Le Isole Al Sole

Water of Capri

Islands have to evoke some positive image in most peoples’ minds when it comes to the mention of the word.  Naples has three not far from its shoreline and each offers something completing different to its visitor.

Capri (pronounced car-pree), the most famous, Procida (pronounced pro-schee-da) and Ischia (pronounced iss-kee-a) are approximately an hour away by boat give or take 20 minutes.  Fast or slow boats will get you there, varying in price, by several boat companies.

 Each island offers its own attractions and benefits yet I declare my favourite of them all is Procida.  Capri is without a doubt, a beautiful island.  The deepest blue water, pristine buildings, happy coloured boats and a buzz of activity with open-top shiny taxis, white pants, blue shirts and mirrored sunglasses.  Smooth white pebbles edge the shoreline with patches of sand coveted by those who don’t want to pay for the day beds and umbrellas that soften the impact from the smooth white rocks.  The gentle rise up to Ana Capri holds the best of hotels, expensive cafes and restaurants and designer clothes shops.  Porters run up and down the narrow streets carrying the luggage of the rich and possibly famous although I haven’t seen any one that I know of yet – they’re probably dropped in by helicopter.  Just past this hub of activity is the drop to a stunning view and the prettiest colour of water to my eyes.  A winding path runs down to waters edge and another nucleus of homes. 

Capri

There is nothing on Capri that reflects the surface grime or graffiti of Naples.  The sun shines on every street and shade is provided by green shrubs and palms rather than tall buildings.  It’s like a film-set really and one that I’m very happy to be on, yet if only I could afford it.  Catching the 7.35am boat that takes an hour will get me there for just over 9 euro or almost double that if I take a fast boat.  It is refreshing to be down at the port and then boating on calm water heading to an island when there is a semblance of quiet and nature can be appreciated before the traffic devours it. 

The Carthusian perfumery established in 1948 uses formulas that date back to 1380 that originated on the island and its distillery and shop front still operate today. Food and drink are rudely overpriced so to bring a packed lunch is advised if you’re on a budget or just object to being overcharged.  Being on Capri makes me feel part of the rich and famous even though it’s just for a day.

Ischia

The first thing I was ever told about Ischia is that it’s big in size and not really an island to walk around on foot and much frequented by German tourists for the thermal baths.  I visited Ischia for the first time last week and found it a very different environment to Capri and Procida.  The island is big, as was told, and so has a lot more traffic on it, the four-wheeled as well as the foot kind.  The shops are somewhat like the Gold Coast in Australia hosting a generic-range of brightly coloured resort-wear along with an excess of retailers trying to attract those who ‘have to shop’.  I could easily fit into this category but not for this kind of merchandise.  Many of the people on the Ischia dress for Carnivale as opposed to the Ralph-Lauren fashionista’s of Capri.   The accommodation looked unpretentious and relaxing and prompting a memory of holiday on Magnetic Island as child.

The streets are pleasant to walk around and the beaches are of volcanic brown/black sand.  Due to the hills or small mountains on Ischia, a motorised vehicle is possibly the way to see most of it.  The water isn’t the fantastic blue of Capri but I’ve been told that there are better beaches at other parts of the island accessible by bus, than the one I went to near the Port.  It was disappointing that there weren’t take away food stalls for lunch because I always like to try some savoury, delicious treat when out and about for the day but they only sold take away sweet pastries and gelato.  The restaurants were geared towards tourists to sit down only so that they’re charged accordingly although  I don’t begrudge them making a living.  Luckily I had packed a panini of my own making.  I look forward to another visit to Ischia to explore beyond the Port area. 

