Back In Ol’ Napoli
We turned up for breakfast on the rooftop bar around 8am this morning - getting a couple of hours’ head start on the rest of Capri - and we had the whole place (and a very attentive Manuel) all to ourselves. There were frittatas, hard boiled eggs, scrambled eggs and pancetta, croissants, fruit, cereal and of course, a selection of about twenty different cakes.
We did a bit of souvenir shopping (Ross had already had enough after a couple of shops) and then we packed up, checked-out and boarded our crowded ferry bound for Napoli. Having already been stung by a dishonest cabbie in Naples last time we were here, this time around we felt confident, ready to pounce if anyone tried to dupe us. Rossco, in his best, most assertive dad voice, asked for the ball-park price before we even stepped foot in the taxi and insisted that the meter be ticking thank you very much. The cabbie could see we were onto him and threw his hands in the air in surrender, “OK, OK, OK!” No one was going to pull the wool over our eyes again (we hoped).
After the serenity of Capri, Naples, the big smoke, seemed even more hectic and the traffic was mayhem. Red lights are clearly just for decoration here and never once does anyone ever stop or give way; somehow it all just keeps on flowing. We are staying in a completely different part of the city this time, up on the hill at Vomero, right near St Elmo’s Castle. Compared to the sketchy part of town we were in last time, this place is much quieter, with very leafy gardens and houses boasting bigger yards and even off-street parking. Our accommodation is a room in a big old Italian villa, complete with green shuttered windows and a beautiful spreading magnolia tree. So cute! A young guy met us at the front gate, kindly helping us up the steps with our bags, before swiftly disappearing momentarily before returning looking the part, having changed into his special button-up bellboy jacket. He didn’t speak a word of English but his boss did so there was a slightly awkward wait where we mimed some small talk until she arrived.
St Elmo’s Castle (Castel Sant’Elmo for the Italians out there) was definitely worth a visit and looked just like you’d imagine a castle to look in a fairytale. Built way back in the 1300s, it had canons, ramparts, huge spiked gates, guard posts, clock towers, little peepholes for spears and arrows and even a dungeon. At one point in its history it was a thriving little hilltop metropolis, complete with butcher, baker and candlestick maker (and even its own pub). The castle not only housed soldiers but was also home to 200 residents, living and existing within its walls. It even had roads and avenues - much wider than the streets of Positano in fact. Strategically located at the highest point in Naples, you can imagine the incredible view it commands. From the mountains to the sea, and all in between, a peep over the wall reveals an expansive panorama of the entire city.
Down in the town square, one of the buildings in the castle precinct has been converted into an art gallery. Included in the admission price- a modest €5 - we were free to wander the gallery and admire the eclectic range of artworks and sculptures in the collection. Some, like the piece of hessian in a frame, or the pink framed rectangle, or the blob of glue stuck to a brick, left us scratching our heads…but who are we to question modern art? Speaking of questioning modern art, just outside the gallery, there was a modern-looking building with glass-panelled balconies; colourful scrawls adorning the glass. I pointed them out to Rossco saying, “ooh look, more art - this is such an arty neighbourhood”. He took one look and told me that while that may be so, what I was reading was actually backwards writing that said: ‘F the Police!’ (or words to that effect). Oops.
Houses in this area also have HUGE front doors, fit for a giant. The very cool thing about them is that they have a tiny little secret door - a door within a door - that they can enter through so they don’t have to open the whopping big ones. (It also explains how Jack smuggled out that golden egg-laying goose),
Also in our leafy little hilltop neighbourhood is an Irish pub called Frank Malone’s. With a bit of a hankering for a pot pie and a Guinness, we thought we’d hit it up for a good feed before turning in early for the night in preparation for our 4am pick-up (Yikes!). There’s a bit of a dead spot here between 3 and 6pm, when everything closes up - a bit like in Spain - only to re-open again around 6. We’re not sure if they also take siestas in Italy but Frank Malone’s opened up right on schedule at 6. With no pot pies, or Guinness for that matter, on the menu, Frank had a loose interpretation of what it meant to be an “Irish Pub”. Somewhere in between Italian and English, with memorabilia ranging from Abbey Road and Fosters to Johnnie Walker and cricket bats, the pub served a variety of burgers and Napolitano favourites. One thing we’ve really loved about Italy is that they give you lots of stuff for free that you don’t order, for instance, every time you order an espresso, they also give you a complimentary sparkling water. Tonight, minutes after we’d planted our derrières on the plush tartan stools, we were handed a generous plate of delicious stuff we hadn’t even ordered…on the house! There were little eggplant sandwiches, sundried tomatoes on toast, olives, meatballs on sticks, potato wedges…It was pretty substantial and very hospitable of them. Once we’d polished all that off, we were almost too full to order a meal.
Ciao Italia! We’re going to miss you!
