For some time I've wanted to write about our experience in Naples, or at least some approximation of it. I don't think the process of self-reflection ever really ends, but at least enough time (18 months) has passed now that I think I can put some things in perspective. The catalyst for finally getting this done was a recent book I read by Roberto Saviano, called Gomorrah and published in 2007. More on that in a bit, but for now, let me set the stage on where I'm going with this. And since I like picture shows, you're in for a treat.
This is a real picture I actually took of the Bay of Naples, facing north (click for a bigger pic - all the pictures here are clickable to make them bigger). I cheated slightly - it's actually two pictures stitched together, taken on a flight from Rome to Athens. You can't miss Mt. Vesuvius, just behind the wing pylons. Yes, that's Naples just to the west of Vesuvius in the first "dent" of water, with the sister city of Pozzuoli just further west in the second "dent." Three million people right here. Perhaps more, but who's counting? Officially, it's the densest city in Europe, which has lots of dense cities. Of course, none of them are within spitting distance of an active volcano.
(Trivia: why is Pozzuoli famous? In ancient times, it WAS the city on the bay. Neapolis was just a tiny hair in the armpit it is now. Puteoli was the Hilton Head and Monte Carlo of the Roman jet set (Roman Senators and the patrician class. How things change.) Builders discovered that local sand + local lime + water = concrete. That's right, the world's first concrete, puteolanum, was invented here, and ultimately led to the construction of a few buildings you may have heard about: aqueducts, the Coliseum, and about 90% of the Roman Empire. Eat your heart out, Home Depot.)
Flying into Naples gives a better idea of what Naples actually is: a mess. A really old, very crowded, labrynthine, too-close-to-Vesuvius mess of a city built on and over itself over the past few millenia.
In the words of an anonymous scribe, Naples is "charmingly dilapidated." I remember my frustration in locating decent maps of Naples before we moved there, thinking they'd be really helpful. Truth is, there are no maps of Naples. Steven Hawking would agree: it's impossible to map a black hole. (He also says black holes emit radiation, which weirdly might actually be true here as well....) But there are plenty of highlights to note. On our second day after arriving, we took a trip downtown with my sponsor, Stella and her family (Stella, if you're reading this, I remain in awe of Doug's mastery of downtown to this day). Doug had sage advice: "Naples is a dump, but its treasures are well hidden." Well hidden indeed, I'm not sure I ever saw them, though I think Kathy did. But it does make the point there really were quite a large number of great (I really do mean great) places and things to see. (Connie and Jim, this is for you). But going through my photo archive I realized how few downtown Naples pics I actually have. For one, here's Piazza Plebescito, the actual 'center' of Naples if there ever was one. It's probably the first place to get packed when the Neapolitans decide to come out. Like when they win the World Cup. Hang on to that, I'll get back to it. 
The square is the largest in Naples, and actually makes up part of the (former) royal palace, dating back to when Naples was a kingdom before Italian unification. I think it's a church now, but that's all I can say. Nearby is Galleria Umberto, named after one of the Italian kings from the 1800's. 
It's a public shopping gallery, and actually quite an amazing interior space, even at 120 years old. The crazy thing is that in 3 years, I only saw it once, and it was as impressive as I had imagined. It's a treasure, alright, and thankfully not that hidden either. A stroll down by the waterfront affords more than a few tourist traps as well. 
Here Kathy and her sister Lisha take a break near Castel Uovo, with the famous Neapolitan backdrop behind them. Again, I realized how very few pictures from downtown Naples I actually had. We had friends who came down nearly weekly, but we hardly came downtown at all. It's not that there wasn't anything to do or see, but that it was just...intimidating. Naples isn't just a city. It isn't even just a culture. It's more like a state of mind.
