Naples, Italy March 28, 2016

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Naples, Italy

At supper the evening before we arrived at Naples, we scored a nice window seat with Doug and Marianne, and Brainard and Leslie. This was one of the nicest night views of the whole cruise. The sun set behind Mount Etna, hulking on the western horizon and we sailed north along the pretty twinkling corridor of shore lights lining the passage between the eastern coast of Sicily and the toe of Italy's boot.

The lights of smaller boats out fishing twinkled and bobbed, and ferries doing their night crossings traversed ahead of and behind us. A couple of cruise ships passed the other way and there were greetings exchanged with lights and foghorns. This brought to mind to unwelcome thought that after Rome, we would be headed to Corsica and would pass close to Isola del Giglio, where in 2012 an inattentive and exuberant Captain Schettino grounded the Costa Concordia and put its 4,252 people in the water.

Naples, we were told, is a quieter version of Rome, and it seems so, certainly on Easter Monday morning when the streets are empty and the old downtown quiet and still. A relaxing, almost mundane day after the frantic cultural chaos of Mumbai and the stark, empty beauty of Jordan.

Pickpocketspickpocketspickpockets. Tourists in Europe are the pickpocket's ATM. We had many warnings from folk we respected as competent authorities on the matter, as most of them had been victims themselves. The ashore people were full of warnings about tourist scams and thieves. Many of the crew had stories of being robbed and not discovering it until they were back on board.

Warnings abounded too, to take vehicle traffic seriously. We weren't in slow-moving SE Asian traffic any more, and for the thousands of rushed Neapolitans piloting their machines of frustrated aggression, stop signs and traffic lights aren't even a suggestion; they are simply there, and attract no more attention from drivers than does a lamppost.

We had to decide whether to make the trek to Pompeii, or to see more of the town. We opted for our favourite thing, urban wandering, after learning that the Museum has the very best collection of artifacts from Pompeii.

The grey morning greeted us, misty, damp and cool. We donned our rain gear, filled our walking bag with water bottles and cameras and stuff and set off. Shipmates headed for Herculaneum or Pompeii or Vesuvius, and Marilen, I think, took a ferry to Capri for the day, where the weather was nicer.

We immediately found that, it being Easter Monday, traffic was very light throughout the morning, until just after lunch when the people of Naples finished with their indoor religious and family obligations. But before this vibrant population explosion, a wonderfully quiet early morning wander took us through sparsely-populated streets, up long staircases and through courtyards, cathedrals and our first Italian piazzas.

Our first goal was the old fort that guards the harbour. We exited the port area onto a four-lane with zipping cars and ponderous plodding buses filling each lane. This crossing was also the central exit from the ferry area. Crowds of Neopolitans were arriving as well, having made the various crossings from islands and nearby mainland points, to spend the holiday with family.



A couple of cops stood by to enforce the stop light and pedestrian crossing leading from the docks to downtown. From the expressions on the faces of some drivers, the police presence was a major impediment to their driving habits, unaccustomed as they were to actually stopping at red lights. Indeed, a car or two might try to inch through gaps in the pedestrian flow, fenders risking a cop's baton rap.



Perched on the hill just up from the docks sits the fort. It is called Castel Nuovo, the New Fort, first erected is 1279. (They have trouble letting go, these folks.) It dates to when Naples was a kingdom, and its capital was Palermo. From there, it has a long and complex history of wars and occupations and liberations and annexations, each event itself also long and complex, fraught with the intrigue and deception and mass violence which punctuates European history.

It is a very cool building. Lots of plaques and engraved arches and stone frescos detailing long-ago conflicts and simmering resentments. A place to easily spend too much distracted time; our primary goal for the day was a visit to the world-class Naples National Archaeological Museum.

We strolled uphill and deeper into the city, headed east and south, roughly pacing the waterline. Piazzas sprinkle the old centertown, and often mark the subway stops.

Construction sites abounded, but on that holiday, the machinery sat silent. Such a dramatic change from the neverending construction activity of Indonesia or Malaysia.

Half-started projects are cordoned off until the archaeologists can have a look at what the work has accidentally found. How they dug a subway and accommodated the archaeological discoveries made with each shovelful of rock and dirt would fill a series of books.

Alleyways and architecture spanning centuries of evolving cultures and influences. Ancient marble church steps worn deep by the footsteps of centuries of the faithful. Doorways scarcely tall enough to admit a child where the pavement and streets have grown up around them. Grand wooden carriage doors leading into ornate courtyards full of marble floors and benches and statues, and lush greenery carefully tended. Everywhere, tiny cars jammed into too-small parking spots.

