ITALY
San Ferdinando, Napoli
July 2024
Naples
Napoli, the home of pizza and chaotic scooter dodging. To be honest, our only reason for spending a night here was to connect through to Positano.
We arrived in the late afternoon and stood in the scorching sun, waiting for a taxi. After a 35-minute drive from the airport to the port, we finally reached our Airbnb.
The host had messaged earlier, informing me that we’d be staying in a historic building with no elevator and three flights of stairs. I wasn’t too concerned, having already navigated a similar situation in London, where I managed to haul my 20kg suitcase up the stairs. But it turns out, three flights in Napoli are not the same as three flights in London.
As I stared at the looming staircase, it became clear there was no way I’d make it with my bag. Reluctantly, I messaged the host, accepting his earlier offer to help with the luggage. Soon, a tan man arrived, gesturing for my suitcase. In one swift motion, he hoisted the 20kg bag over his shoulder and glided up the stairs effortlessly. I stood there, bewildered by his ease.
Our accommodation was nice, clean but as basic as it gets—a small bed, bathroom, and the tiniest balcony, which served as both the only window and source of natural light. From the small balcony, barely big enough for two, Castel Nuovo, also known as Maschio Angioino, stood in front of us, to the right, there was a a statue of two ladies along with a strange sculpture that seemed to be made out of rubbish materials, and to the left, we could see part of the port.
We dropped our luggage in the room, paused to catch our breath, and made our way back down the stairs, already sweating from the heat. To my surprise, the streets were quiet. After hearing horror stories from others who had recently passed through Naples, I had mentally prepared for the worst. Most people hadn’t said a single positive thing about the city, apart from the pizza.
Along the harbor, vendors were selling trinkets and what looked like cheap souvenirs. None of them appeared to be Italian or European. We had been warned to be cautious around these stalls and to watch out for pickpockets. Yet, so far, no one had bothered us, and it was shaping up to be a pleasant evening.
As we strolled along the port, more people appeared, drawn out by the setting sun. Some were sunbathing on the stone edges by the water, nearby food stalls filled the air with the mouthwatering scent of freshly roasted corn on the cob, and people gathered around an old lady selling what looked like beans, lemon spritz and coconuts.
But, too soon, my partner suddenly halted, spinning around to give the man behind him the most intense death stare I’d ever seen. The man quickly scurried off. My partner explained that he felt the man reach into his back pocket, where our disposable camera was, likely mistaken for a wallet or phone. Now on edge, he anxiously scanned the crowd for more potential pickpockets.
Trying to lighten the mood, I suggested we find some food and grab a drink. We soon stumbled upon a nice looking restaurant along the harbor and were seated outside with a view of the port and the ‘Ovo Castle,’ which was under going reconstruction at the time.
We were brought plenty of bread—lots and lots of free bread. It was delicious and surprisingly filling. We ordered drinks and our mains: which were of course, pizzas.
As we sat and watched the sun go down, we were amused by the people passing by, one of whom was casually walking with a chair balanced on his head.
As we were finishing up, two older Italian men approached our table with a ukulele and a guitar. We had seen them earlier speaking with the restaurant staff, so we assumed they worked there. They asked us what type of music we preferred—upbeat, playful, moody, or something else. We chose upbeat, and they played a cheerful Italian tune for a few minutes in front of us. When they finished, one of them smiled and said something about how playing for tourists fills their hearts with joy. “We bring joy to the people, and the people bring joy to us,” he remarked warmly. Then, he took off his hat and waved it in front of us, gesturing for tips.
My partner and I exchanged confused looks. Neither of us moved to grab any money, and after a brief pause, the man asked, “Well, do you have something to give us?” Still under the impression that this performance was complimentary from the restaurant, my partner jokingly responded, “I thought it was part of the meal.”
An awkward silence followed, with the man standing there, still holding his hat out.
Eventually, my partner turned to me and asked, “Do you have any coins?” I rummaged through my purse and handed them 2 euros. The musicians, visibly unimpressed, took the money and moved on to the next table, repeating their routine. We watched as they rudely gestured their hat at another couple, who reluctantly handed over a few coins, looking just as confused as we had been.
We finished up our meals and slowly began making our way back to our accommodation. Along the way, we paused at the harbor to watch the old wooden boats gently bobbing in the water, while the nearby restaurants buzzed with people. By 8:30 PM, the sun had set, and despite the time difference being only an hour from the UK, we felt the weariness of travel creeping in.
The sky lingered in a purple haze, the food stalls, which had been buzzing with activity earlier, were now closing up, and the mouthwatering smell of freshly cooked corn had faded from the air. We picked up a few water bottles from a nearby store and slowly made our way back up the three long flights of stairs to our room, ready to call it a night.
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