Perhaps it helps to understand some of the history of this area. For much of the past 2,500 years, this region has had one conquering invader after another. Greeks. Romans. Lombards. Normans. Sicilian. French. Spanish. Even Hitler. The region rose and fell (mostly fell) on the whim of foreign powers, who either ruled from afar or stayed nearby and bled the people dry of the local resources (though at times creating great art and public works - the treasures that are so well hidden today). As you might imagine, after centuries of feckless administration, Neapolitans grew to trust no one outside themselves to meet their needs (my theory). The double whammy, unfortunately, was that as the rest of the modern world took shape, the region was also left with precious few tools to establish capable self-governance. And that's just about where Naples remains today. And that's why Neapolitans (again, my theory) don't quite consider themselves Italians, don't have a developed sense of 'common good' like others, and don't follow 'rules' for anything. Rules, of course, mean all personal interactions: traffic, commodities exchange, basic services, criminal code, you name it. It's not nearly as bad as, say, Somalia (a truly failed state), and perhaps that's an unfair comparison. At the time, though, I frequently thought of living in the Naples area as "Living with Pirates." Pirates are in only for themselves, the hell with everyone else. Whether dealing with your landlord, the neighborhood 'cleaner,' the chicken rotissery man, or anyone else, I frequently felt like I was being sized up for a one-way transaction of some sort, and not in my favor.
At this point, you're probably wondering where I'm going with this, or at least wondering if everyone in Naples is a crook. That is absolutely NOT what I'm trying to suggest here. My point is to help you understand why living in Naples was sometimes so difficult, and always an exercise in vigilance and frequent misunderstanding. But also to appreciate why organized crime has such a deep reach in this area. Deep reach. Law enforcement is impotent. The economy is so depressed from decades of industry pulling out (the official unemployment is around 25%), that any work you can find is worth having. You sure as hell aren't going to be waiting for unemployment benefits. And voila, organized crime has found its utopia.
And that's how I get back to Gomorrah, by Roberto Saviano (NYT book review here, find it on Amazon here). It's an eye opening look into the world of organized crime in greater Naples, known as the Camorra (hence the play of words for its title). In Italy it's been a runaway bestseller, though if you've never been to Naples, the book might lack some meaning. It's also been made into a movie, and now is Italy's entry for Best Foreign picture for the upcoming Oscars (trailer here, movie review here). The spotlight it shines on the Camorra has forced Mr. Saviano into hiding and under constant police guard. A modern day Salman Rushdie, but under legitimate threat for his life.
The book begins by explaining the pivotal role Naples plays in merchandise smuggling, drug running, and organized crime. To quote Saviano:
"The port of Naples is an open wound...(it) is the hole in the earth out of which what's made in China comes. (It) handles 20 percent of the value of Italian textile imports from China, but more than 70 percent of the quantity. It's a bizarre thing, hard to understand, yet merchandise possesses a rare magic: it manages both to be and not be, to arrive without ever reaching its destination...to have little tax value in spite of being worth a huge amount."
In case you wanted to see what this 'wound' actually looks like, here's the famous port. By the way, this is taken looking straight down the slope of Vesuvius, from the crater. (Tip: don't buy any real estate anywhere in this picture.) All the really good stuff in the book comes in later chapters, including a cameo appearance by our own town, Gricignano di Aversa (again, more on that later).
I worked was on a small military installation, right next to the Naples airport, near downtown, and within 6 miles of Vesuvius (just past the right edge of the picture). On days with really bad smog, you couldn't see Vesuvius at all, but on clear days (usually in the cold of winter), the view was crystal clear: 
The best views usually came in the morning, and when I remembered to bring a camera to work, I could steal a picture or two.
Working so close to downtown Naples meant doing some clever driving sometimes, depending on traffic conditions or road closures. I never felt like I was under any risk in my commute. At least consciously. But it sure did make me think when from time to time the Italian Army would show up out past the gate. 
Just hanging out, I guess. Sure do look mean and stuff with all those weapons. Were they 'showing the colors?' Were they looking for someone? Trying to stop something? Sometimes it was easier to not think about it and move along smartly.
Work was only 20 minutes or so from our house, but sometimes it felt like I was crossing the twilight zone to and from work. I've thought often about how long it took for the Italian honeymoon to end after we first moved there. I think it was a lot like the 5 stages of grief:
Denial: this isn't Italy. I've seen 'Under the Tuscan Sun,' I know what Italy looks like. This isn't Italy.
Anger: Why can't I live somewhere without burning trash? Why won't my hot water turn on - it's been fixed 5 times already! AND IT'S $%&*@ FREEZING!!
Bargaining: I'll promise to learn Italian, as long as it helps me converse with the locals in their language.
