“I have a concept of Naples that is not so much of a city, per se, but rather an ingredient of the human spirit that I detect in everyone”
- Luciano De Crescenzo
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Yesterday, I went with my parents on the hop on, hop off bus to see some of Rome, the highlight being the Sistine Chapel- the most beautiful Bible I’ve ever seen! Today, we saw more painted walls, when, over this morning’s cappuccinos, we decided to hop on the train to Naples for lunch!
The first adventure was getting a train at the last minute as a family.
A “volunteer customer service person” helped us at the kiosk. He raised three pairs of eyebrows asking for a bank PIN, but in the end was satisfied to walk away with a 5€ tip instead, and did save us 6 hours by explaining which option was the high speed train.
“An adrenaline rush!” said my Dad as we rushed to the platform after a track change.
We boarded just in time for an hour or so ride through the countryside.
We arrived at Napoli Centrale where I noticed more big hair, glittery sandals, and midriffs per capita. I scanned the displays in the shops and galleria for someplace I could get this look.
Then I remembered I was still operating out of a mini Jansport backpack and had been wearing the the same thing for the past 4 days. I bought a t-shirt and filed the rest under “Naples” for future style inspiration. You know, in the future when I can put effort into style...
Exiting the train, the only solid plan was a pizza and a granita. We found pizza frites and bouquets of other fried foods, stuffed with ricotta and made with love.
Walking around, feeling the sea breeze and wake of the ferries to Capri, we were also struck by the emotion on display in daily life in the Italy’s third biggest city.
A group of men in impassioned discussion, using their arms and hands to talk, blocking the middle of the sidewalk.
A teenage girl sat on the curb of the street crying and arguing about something at 1PM that involved 3-4 other friends and family crowded around. It want totally clear what it was about, but as we walked, the disagreement moved from the curb to a kind of parade down the street alongside us. My parents were naturally concerned so we chose a new direction.
Then there was a station wagon antagonized by the horn of a bus parked behind. After a minute of honking, the driver of the wagon, man built like a bowling ball, slammed his car door march right into the bus to fight with the driver face to face. This, admittedly, my dad and I watched from start to finish with a mix of human interest and disbelief.
Even if everything was in Italian (and a new dialect to boot) anyone on earth could feel exactly what was going on.