Italy Diaries: Four wheels bad two wheels good

Dodging scooters, sirens and Santa in Naples

A man is driving a scooter in my direction. He’s driving one-handed, because in his other hand is a baby, and in one of the baby’s hands is - I’m not joking - a lollipop. I watch him pass, mouth open, then realise it’s time to move because there are more men on scooters bearing down on me, there always is.

I’m standing on Spaccanapoli, an old Roman street that cuts straight through the centre of Naples. It’s a main thoroughfare, though no one seems to have told the army of men who barrel down it on scooters and mopeds, narrowly missing pedestrians and shop fronts and bins.

It’s like standing in the middle of a MotoGP race, only the riders really aren’t concerned if they hit you. You’re in their city, you’re in the way. They have places to be. My goal for the afternoon shifts from seeing the sights of Naples to avoiding becoming a statistic. Just another of the I’m sure thousands of pedestrians mown down or maimed or even just clipped in passing by a Neapolitan on two wheels.

---

I make it down the road to L’antica Pizzeria di Michele. It’s a Naples institution, one of its oldest pizzerias, and depending who you ask, the best. The crowd outside shows. Dozens of people are standing outside, some holding numbered tickets.

It takes two attempts to discover I don’t need a ticket for takeaway. The first man I talk to just says si when I ask questions I thought basic at the front of a restaurant. Is this the line for takeaway? Do I need a booking? He waves me away with a flick of the hand.

I stand for ten minutes and I watch as names are called and people pile into the restaurant. I try another man. He’s friendlier, he explains I need to order inside. I push past the crowds and manage to place an order for a margherita and a marinara.

What feels like seconds later I’m presented with two pizza boxes. I clutch them as I battle through the mob outside, and walk back up Spaccanapoli to find a spot to eat them. In the end I cower on a bench in a square, away from scooters and mopeds but close to the bins. The pizza is incredible but the noise and the bustle of the city is inescapable.

---

I head up off the main drag to Christmas Alley. It isn’t December, it isn’t even winter. But all down the street (which is really the Via San Gregorio Armeno) there are workshops run by people who spend their entire year making nativities. There are the conventional scenes; Jesus, manger, wise men, etc.

And then there are the Neapolitan nativities. Diego Maradona is a regular feature. In fact, it’s hard to distinguish who the city of Naples puts more faith in. Sure Jesus has the whole resurrection, water into wine, bread and fish routine, but can he play football?

Maradona adorns the city. If he’s not in a stable he’s a poster on the wall, his name is graffiti, his t-shirts are sold at every souvenir stand. Neapolitans may like Him, but they love Diego.

---

I’m on a walking tour, trying to enjoy myself. I pick a company that loves Naples. Its mission, according to its website, is to improve the city’s global image, but our guide Sarah doesn’t seem so sure.

She tells us Naples is an acquired taste, one that her face says she doesn’t share. We walk around the port area, see the harbour, gawp for a while at the Castel Nuovo. Then we move inland and Sarah gamely tries to tell us all about the city’s San Carlo opera house, but I’m not listening, I’m holding my breath. It stinks of piss.

It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I was supposed to come to Naples to break through the stereotypes. To poke fun at all those who told me to be careful, that Naples was chaotic, busy, loud. That it was, to be blunt, shit.

I wanted to turn up and love it, to revel in the noise and the people. But even for someone who loves cities, who lives in London and loves Paris and Rome and Lisbon and all the rest, Naples is too much.

“I should move to Switzerland,” Sarah sighs as she’s interrupted by yet another scooter roaring past. She’s the tour guide!

There is one tranquil place in the centre of Naples, the place where there’s some real money, the Galleria Umberto I. It’s magnificent. Opened in 1890, its three storeys of beautiful, opulent stucco-covered building rise and end at a gorgeous iron and glass roof. Like the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II in Milan, it combines expensive shops with cafes and I could stand and look at it all day.

I can’t though, the tour moves on, and I groan as I join them out in the streets. I watch out for men on scooters, babies, lollipops.

---

Some housekeeping

If you’d like to discover more newsletters like mine, you can subscribe to The Sample, which curates the best newsletters and sends you those worth subscribing to. You can subscribe through this link. Doing so helps this blog get more readers so please do check it out.