Vesuvius can be seen in the east and we imagined the sight of it spilling rivers of lava into the sea and the valleys.

All this we saw in a quiet that was remarkable for such a normally dense and busy city. Occasionally, the quiet was broken by abrupt eruptions of firecrackers. These rapid, staccato explosions alarmed us at first, but in the absence of subsequent sirens, we became accustomed to the random explosive outbursts.

The closer we got to noon, the more people and vehicles appeared. By the time we reached our turn northwards, many alleys and tiny side streets had filled their edges with the awnings of holiday peddlers selling everything from shoes to shwarma.

We saw the ends of some Easter parades dispersing into the city, taking their colourful costumes and ornately accessorised floats home to be cleaned and packed away until the next festival. Indeed, through the afternoon we saw many brightly dyed culottes and blouses and vests of green and yellow and gold and black, freshly washed and hung out to dry on balcony railings and windowsills and clotheslines strung high between buildings and across alleyways.

We continued uphill to the northeast where I thought the Museum might be. More established vendors had begun to throw open their shutters and doors and now congregated amiably on the sidewalks, sharing Easter pastries and coffees and wines. Amongst the older men, the flash of a silver flask changing hands could be seen, the receiver turning away for a quick nip.

Now the crowds and traffic looked more like Mumbai, too many people and vehicles in too-narrow streets.

Our waypoint destination was the very grand National Archaeological Museum of Naples. We hit the lineup of fellow museum-goers after walking all along and past it while wondering what it was for. We saw that we had indeed found the museum; we had come much further and faster than we had thought. I figured we were at least another ten minute stroll away.

We backtracked to the end of the line. People queued up behind us, everyone's mood jovial and festive; a rare day off for many, a long, long weekend for some. Tour buses belched up to disgorge their contents, and grumbled off again to seek parking for a couple of hours, leaving clouds of diesel around us. These pre-booked tourists jumped the line, 42 people at a time. Nevertheless, the line moved easily and often.

The lineup itself was great entertainment in the form of people watching. The weather was fine, if a little cool after our more southerly experiences. Young families idled with strollers and diaper bags as the older kids ran about playfully. Groups of teens gathered and flirted, or gazed fixedly at their phones. Twentysomething couples abounded, very few with wedding rings and I wondered if today's Neapolitan parents were still so traditional that the majority of these unmarried adult were still living at home.

Finally reaching the front of the line, we stood at the door of the lobby and admired. The inside of the 17th-century building is beautifully renovated in a classical mood to fit the preponderance of world-class Greek, Roman and Renaissance relics, and myriad displays of frescoes and mosaics and sculptures and household artifacts recovered from the volcanic ruins of Pompeii, Herculaneum and Stabiae.

Approaching the ticket kiosk, we found Sandy and Cyril just leaving. Sandy waved a finger at us, "You must find the Secret Room and see the penises, I mean erotica," she twinkled.

After clearing tickets and security, we entered a long display hall leading to a sweeping double staircase of marble flanked by two dramatic statues of Hercules; the steps themselves are gently worn by millions of feet over the centuries.

After the long walk and subsequent lineup, the suggestion of a Western toilet sounded like a dandy idea. No more squatty potties.

There was quite a lineup winding up the ornate stone basement staircase for the Ladies', but traffic in and out of the Men's was brisk. Standing at the base of the stairs, where the communal sinks were located, the toilet doors were clearly in sight and a couple of local gals observed that the men were turning the corner for the urinals, meaning nobody was using the doored toilet stalls. In seconds, the Ladies' line was shorter and all the men's toilet cubicles were put to good use.

Most men observing this efficiency were unfazed, politely yielding way to the sinks or toilets with a gallant wave of the hand, or first looking a little startled and then giving a European shrug. However, one thirtyish gentlemen in a kufi skullcap became quite distressed. He entered the washroom, observed a woman leaving a toilet, turned on his heel, saw the line of women for the Ladies', turned on his heel again to see another woman go into the toilet, and outraged, he threw his hands into the air and fled the intolerable scene.

Returning to the main hall, we admired the statuary and architecture and read the sparse plaques for information. The hall was flanked by open courtyards with gardens and pathways. Exiting the hallway to the outside area I could see that it used to be open to the hallways surrounding the perimeter, but now was enclosed in glass along the courtyard side, the hallways full of a vast array of sculpture.

