Centro Storico. Even when you take yourself away from the bustling core of the city, this sentiment is still inescapable. From Naples’ coastal edge, removed from the grimy, chaotic romance of the city’s streets, you get a sense of it. After the Piazza del Plebiscito, we took a breezy walk towards the Castel dell’Ovo along the coast. Much like the Castel Sant’Elmo, the dell’Ovo provides another unique perspective of the city. Standing out in the water across a short pier, we could see the coast curve through the wet mist. The whole thing a beautiful juxtaposition which would evade the canvases of any fine art museum. On the left the city: an entanglement of cobbled streets bound together by intimate memories and shared histories. On the right, the indigo waves of the ocean. In the background, just visible through the early-spring drizzle, the rolling foothills of Mount Vesuvius.

We walked to three restaurants that evening. The first was on Via Toledo and seemed a tourist-trap, so we briskly left before the waiter could bring us bread. The second, whilst the food smelled delicious, was the size of a shoebox and there was no space for us. Fate had led us to the third, which is undoubtedly one of my best culinary experiences. Squeezed into an alley in the Centro Storico, Monsú is a hidden gem. Sat outside next to walls plastered with graffiti and images of Maradona and Santa Maria, we feasted on ravioli, spaghetti, tiramisu, and limoncello. Tell me your in Naples without telling me.

Off the coast of the city sit three idyllic islands: Capri, Ischia, and Procida. Whilst the former might stir images of luscious hills, polished wooden sail-ships, and the Kennedy’s on their summer vacation, it is the latter which will do far more to scratch your traveller’s itch. One hour on a ferry lands you in Procida’s old port. Walking through the town we did not hear English spoken once; always good to beat the Instagrammers to a Mediterranean island. The walk lead us to the Marina di Corricella, a small marina with rows of sorbet-coloured cafés and restaurants stacked along the front of a cliff, all serving freshly-caught seafood with a variety of spritz. After a fresh frolic in the ocean at the small and rustic Spiaggia Chiaia, we enjoyed prawn fusilli and an equally fresh glass of white before departing again for the city. Procida is an enticingly laid-back experience after Naples’ hustle, yet it has an equal measure of authenticity as the city. Procida is as-of-yet the lesser known of the islands amongst tourists. I hope it stays that way. If you’re reading this and fancy yourself an influencer, please go to Capri. You’ll like it there.

After arriving back in the Kingdom, we judged that it would only be right to finalise our stay with a banquet fit for royalty. After one last ramble around the frenzied streets of the Centro Storico, we made our way to the Pizzeria da Attilio in the Quartieri Spagnoli. With enough acidity to burn through the rustic brick walls of the pizzeria, the campangola pizza is a traditional dish of the Campania region which contains anchovies, olives, and capers on a tomato base. With our appetites and imaginations both quenched by a day of exploration and multiple dishes of food fresh originating from the Campanian countryside and the Mediterranean ocean, our time in Naples was coming to an end.

With the sun dipping out of sight, light faded to musky darkness and we finished the evening with a pair of aperol spritz’s in the Piazza Bellini, a favourite hangout of the young and the old of the city. As the curtain was falling on our in Naples, the piazza was a fitting stage for the city’s final act. Neapolitan youth with tanned skin and skinny jeans smoking cigarettes and embracing each other fraternally; a heavy-duty police vehicle parked at the edge of the square guarded by a tall man wearing boots and a beret, carrying a machine gun; smartly-clad married couples sat at tables sipping aperol with one leg crossed elegantly over the top of the other; a pair of destitute and dreary men sat on a bench a few feet away.

If Rome is the Eternal City, Naples is the Iridescent City. The city that means different things to different people. The city that takes new forms depending on from what angle you look at it. The city that is constantly writing new stories, frequently diverging, consistently contradictive. Forza Napoli. Vedi Napoli e poi muori.