I had heard about Naples all of my life since my father was very proud that his grandfather was born there. As a child it sounded exotic, and I pictured it small and full of old ladies making pasta and hanging out of windows. Anytime I had heard of Naples as an adult, I was told that it was dirty and run-down: a place to just pass through. Some accounts even made it clear that there was a high crime rate. Still, I clung to the image that formed at a young age.
We walked around Naples in the late afternoon, and we were a little tired. There wasn’t much time to soak up the city, but I had heard of a place that served the “best pizza in the world.” Naturally, I had to go there. The location was on the opposite side of the city from our Airbnb, so I figured a walk would be a good way to experience (read: feel) the city. I wanted to see which image of Naples was real: my childhood image or the adult whisper-down-the-lane version.
At first I didn’t feel anything specific, which was a disappointment. Sometimes I hype up potential emotion and get excited for the future feelings, but then I find myself disappointed that the feels don’t live up to the expectation. I thought being in Naples would envelop me in this overwhelming narrative plucked from my subconscious. Instead, the streets we were walking down were rather ordinary. There was a little more graffiti than Rome, and the “dirt” was somewhat expected but not in excess. I saw some older women going about their business in that specifically Italian way, but nothing that was completely married to my young imagery.
It was at this point that I relaxed. The ridiculousness of my expectations came to the front of my mind and I decided to look around and experience the city for what it was. I tried to remove all preconceived notions.
It just so happened that at this point in the walk, we started to descend into the narrow, old streets of the city. The sun was setting and there was a twilight darkness to the place that captivated me. Little shops peddling tourist trinkets dotted the streets, and so did bakeries, restaurants, historical sites, and old buildings. All of a sudden, the people seemed more extreme. They were happier than before, but also more emotional. The twilight seemed to accentuate everything.
At this point, we were nearing the famed pizza place. With hunger mounting, I pulled out my GPS and searched the address for the place. It appeared that we had walked past it, so we doubled back to see where it could be. In the spot where the pizza place should have been, there was seemingly no establishment serving food. Another couple was also looking around with bewildered, pizza-obsessed eyes. A local soul who must have felt for us, proclaimed that the place we were looking for was closed on that day. At least, I think he meant to that it was closed on that day rather than closed for good.
We were only ‘passing through’ Naples as we rushed down to the Amalfi Coast, so there was no chance to experience this delicacy the next day. Disappointment set in again, but a more superficial version. I felt like I got a glimmer into what Naples was like and felt a minor spark at what it could be, given more time. It felt extreme in many ways; a place that dared you to feel something specific.