An oddity caught my eye - through the foliage, towards the centre of the courtyard, i could clearly see the back of what looked for all the world like an ivory Batman cowl. Approaching the center of the yard revealed three tall, skinny, impossibly long-legged bone-white statues of Batman, facing each other in a circle, in crucifiction-like poses.

Of course, there was no explanation. I later discovered that we had found the first installation of a project not yet fully installed. A side exhibit upstairs displayed four huge oil paintings of the figures with various symbolism applied, such as a Christian cross and a swastika. One internet comment said it was, "in counterpoint to the treasures of Pompeii in close juxtaposition," which sounds to me a little like pretentious hooey.

The exhibits range from prehistoric to modern, irreplaceable treasures of artistic expression from Pompeii, the Roman Empire, the Greeks and the Italians. Many treasures were, sadly, on loan to other exhibits, ironically traveling through Montreal and Toronto while we wander here. There was much to admire from many different eras, even a large overflow of statuary stored in in courtyard in a huge inaccessible glass enclosure like a greenhouse.

The main hall on the second floor is awe-inspiring. Magnificent artworks from many eras "in close juxtaposition." Delicate treasures, wall-sized oil paintings, entrancingly complex jewelry and powerful sculptures; all dramatically different in material and presentation and individually quite exquisite.

Tourist tip: by the time we were partway through the second floor, we quite regretted not getting the audio guide. Signage and detail is sparse to nonexistent, although many of the exhibits are quite evocative, especially their non-Pompeii collection of fabulous works, exquisitely displayed and inadequately signed. There is, though, a worthwhile guide list of recommended highlights available.

And there was the Erotica Collection, an unexpected delight of repressive authoritarian shame-based fear and confusion towards human sexuality in art, no matter its historical uniqueness or importance.

The infamous Secret Room: actually a series of rooms, chock full of frescoes and mosaics and sculptures and wall paintings from Pompeii and Herculaneum, all of a libidinous bent. Those under 14 can view the exhibits only with an adult. Ah, Europe.

The original name is Gabinetto Segreto, The Secret Cabinet, or Cabinets of Matters Reserved, and it was previously open only to people of "mature age and known morals." The "Secret" part was code of the day for artwork of a lascivious turn, considered by many to be obscene and likely to incite licentiousness. Indeed, the word "Secret" was understood amongst the knowledgable to mean in context, "obscene."

The post-revolution monarchy of 1848 wanted the seditiously carnal things destroyed utterly so as to dissociate itself from the semblance of lustful social corruption, but many artworks escaped this fate and were eventually literally walled up, out of humiliation.

It's unknown how many treasures may have been destroyed by moral crusaders enraged by the sinful depictions, as they were certainly no fans of the homoeroticism portrayed in so many Greek and Roman artistic artifacts. Indeed, many of the male nude statues in the main hall and elsewhere had long ago been neutered by chisel-wielding social guardians of various eras.

Over the decades, the moral pendulum deciding worthy access swung back and forth, but spend most of its time on the censorship side and the collection was alternately hidden and ignored for decades until it was forgotten, to be rediscovered and opened to certain scholars or members of the elite, then to be shamefully hidden away yet again when some new authority became morally outraged.

In 1971, new rules were established for these historical works, and lascivious though they indeed are, the collection was opened, withdrawn, then re-curated and in 2000 opened to the public, despite the risks of inciting uncontrollable lusts. Lusts.

Really it was pretty tame, more of a sociological snapshot of brothel life and signage, fertility amulets and humourous statues, and depictions of mythological scenes on ceramic plates, like Leda helping the Swan find an effective position (which I admit had certainly flummoxed my imagination until I saw it illustrated). Paintings and mosaics and statues of couples and groups in mythological and everyday scenes, (well, relatively everyday), but always something to do with having sex, getting ready for sex, or just having had sex.

Lots and lots of large clay and stone phalluses and statuettes of small men with outsized phalluses and phalluses engraved on bricks pointing the direction to the brothel. Even a box full of flaccid clay penises of all shapes and sizes, as if an artist had taken casts of all the men in a village, but sadly, no audio guide, no explanation.

The star of the show is Pan and the Goat. This depicts the furry god with goat's legs standing en flagrante with a reclining nanny goat, which sports a silly, lustful grin. Pan's anatomy is explicit in its unrealistically outsized detail. While you think that this may indicate the debauchery of the culture, the historical observer should be reminded that a goat hooking up with a goat is to be expected; it certainly was no big deal to the Romans.