Depression: My car is always breaking down. All this pollution is going to make me grow a third eyeball. No one here speaks Italian, they only speak Neapolitan, and I have no idea what they're saying.
Acceptance: you know, the food actually is pretty darn good. There really are interesting parts of Naples. I can speak passable Italian and make myself understood. Hey, let's go to Rome for the weekend - don't worry, we don't need maps anymore.
I knew I finally made it, not when I wasn't getting lost anymore, but when getting lost no longer mattered. Whether by dead reckoning, a random "Autostrade" sign (always green) pointing you in a familiar direction, or just relaxing enough to remember it was three lefts and then a right and not the other way around, I began to realize everything was going to be okay. I always found where I was supposed to go, as if I was a homing pidgeon. Okay, so I stretched the truth a bit. Two tips for living in Naples: never have less than a quarter tank of gas, ever. And always keep your phone charged. And paid up. 
This is what the acceptance phase of living in Naples looks like. "What else can I do?" Or in Neapolitan: "buh." This is the look you could expect in any scenario from 1) There's a horde of animals on the road coming at me, 2) There's a horde of ragazzi on mopeds coming at me, 3) I'm lost as hell and I swear I just left this area, 4) I'm getting gas and forgot to bring any gas coupons. Again. Dammit! 5) Everyone was out here just a moment ago, where did they all go?? 6) Are those people on the curb...oh, um, nevermind. Just move along smartly.
But before you get too excited about me divulging any sensitive information (I won't), let me just say that you can easily get exactly the same thing from Google Earth or MSN Live Search (you can look it up yourself). And in case you wanted to go there for yourself, all you would have to do is follow the big "US NAVY" signs off the main highway. In English. And just to be double safe, it also happens to lie directly under the path of many departures from Naples to points north. 
This is from a regular ol' Alitalia flight, straight out the window. You can make out Gricignano right at the top of the photo. That's our town! If it looks like we were out in the country, you're right. Technically, we weren't even in the province of Naples.
The really neat part of buzzing in the helicopter was that we flew right in front of our house. Right in front! Smack dab in the middle of the picture you should be able to make out a small 3 story creme colored building, right on the street. That was our parco, which we shared with some really great friends. More about 'living on the street' coming soon. So even though we weren't 'technically' in Naples, we still had some of the benefit, like a view of Vesuvius from the top floor. (Okay, a small bit of photo trickery here - first, it's a zoom, so it looks a bit closer than it actually is, and second, there was a power line right in the middle that I photoshopped out.) But the rest is real. 
In reality, we lived about 12 miles away by direct line of sight. But I'm sure we were quite safe.... When Mt. St. Helens blew up, that blast zone only went 8-10 miles out from the crater. So it's a good thing we didn't live any closer, taking a chance like that.... After living through a 6.8 earthquake in the Puget Sound and a category 5 typhoon on Guam, I didn't want to think about third time being the charm. Just one more thing. How big was the 79AD eruption that destroyed Pompeii? Take a look at this picture very carefully. In your mind's eye, trace an outline from the lower slopes (without the snow), and draw them up into a peak that touches the cloud at the very top of the picture. That was how big Vesuvius once was - a giant cone volcano. And almost all of it disappeared on August 24th, 79 AD, in one hell of a cataclysmic eruption. What's left now is just a shell of the former mountain, with a new cone growing up in the middle. Think about that for a while (remember, 3+ million people live within a 15 mile radius....)
OK, back to Gricignano. Here's the view from our balcony, onto Corso Umberto, which is essentially the main street in town. Much of the local economy is still agriculture-based and many in the region are quite poor.
Plenty of fruit and tobacco are grown nearby, and seeing animal drives through town wasn't an uncommon appearance. Watching them swarm around traffic always gave us a good chuckle.
The frequent horse-drawn carriage negotiating cars through a traffic circle always gave us a good chuckle as well. How they managed to avoid being hit by crazy drivers moving much faster than them never failed to amaze me. 
And crazy they were. Because they're easy to own and very fuel efficient, everyone drove a moped. And in a culture where public appearances are everything, being out on the street cruising up and down with your amici was the only thing to do. Better than synchronized swimming, they've perfected synchronized driving, while conversing no less. 
