The Many Faces of Naples

It's difficult to characterize Naples. It is the epitome of simultaneous realities. And since the subject of simultaneous realities is what my novel-in-progress, "Six Minutes to Midnight," (I wonder if I will keep that title), is all about, I can claim visiting Naples as research for the book.  It was my friend and travel guide, Pasquale, who suggested the trip after reading my first chapter. You see, a man from Naples named Massimo travels to California and falls in love with “a woman who could not become my wife, but did.” Enough about that. This is about Naples.

It's a short and smooth train ride from Rome. It's as if you slide south on ice-rails landing in a station that looks like the one you left behind in Rome. But that's where the similarity ends. 

You go to National Car Rental to get a car. They don't have any. Well, not true. They have big cars. But big cars get stolen. So you have to pay about $800 to rent one for a few days, leaving a $600-cash deposit for when it's stolen. If it's ruined, (presumably because it was unable to be stolen), they keep only $500.

We took a cab to the hotel.

The first thing you notice about Naples is the architecture. It's the same as Rome's, only in Technicolor. 

Blues, reds, and pinks have replaced the white marble and gray stone in the massive buildings, churches, and statues. Maybe it's the Spanish/French/German veneer of occupation painted on the Italian foundation of resistance.

The next thing you notice is the sea. It is surrounds Naples.

Or more appropriately, Naples surrounds it—blue water, sun glittering on the ripples, and the hills of Naples framing the scene with its ever-present population. And that's the next thing you notice. The population is like a finely assembled mosaic of poor and wealthy,

 

artistic and corrupt, 

 

hopeful and fearful. There are signs everywhere: gorgeous beaches, industry, fishing, art, palaces, slums. 

Pasquale recounted his experience. When he was a kid, there were places in Naples that were dangerous because you could get robbed. As he grew older, the risk was you could get killed. He took me to seedy neighborhoods because “if you want the best coffee, this is where you have to go.” No thank you. I don’t want the best coffee. “One decaf with cream and sugar to go, hurry.”

I wandered into a photo museum/book store run by a man named Giovanni Durante. He had thousands of pictures of Naples from the early 1900's to recent times. 

He runs an organization called "Culture Saves Souls." He dedicated his life to using culture to fight the corruption that had ruined his city.  I bought the CDs with all the pictures he displayed. They are a real treasure. But more than that. He welcomed me using his-and-my broken-English-Italian. He gave me books I didn't buy. This is Giovanni and his fourteen-year-old daughter Annalisa. 

                  

On 27 March 2004, Annalisa was killed by a stray bullet intended for a crime boss in Naples. 

The reality of Naples is it is, or has been, many things: ruled by the Spanish, French, and Germans when together with Sicily it was it's own kingdom. As part of Mussolini's Italy, it was one of the most bombed cities in Europe. It is home to unparalleled beauty, great art and entrenched corruption. But the story of Naples is the story of the people. People who make music, who sing, who survive in a place they love.

I'm told my Neapolitan grandmother was always singing. The family story is she was a cousin to Enrico Caruso. My mother was always singing. So it fits. If you've heard me sing, you would think otherwise. If you read my previous blog about Valentina the street singer and listened to her performance, you get a taste of the music of Naples. And there is more to come further south in Positano. I will write about that later.

As I read over this blog, I realize it is not funny, as I had imagined it would be. Naples is not funny. It's like a church. Sacred. You should whisper. There are forces of evil as well. And it's bad luck to talk of evil. Another whisper. But then the church bells ring. It's time to sing. And the sounds resonate up and down the narrow streets and across the wide piazzas. Good. Evil. Whispers. Song. Yes, that's Naples. Now you've seen Naples.

Oh ya, I forgot to say. If you want to go to the Amalfi coast from Naples, you need a car. But you don't have to rent one or steal one. Did you read my last blog about Pasquale's friend Gianni? He said, "Take my car." "No Gianni, we couldn't." "Take it. I have a scooter. First I have to pick up my daughter. Meet me here in 15 minutes." "Gianni, what a beautiful daughter you have." "Here, take my keys. You know how to drive a stick shift? Call me when you get back." 

Maybe in the end, Naples doesn't have many faces. It is all good, and the rest doesn't matter.