“This is the highlight of my day!” Ailyn said as she and Sennen held on to the handrail in the Naples Metro. They laughed and were silly – because we had found a way to leave Naples that didn’t involve them walking through it.
The subway took us to the train station, where faced with waiting another 3:20 for our ticketed train, I actually paid 140 euros to leave within 15 minutes. There are moments you throw money at a problem – and this was one of them.
What began as perhaps the most anticipated moment of our trip – the side trip to Naples – THE foodie day – had begun with excitement, positivity and enthusiasm and ended in a whimper. In fact, when we got back from the train station, Ailyn wanted a rest and Sennen declared he doesn’t want dinner tonight.
The inflection point was undoubtedly the moment Ailyn began crying and said, “I stepped in shit! I HATE Naples! It’s disgusting! Why did we come here?! I want to leave!”
It was understandable – not stepping in shit was much more likely than stepping in it. Feces and urine lined the streets of Naples. We hoped it was all people not picking up after their dogs in a town with stone paved roads and no verdure. Only Ailyn’s incident wasn’t just a misstep – she, like several of us had jumped to the side of the road to avoid being hit by a passing car going down a narrow street in a designated pedestrian zone. This was a regular issue with cars and motor scooters driving through densely packed, narrow roads filled to the brim with pedestrians – most of them tourists, and of those a fair amount of Italian tourists.
Ailyn had faced a “shit or death” situation and she was nonplussed. Fortunately, she decided to stand on her tip-toes which seemed to save both she and her shoes. But the near-miss wasn’t making up for anything as far as she was concerned.
I found myself comforting my children by comparing our current situation in Naples to my time in Nepal and India. I heard myself and the corresponding absurdity.
We quickly caucused and decided we had three targets – the Valenti Gelateria recommended by Alex, any stand with fried pasta balls (a dish also recommended by Alex) and the Port d’Alba Pizzeria – the oldest pizzeria in the world and arguably the delivery room of pizza. Port d’Alba was the Holy Grail – at least for Sennen. After that, if we hadn’t begun enjoying Naples or found some other parts we wanted to explore, we could return to the train station and leave Naples early. With that guarantee, Ailyn could commit to the plan.
It wasn’t easy.
The crowd density was only slightly better than the Trevi Fountain and more than the Spanish Steps – which had been a disaster for the kids just yesterday. Only there were more tour groups, Italian families (perhaps enjoying their Sunday off?) and locals with dogs than anywhere in the Tridente and Trevi areas. Add in the periodic errant vehicle pushing everyone to the side and the abundant biological waste – and you have a situation Sennen and Ailyn found intolerable.
“Guys, consider this a good preparation for going to India or Nepal someday….” I said.
“I don’t want to go to India!” Ailyn yelled.
“I’m sure Mommy will want to take you to Nepal someday,” I tried again.
“She will – and I plan to say ‘no’ to that opportunity!” Sennen responded.
At that point, all we could do is try to keep track of each other and keep eyes on the prize. Gelato was our first stop. Alex, the kids’ former au pair and resident of my guest studio is from Urbino and said Valenti Gelateria in Naples is the best he’s ever had. He keeps photos of it. It was good. They had a couple of unique flavors like Vesuvio and Sotte de Napoli – both of which I tried because of their rarity – and the quality of the gelato was good. But not enough better to justify the literal shitstorm we contended with to get to it. The lack of any seating added insult to injury – leaving us to hover outside the Gelateria door so as not to enter the torrent of foot traffic.
I had already learned my lesson when along the way we had stopped to try a ball of fried pasta which is essentially an encrusted, deep-fried ball of pasta carbonara – and stood eating my cheesy treat, only to be pushed out of the way by a woman selling trinkets. I had apparently blocked passerby’s ability to properly see her religious figurines and she needed me out of the way – only there was really nowhere to go without getting back on the trail. Which I did.
We had agreed not to eat all of our generous portions of gelato so we had plenty of room to enjoy our final destination. Unfortunately, Ailyn wasn’t quite at the point when she would have dispensed with her gelato when we saw a large tour group led by a guide waving an Italian flag. We could get ahead of them or fall behind them – the choice was clear, even to Ailyn who regretted chucking her gelato into the bin the gelateria kindly provided. We hustled to get in front of the crowd and slalomed through the drifts of humanity intent on reaching Port d’Alba. It was almost to the end of the long, narrow street which changed names every few blocks that had been our living hell for at least a mile.