Was it safe? Hell no. 
Yes, you can fit 3 on a moped. I never got a clean shot of 4 on a moped, and I'd heard stories of a whole family (with dog) motoring down the street. 
The really crazy part was how different the speeds were. Watch this clip and keep an eye out for the motorcycle from the right:
But wait, what's that going on behind them? Oh, right. This would be a good time to tell you about, um.... Well, you see, public restrooms are often hard to come by, and some folks seem to have, shall we say, 'conditions' that must make it difficult for them to...have patience. Like on the side of the highway, or right here, in front of our house. 
Ahhh, la dolce vita. But I have to at least mention one other thing. The undercurrent in all of this was the influence of the local 'protection,' which was always present and yet invisible unless you knew how to decipher the signs. Gomorrah spends quite a bit of time talking about the central organization and headquarters of the Camorra, just down the road in Casal di Pricipe. The truth is, they have so much money, there's no place to put it all except into construction, which turns out to be a pretty easy front for doing so - there are hundreds of registered construction firms located in this small area. (Interesting that the new base is nearby, and there are so many shiny new parcos for folks choosing to live off base to move into. Like where we lived....) Our 'landlord' was the son of the mayor - take from that what you will. In a land of poverty, he seemed to live pretty well. But the Camorra is a huge enterprise, and construction is only a part of its vast empire. Our very own Gricignano makes a cameo in Gomorrah, with a blip about contraband small arms from Albania, camouflaged in pirated NATO trucks, and getting offloaded just down the street from our house (we never saw or heard any of this while we were there). In the words of our great friend and neighbor Barb, after reading Gomorrah,"It all seems so fantastical, doesn't it, and to think that all of that was going on all around us. I don't know about you but it has made me look at everyone I knew, everything thing that happened differently. "
Yup, we lived in the wild west, and even though we knew it at the time, we had no idea what was going on. But not all of living in Gricignano was so dour. Just down the road, quite early in our stay, we discovered one of our first hangouts. The one and only Capitan Morgan, famed pizzeria and roast chicken rotisserie. You can't miss it, right on the main street, though somehow it managed to escape the attention of just about every travel guide written on Italy....
A special note about Capitan Morgan's. Once upon a time, it was a great place to go for dinner. The pizza was quite good, and cheap. Giovanni the pizza man (more on him later) made a mean pie. The best were Margherita (sauce, mozzarella, basil) or Marinara (sauce and herbs, no cheese - yes it was QUITE good), or this crazy concoction:
That's right, a mix of all other pizzas. Look carefully, have you ever seen fries (and hot dogs) on pizza? And if you weren't in the mood for pizza, he'd sell you a whole rotisserie chicken stuffed with rosemary and enough salt to kill you. For only five Euro. And it tasted pretty darn good. And who was this fine purveyor of local goodness? 
The man, the myth, the legend, Franco Giuliano himself. The original Capitan Morgan, here in tough guy pose with a certain individual who shall remain nameless. A man of many talents and experiences: former army soldier, truck driver, racecar driver (for real), all around journeyman, and now ristopub owner. He claims to share a great grandfather with none other than Rudy Giuliani himself. For a time he was the favorite of the Americani, despite not knowing a lick of English. He was a legend in his own right - everyone in little America knew of him and would come down for takeout if not stay behind for a good meal and a fair bit of alcohol ("water is for bathing"). Strange brews of who-knows-what, which actually tasted pretty good, certainly much better than his homemade wine. He smoked like a chimney, was as strong as an ox, had boundless energy and a liver probably made of teflon. He welcomed all who came and made you feel welcome. I often thought that our last meal before we moved to the states would be here - the experience of a full meal here was that unique. One day I discovered this little known fact about Gricignano, and began to think the person in question was Franco himself, once upon a time.Then one day we had an epiphany, coincidental with our friend Jimmy's epiphany, who had a less-than-fresh meal one night. We happened to be driving past the restaurant one day as Franco was building the fire for his rotisserie, the very one that roasted those delicious chickens. Put it this way, it wasn't just wood going into the fire. The final straw came when the plastic ballpoint pen in his pocket went into the fire (don't ask, I don't know why. At least Colonel Sanders was smart enough not to divulge his secret mix of herbs and spices). Turns out, Franco didn't care a whole lot about what was in his food, as long as you came down to buy it. And unfortunately, over time, his prices seemed to become more and more arbitrary, and he was milking us more and more for lower and lower quality. Giovanni the pizziolo left. I recalled an unusual encounter once when we entered for dinner one night. Usually when we would enter he'd come around the counter and greet us warmly, Italian style with cheek kisses - "Manuel, Caterina, come vai? Cosa vuoi?" But this one time, he was sitting with a well-dressed man and clearly ignored us as we walked in past him - he was in what appeared to be a serious conversation with this man. Conversation is perhaps not a correct description. Franco was not doing any talking. The man finally left and Franco came over to greet us, but didn't mention anything and wasn't his usual ebullient self. I'd always wondered what that was all about, and in my own mind, I've drawn the conclusion that our entire relationship with him and his restaurant changed from that point forward. That's when we began to notice the food wasn't as good anymore, and cost more. When our good friend Susan left, about a year before we did, we ate at Franco's as a farewell for her, and never made it back after that. To this day I'm still sad about what happened and wonder how Franco and Maria are doing.