A last stop in the small but varied Egyptian exhibit. There is no room for their collection but the room tries to be representative of art of the varied dynasties.

Exit through the gift shop, sparsely stocked with Italian books on art history and Pompeii, and overpriced plastic souvenir doodads for the kids which are not at all representative of the museum.

We emerged into midafternoon Naples, the lineup for the museum even longer than before, traffic at a standstill, everyone in a hurry to make the most of the holiday. We launched ourselves into the moving streams of bodies cramming the sidewalk. Occasionally people would spill off the curb and into traffic, causing annoyed consternation from the traffic cops, and watchful anticipation on the part of local motorists who seemed to regard the errant pedestrians as newly legitimate targets.

Naples is a harbour town, so if one continues meandering downhillish, one eventually is likely to find a shoreline. We dodged cars and crossed streets with people who seemed to know what they we doing. Mmm, not always a safe bet. We survived anyway.

At one point, a tiny, sputtering Mr Bean-like car barely large enough for its inhabitants pulled out of traffic and squeaked to a halt abreast of us. A window rolled down and the young driver yelled something incomprehensible at me, in what I supposed was Italian. I shrugged, and called back, "No Italiano." He gave me a look like I had spat on his grandmother's shoes in church. Strangely, rather than try someone else (there were lots of other people there, I'm sure some of them spoke Italian), he rolled up his window and screeched and nosed and forced his little car back into traffic and roared off in disgust.

We navigated the crush of cars and people and soon, the cars disappeared and Neopolitans owned the street from shopfront to shopfront. Awnings sprang up on the sidewalks and streets over tables offering all manner of produce and utensils and shoes and lots of Catholic and Easter-themed icons. Packed alleyways lined with colourful temporary awnings over stalls stalls drew a straight line up the hillside and the foreshortening of a telephoto shot packs the people's head like sardines, seemingly a solid mass of meanderers all the way uphill into the distance.

Barely surreptitious exchanges of money for tiny packages. Tented bazaars on plazas selling Dollar Store goods, dinnerware and cookware, tourist stuff and, it seems, no street food other than a bustlingly competitve cotton candy trade. Cutthroat spun sugar vendors angrily defended their shrinking turf as more vendors showed up with the compact, easily portable drum and blower. Just need a power source to plug into. Some carted a couple of car batteries, cutting way down on portability.



Evidently a good and modern subway system runs through the region, but as we were unrushed, we never saw more than the entrances disappearing down dark staircases sunk into the sidewalk. Six lines connect the city, and there are lots of buses, trams and four funicolare (funicular, or cable cars) climbing and descending the intimidatingly steep hillsides.

Gelato and Neapolitan pizzas are tourists favourites here, touted as ground zero for their invention and popularity. The "pizza margherita" is tomato, basil and mozzarella. Ornate pastries are a matter of local pride as well, and some of the offerings are works of art just to see.

Another tourist tip - Rome and Naples are pretty close to each other. Had we thought of it, we could have either stayed overnight in Naples and taken the early morning train to Rome, to then take the afternoon train to the cruise port 90 minutes further north; or from Naples, taken the afternoon train north and stayed overnight in Rome, and we would have been somewhat spared our tightly scheduled Roman Holiday.

An easy and uneventful stroll back through all the busyness until a downhill turn took us through high, narrow ancient streets and centuries-old neighborhoods and eventually emerged from the stone and brick canyons to a point with a view of the harbour, back near our first piazza.

A nice taste of an old and storied city. A place to someday spend some time in, and use as a base to venture further afield.

There was a grand view from the stern for the evening sail-away. Naploli marches up the mountainsides and spreads up and down the coast. As our view receded, the city lights began to come on and could be seen easily for some time as the evening darkened and we moved oh so slowly to nearby Rome.

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Photos

Naples, Italy
Coming into the harbour.

Naples, Italy
Castel Nuovo. Built in 1279.

Naples, Italy
Triumphal Arch of Alfonso the Magnanimous 1443

Naples, Italy
Our first piazza!!

Naples, Italy
After the parade.

Naples, Italy
Batman installation at the Museo Archeologico Nazionale

Naples, Italy
So many statures...so little space. The outdoor storage area of the museum.

Naples, Italy
More Batman...very odd.

Naples, Italy
View from Museum window.

Naples, Italy
Atlas

Naples, Italy
Athena

Naples, Italy
Stars of the 'Secret Room'...Pan and the goat.