Edward Hendriks
It's mid-March, so half of my visit to Naples is already over. The first week of school is over and the second week of school has just started.
Speaking Italian is difficult. Irregular verbs, singular or plural masculine, singular or plural feminine and then the many exceptions and conjugations… phew. You have to think so long before you know how to say something, that any spontaneous conversation is doomed to failure for the time being. Reading and understanding Italian is getting better and better, I notice.
Every day it feels a bit more like 'living in Naples' instead of 'holiday in Naples'. I also try to live the Neapolitan life as much as possible and that suits me – for a Dutchman – reasonably well. In this way I now fearlessly and indifferently cross the intense traffic like a real one local and I walk out during the break of class for a true caffè at the nearest bar.
And eating on the street is also fine. Boy, what a huge range of pizzas, foccacias, paninis, gelato, chocolate, Neapolitan snacks, cakes, Sicilian pastries and puffs (a local delicacy). You cannot walk a few meters unless there is a stall, stall, bar, restaurant or pizza counter.
Nevertheless, I am still often surprised. Leaving myself out is actually enough entertainment in this city that hurtles along like the Eurostar from Rome to Naples. The first line in the Lonely Planet hits the spot right away:
Naples is a double shot espresso. Caught in the shadow of a snoozing Mt Vesuvius, it fronts each day with fatalistic intensity.
The game between the many (illegal) street traders – who try to sell their counterfeit Pradas, Guccis and Vuittons – and the Guardia di Finanza (the special police unit to prevent fraud). When discovering the gray Fiat Bravos with yellow striping, they hissthe car,the car' to each other, after which the merchandise quickly disappears into a buggy and the trader walks a little further. The cops watch the game from behind the car windows. Sometimes they stop for a while. Finally they drive on. And as soon as the coast is clear, everyone will of course return to their familiar spot.
Many of the clichés about Italy actually concern Naples. Noisy, chaotic, theatrical. The Neapolitans know this very well and cherish this role. Marital fights are fought out loud over cell phones, cashiers hang out in their counters openly bored, pushy stray dogs get kicked, traffic lights, road lines or zebra crossings are nonexistent and signs are everywhere except where they should be.
Last Saturday I wanted to go to the island of Procida off the coast of Naples. Arriving at the port, I found out that the ferries no longer departed from 'Molo Beverello', but from another port. It took me about all morning to find it, especially since it seemed so unlikely that crossing to the islands would require maneuvering past shipping containers, loading bays and barriers.
In the afternoon I took the ferry anyway. Procida is a manageable island of only 4 square kilometers and therefore easy to explore on foot. An additional advantage of the limited scale is that mass tourism has not yet struck here. Magnificent is the view of the old fishing port from the highest point of Procida (simultaneously the setting for the film The postman ('The Postman') from 1994 and more recently for The Talented Mr. Ripley).
The houses in their typical, Arabic-looking building style with round shapes have beautiful blue, pink and yellow color schemes. Walking through the harbor I found myself among men who have spent years at sea. Some were busy with their nets, others were burning wreckage and still others were sawing and painting.
Unfortunately I had to take the last boat back to Naples at 20.00pm. I would have loved to spend a little more time in this serene, scenic spot. A welcome resting point in the chaotic hectic of the mainland.
On Sunday I rested from all the experiences of the past week. After doing some shopping at my 'regular' supermarket in the morning, I settled in on a terrace with a delicious beer and lazily enjoyed the afternoon sun.
Enjoying the sun on Piazza San Domenico Maggiore in the old center of Naples. I'll be fine.
In the evening I watched the movie in the cinema (5 minutes walk from my house) La Siciliana Ribelle, about a girl who, after her father's murder (also boss) picks up the hatchet himself and ultimately does not have to fight alone against the Cosa Nostrabut also to her own family.
De sala piccola contained only 25 – sold out – seats and reminded me of The Movies on the Haarlemmerdijk in Amsterdam. Watching some kind of widescreen TV together, so to speak. Next to me sat a family with two girls of – I estimate – about 6 and 7 years old. What they were doing there at a rather violent mafia movie at half past ten in the evening is a mystery to me. But I'm probably not Neapolitan enough for that.
Comments