Port d’Alba, like so many of the “famous” pizzerias, had a stand out front to sell slices of pizza and fried pizza – which is just deep-fried cheese flat bread (essentially a greasy Italian quesadilla) passed off in Naples as something special. The kids deflated, thinking they had come to nothing more than a street-food stand, but I took them inside where indeed there was a two-story restaurant – the upstairs having a very large serving room. We requested a table for three, but it felt more like asking for sanctuary. It was clear the restaurant staff was used to its customers arriving harried. We were given a calm corner table upstairs and for a moment, it felt like everything was alright.
The nice, young Napolitano waiter was friendly and got us book-length menus with what may well have been a hundred different kinds of pizzas – not to mention fried street snacks, fried “pizzas” and pasta. We stared, discussed and negotiated until we agreed on ordering two pizzas and a set of fried street snacks to all share – that way all the specialties of Naples would come to our table. The pizzas the calm, well composed French family at the next table were eating were personal sized and – being the proper French people they were – ate them with a fork and knife as one might an omelet.
Our waiter made some recommendations, of which we took one and the other was a more simple cheesy Margherita pizza that appealed to Ailyn. Only when our food came, it was not like the genteel French family’s. Our pizzas were considerably larger and Ailyn’s not only had not-fully-melted cheese, but came on a rectangular wooden cutting smaller than the pizza itself – such that the edges of the pizza were dropping off. The pizza was not sliced and we were not given the sharp knives the lovely French family had to cut their pizzas – but instead seemed expected to use the butter knives of our place setting. Which I did until the waiter took pity on us and came with a pizza slicer – for which I was grateful.
When the second pizza came – the recommended one with pesto, buffalo mozzarella, prosciutto, grape tomatoes and parmesan slices – it was on a plate that fit the pizza exactly, only no pizza slicer or knife. At that point, I was adept at cutting pizza with a butter knife and made do. While the favors of the pesto pizza were good, the crust was thin to the point of being soggy and was easier to eat like a soft taco. The Margherita pizza was forgettable. And the assortment of fried street snacks was good for a series of one-bite tastes, but was really greasy and not particularly flavorful. The best among them was definitely the fried pasta/carbonara ball. There’s just really only so much fried we could take.
Amazingly, despite our pizza dreams, we left most of both pizzas – taking them to go so as not to offend anyone – and then discarding them after leaving. Perhaps on another day, in another place, we would have thought well of the pizzas – at least one was very flavorful with quality ingredients – but for Naples, the oldest pizzeria in the world and our great expectations – we left disappointed with both our culinary experience and Naples itself.
My biggest concern was how to get the kids back to the train station without retracing our many steps. No one wanted to go back down that road. Fortunately, Port d’Alba was near the Piazza Dante and its Metro stop – on the very line running to Naples Central Train Station.
“We get to go down below and disappear…. I love it! It’s the perfect way to leave!” Sennen said as we made our way down the stairs. Amazingly, the Naples Metro trains may be the cleanest place we saw in Naples and we were grateful for their aid.
Still, in light of the experience of the day and despite the pleasantness of the subway, I decided to pay the extra 25 euros to get Business Class train tickets – the same as I got a much better deal on when I booked ahead online – so we could head back to Rome in style and comfort. The crew needed a pick-me-up.
There are probably hundreds of wonderful things we could have enjoyed about Naples if we had properly explored it. Besides being a historic city, rife with culture, it is also a large port city home to almost a million people. There are many parts of town we did not experience which might have been delightful. We just had no remaining bandwidth for them today. I may have paid the bill at the restaurant, but when it came to Naples itself, both kids asked for the check.
I suppose the upside is that Rome looks A LOT better to the kids now. They’re looking forward to a day strolling around Monti which we have reason to believe is a little more relaxed and “bohemian” as the Lonely Planet described it. I think the main criteria for a good day is being able to walk comfortably – and without risking life, limb or stepping in anything. Which again, could be said of my ideal day in Delhi.
Of course, “bad days” have many lessons. On the train, I told the kids I’m really glad we went to Naples. Our trip is an adventure – and adventures are not all smooth and happy. We have to have things to overcome, bumps along the path. That’s the very reason we appreciate adventures and what separates them from resort stays. If we had never gone to Naples, we might always imagine a beautiful city filled with our dream Italian food that we just didn’t get to…. but now we know and we can be satisfied with our knowledge. We’ll always have the memory of our “shitty” day in Naples to joke about in the future. It will make for good stories. We’ll grow a little from it. Just as I hated Delhi – possibly more than any city I’ve ever been – but I’m so glad I went. It was an important adventure.
The kids seemed to grasp the idea. They just need a night to reset.
It will be interesting to see what they conclude about Italy at the end of the trip. Both seemed happy to get to Rome initially and have since become nostalgic about Venice. Rome has a lot to process. Naples – even in a short time – has even more. There’s lots of going on in their heads. For the moment, their stomachs – and mine – need a break.
