The Elusive Charm of Naples
The Elusive Charm of NaplesIt's difficult to travel into Italy from the north, visiting the major traps Venice, Florence, Rome without receiving a cascade of dire and variegated warnings on the vice and corruption of Italy's southern cities. "No, no, no" one man told me over a plastic cup of Sangria, which had been patriotically forced into my hand by my Spanish hostel-buddy come translator. We were in one of the city's open-air and I had just expressed my plan to head to Naples in the south.
His warnings came thick and fast, all galvanised with characteristically flamboyant and very Italian gestures of foreboding for good measure. Apparently the pizza toting, port-town of Naples was not the gastronomic fun-fair that I had expected and enjoyed in the north, but a Sopranos shanty-town full of pick-pockets and prostitutes.
I dismissed this as Hyperbole similar to how the Welsh side of the river Severn denounce their English neighbours, especially when rugby is involved. But three days later as I departed Rome, the last bastion of northern civility, a creeping reluctance began to creep in. I turned to the guidebook for reassurance: "The crime rate is undeniably high Naples saw over 100 Mafia-related murders in 2004 alone " Come on, I thought. You're from Swansea. You can handle a bit of rough.
I arrived in Napoli in the evening. Italy's blazing sun was casting long orange shadows on the city, but none were longer than the ever-looming shadow of Vesuvius an ancient image of destruction that in my hesitancy became the sinister and unwelcoming bogey-man of the south. By now I was fully in the grip of the northern warnings and thought to myself, as the train pulled into Stazione Centrale: "I'll only stay two nights, not three."
Emerging apprehensively into the frenzied dusk that dominated Piazza Garibaldi - Napoli's metro hub I adopted ignorance toward the multitudes of street sellers who seemed to display their dubious goods without an ounce of shame. A backpack, a camera, a guidebook to Naples, an empty wallet. I wondered where such an apt set of tourist goods could have come from as I strode swiftly past.
I was heading for The Hostel of the Sun, rated Europe's best hostel three years in a row and something of a legend in Europe's inter-rail sub terrain. It's even whispered in the same sentence as Amsterdam's Flying Pig hostels. When I arrived, I breathed a sigh of relief at leaving the dark and busy streets that wound their way from the station to the port. Here the hostel was nestled in a side street, between a bar and a pizzeria.
The next day as the sun beat down on me, I felt revitalised and raring for a visit to Napoli's most humming attraction, Pompei. I grabbed a banana from the hostel's generous fruit supply and took a bus around the bay, following the busy roads out of the city centre and away from the cacophony of car, and ship horns.
The ancient site is about a half hour bus ride from the port at Naples, or if you're feeling more adventurous and don't mind forgoing the pleasures of an air conditioned seat, a similar journey time on metro inter-city that runs from the central station all the way to Sorrento, just over fifteen miles down the coast. As expected, Pompeii was brimming, but the gargantuan tour groups crowding at the entrance were quickly dispersed and engulfed by the surprisingly large site, which is still under excavation. This made the notorious way in which the city was preserved, all the more intriguing.
It's true that Pompeii has it all - from garishly lavish villas to plaster cast, human corpses - offering a raw and authentic historical education that's unique in the Mediterranean. All of this is set alongside a carnivalesque indulgence in human vice and suffering. By far the biggest crowd-puller is the well restored brothel, adorned with fantastically honest and shocking graffiti, which many of the Jesuit tour-guides refuse to enter. It feels almost as if Pompeii has not yet passed into history but still represents a living and breathing city, oozing with vice and life, and all the indulgences of rich living. In fact it's a lot like the modern city across the bay, with its pollution stained brick and dirty streets.
Later as I walked into the hostel lounge the lively reception staff rolled their eyes and asked me, without any preliminary enquiries - "enjoy Pompeii?" Apparently my dust covered feet which had drawn the eyes of locals on the return train, were a tell-tale sign of a visit to the site. Also after clocking my tiredness and hunger, the hostel staff assured me it was possible to have a proper Neapolitan pizza delivered right to the door. I didn't hesitate.
- Richard Francis
