By FRANK BAJAK
Most tourists likely don’t read Roberto Saviano’s 2006 “Gomorrah” ahead of a trip to Naples. Elena Ferrante’s “Neapolitan Quartet” is understandably more popular. But I’m an odd one, fixated on organized crime’s poisonous grip on any region. Saviano is a master reporter, and among his findings was that indiscriminate toxic waste disposal by the local Camorra gangsters had driven up cancer rates. We’d be drinking bottled water.
My pickpocket paranoia eased considerably after we checked into our B&B. Like most major cities, Naples does have high-crime districts worth avoiding, such as Scampia. But the metro felt non-threatening and tourist areas are always pretty safe; a trio of soldiers and their armored vehicle were routinely on sentry a block from our hotel on Via Toledo. There are hurly-burly rough edges to this metropolis as organized crime’s weighty imprint does translate — at minimum — into inefficiencies in public services. It begins with the trash collection.
None of which precluded our wonderful stay in what was an obligatory stop on the Grand Tour for Europe’s 18th and 19th-century aristocrats. The Naples we saw is in splendorous decay, the locals exuberantly living “alla Grande.” It’s noisy, indulgent, charming. I chuckled constantly at all the zippy scooter-riding on narrow cobbled streets, particularly the kid with the maniacal grin impertinently honking a path through startled pedestrians.
Neapolitan food is inimitable. And not just the pizza. The rich loam of Mt. Vesuvius’ flanks yields splendid tomatoes. The locals are chatty. The archaeology and history intoxicate: The Greco-Roman fundament, the rotating Spanish, French and Germanic royal occupiers, the looted artistic treasures.
Naples has always lived on the edge of disaster, straddling two active volcanoes. Vesuvius, ravager of Pompeii, menaces to the south. To the immediate west is Campi Flegrei (Fields of Fire), a supercaldera with even greater explosive potential that’s been rumbling lately. Its last previous eruption, in 1538, was but sputter in geologic time.
Our guide for Pompeii asked that we arrive before the 9 a.m. opening to beat the crowds. He was not pleased to learn we were coming via not-always-punctual regional rail. Oh, and the transit/tourist pass we bought (Campania ArteCard) turned out not to cover the “express” train that was to get us to the ruins with time to spare. It didn’t, and cost us 15 euros each. In poor repair, it groaned on the tracks, a horse cart against the national TrenItalia rail’s high-speed service, which we’d ridden from Rome to Naples and later on to Salerno for a day-trip by ferry to the Amalfi Coast.
Our B&B’s location on Via Toledo bordering the Spanish Quarter was ideal for our four-day visit, just half the time in Naples proper. Local guide Emanuele (found on GuruWalks.com) drove a few tourists away on Day One with his colorful, enthralling recounting of the underdog city’s madcap history. He segued into why the late Diego Armando Maradona is so beloved. Emanuele is a booster of sustainable tourism, Our walking tour featured instruction in traditional Neapolitan coffee-making and a visit to an octogenarian tailor.
In 1787, forty years after Pompeii was rediscovered, Goethe visited and recorded: “There have been many disasters in this world, but few have given so much delight to later generations.” I’d have to agree. Our private Pompeii tour guide, Vincenzo, is an archaeologist involved in recent digs (hired through VesuviusvsPompeii). We got a great feel for the 79 AD disaster — minus the speculative embellishments for which so many tour guides are renowned (See the historian of ancient Rome, Mary Beard). We could have done without the crowds, and Italian authorities have just acknowledged that they are getting out of hand. They are restricting visitors to 20,000 a day beginning Nov. 15, 2024.
Vincenzo complained about something else: Italian museum authorities don’t leave enough of the treasures they uncover on site, preferring to put them on display at the Archaeology Museum in Naples. DO NOT miss that museum for the best of Pompeii and Herculaneum relics (especially the mosiacs) and the eye-popping Farnese Bull, the largest single sculpture recovered from antiquity.
We also saw the Museo di Capodimonte (the ground floor sculpture collection was closed — they were installing air conditioning — but painting and decorative arts were open) after a great lunch at the nearby Luggetella trattoria. Capodimonte is among Italy’s largest museums (with works by Titian, Carravagio, El Greco) in a Bourbon palazzo on a hill that shoulders a splendid park.
On Naples’ bay side, take the municipal elevator up Monte Echia for a grand pre-sunset view of Vesuvius and the offshore islands, then descend to the shoreline and join the Neapolitans in their passeggiata (ritual stroll). On Echia’s slopes are the walls of Parthenope, the 8th-century B.C. Greek city that preceded by three centuries today’s city center, which is a short stroll.
One more dining tip: in Positano on the Amalfi Coast consider the climb to the unassuming, family-run Ristorante di Costantino for lunch. It’s a strenuous little hike — especially on a hot day — but the food and a view, far from the claustrophobic crowds, won’t disappoint.
Recommended reading:
“Gomorrah,” by Roberto Saviano. A Naples native and a fearless journalist, Saviano lays bare the endemic influence of the Camorra crime syndicate. After the book’s publication, Saviano required armed protection and spent time in exile.
“Naples 1944,” by Norman Lewis. Not just a great personal memoir of World War II but also a searing portrait of a city in desperate times that accentuate its denizens’ obsessions, superstitions and eccentricities. The Allies liberated the city in late 1943. Lewis’ job as an occupier was to try to pacify the place. He admits to doing a rather poor job of it. And oh, the people he meets.
“The Fires of Vesuvius,” by the classicist Mary Beard. Visitors to Pompeii and Herculaneum are easily seduced by the bacchanalian lasciviousness of the place and, indeed, our guide described Pompeii as a first-century “Città del Peccato” (Sin City). It had 24 brothels on the two-thirds of it (44 acres) so far uncovered and its lustiness is quite graphically exemplified in frescoes like the Priapus, a fertility god, depicted in phallic majesty at the House of Vettii, which officially opened last year. The Roman playground was also cultural and commercial hub. Beard is interested not just in who died here and how but what we’ve learned about how they lived. Personally, it made me appreciate modern plumbing.