Watching all the local culture from our front row seat had its perks. Like every other Italian town, Gricignano has its patron saint (Andrew) festival every summer (plus a few other festivals sprinkled throughout the year). Among other activities, they bring out St. Andrew from his abode and parade him around town, escorted by a full retinue of musicians, priests, and civic leaders.
We caught them as it passed our house, though through their looks they didn't exactly showed they approved (check out the two to the left of the priest):
Okay, learned my lesson: be careful what you take pictures of. The next time around I stayed up in the balcony and taped them from a safe distance. This will take some time to load, but keep an eye out for the end (turn up your volume): 
I thought we had seen it all, until the Italians won the World Cup in 2006. If you don't know what the World Cup is, remember one thing: soccer is the biggest sport in the world. So big, that the world championship can only happen every four years. So when Italy won, the whole population came out to celebrate. For those of us living off Front Street, it was literally a once-in-a-lifetime event.
Yes, that's right - 7 people in a SmartCar. It can be done. And it seemed like everyone owned an Italian flag. This is perhaps the singular event that can bring the entire Italian peninsula together in unison. 
Here they come! 
As usual, Kathy found a way to have a great time.
Funny how thumbs-up is a worldwide gesture.
The street party lasted all night.
I think we'll never get over having lived in Naples for 3 years. And the more time that passes, the more I begin to miss, although I miss the food the most. I mentioned how Giovanni the pizziolo left Franco's. He found new work in the next town over, in a shiny new restaurant, Anthony's. Anthony's was really good food. Once we discovered it, it quickly became our favorite place to go, as often as we could. 
It was clean, the owners were gracious, and welcomed us everytime we came. I distinctly got the impression these folks were a bit higher up in the local 'food chain,' if you will. Didn't matter to us; we enjoyed ourselves so much here, we ended up coming here for our 'last dinner' before leaving Italy. Most meals started with some combination of caprese salad (fresh mozzarella, tomatoes, basil) or zeppolini (fried salty dough - unbelievably good).
Giovanni definitely moved up in the world leaving Capitan Morgan's and coming to Anthony's.
If I'm desperate enough, I imagine I can still taste his pizza. Or the pasta fagioli, or bruschette. And this is why I've chosen to finally end this entry on Naples talking about food. With all the craziness, all the stresses, all the difficulties of living in Naples, in time that has already begun to fade a bit. But from the day I left, I've missed the food the most, and that has only gotten stronger.
And so it turns out, after all this writing and reflecting, I can't possibly sum up all of what Naples has meant to me. I can't even come close - it's too contradictory, too chaotic - like living in a tornado. To be honest, even at the end of this blog entry, I still can't give a coherent answer to "What's it like living in Naples?" But I certainly hope I've given you at least a small slice of what our experiences were like. And therefore I choose to finally finish here with a picture of Kathy with one of Giovanni's masterpieces, because when I think about what Naples has meant to me, to us, the start of the answer will begin with a thought about good food and good times shared with our closest friends there.Buon natale a tutti.