Procida

Procida was first experienced in 2000 when I, and a friend from the Netherlands, arrived early one morning at 7.00am.  As we hadn’t had breakfast we ventured toward a café soon after disembarking from the boat.  Hunger provided a great appreciation for the just baked caramelised onion and rosemary focaccia, followed by several coffees.  Well passed hunger, I ordered another round, as I couldn’t get enough of the sweet, salty flavour of the onion, herb and bread.  Italians in the south of Italy are good at putting salt in their bread.  (When eating bread in Siena I was rudely shocked that anything Italian could fall way short of southern standards).  We were offered a coffee referred to as Café Corretto, which is coffee with a dash of Grappa.  They may have assumed that to be up so early it was possible we hadn’t gone to bed at all and so needed a ‘hair of the dog’ to put us in good stead for the day.  The name of the coffee translates to ‘coffee corrected’ hence the Grappa correcting the hangover.  I have to say I like my coffee pure in the morning and so didn’t indulge.

Procida

Walking around Procida back then held no evidence of any tourist invasion or visit for that matter.  More people are visiting this great little island and I noted that there are more shops now around the Port than I recall.  I hope that the islands harmless and gorgeous winding streets with beautifully dilapidated and colourful homes aren’t changed.  The sand too is dark and the water appears green/brown and washes in with barely a wave or white foam.  Fishing is still its primary industry as I understand it to be and I love the purple, blue and orange fishing nets wound and twisted like thick hair in a chignon that slump on the wharfs with the weight of a resting seal.  Cork floats bejewel the nets and are as decorative to the eye as the fish they catch in them.

Procida is very walkable and if you're a romantic like myself it's the best way to see things.  There are a couple of beaches where one can swim and another area for snorkelling.  Food is found in restaurants that are not always seen from the street, for instance, one that I have frequent sits on the side of a hill which runs down to the beach.  The restaurants roof is covered in thin, cane blinds, the same colour as the sandy cliffs overgrown with prickly pear or Indian Fig as the locals refer to them.  Inside the space the entrance to the crazy paving floor is dusted in sand leading to a small floor bath to clean the feet before sitting down.  Patterned ceramic jugs hold the house wines that I find perfect to drink with lunch, as I don’t feel sleepy when consuming them.  Seafood is definitely my favourite meat to eat when it is cooked properly (i.e. not overcooked and lightly seasoned with lemon and salt) and my craving for it is always heightened around sea air.  To enjoy my lunch whilst looking over the beach has got to be the best aid for good digestion.

Ischia

The 1994 Michael Radford directed film, Il Postino, was partly shot on Procida and the building used for the inn where the character, Beatrice Russo worked remains today.  I was thrilled to find the location of the building, as the film is a favourite of mine.  Procida has the pace that appeals to me when being on an island and all the walking, swimming and eating provide me with all the contentment that I need.

As passionate as I feel about Procida I hope that you can visit and explore for yourself if you’re lucky enough to get there, and to create your own lovely memories of this island along with Capri and Ischia.  

Ciao, hellsbells

Sandra - The Zen Masters of Hair Styling

If any of you have spent enough time in my company you would know that I have always been ‘funny’ about my hair.  By that, I mean that hair stylists – as they prefer to be called today - never know how to cut thick, coarse, hair like mine and I felt I was often left looking like the ‘wrong person’ with a hair-do that I wasn’t happy with, to say the least.

Strangely, when I did find a hair stylist who did ‘get’ my hair, they cost a fricken fortune.  Why is that?  Why can’t they be the cheapest haircutter in town?  And, you may be saying to yourself at this point, because you have to pay to get good quality professionals, and if you are then I can say to you, that’s what I thought but wrong!

On one of my walkabouts around the streets of Naples I decided to catch the funiculare (cable car) up to Vomero, a place that contrasts to the narrow, shady streets of the historic centre where I reside.  I stepped out of the station and took an instinctive turn to my left purely because I hadn’t taken that path before.  A few meters down the hill I passed a small fronted shop with a fresh white frame trimmed with purple and orange – trust me it does look good.  The hint of activity from the three hair stylist inside seen by my peripheral vision made me stop in my tracks and walk back to it.  I stood there taking in the scene: small, neat, stylish, women, calm, nothing threatening, and in I stepped.

A young woman, Claudia, greeted me and I in return said, Buongiorno. Parla inglese?  Pocco, with a sideways nod of her head.  Then, grabbing strands of my hair, I point to the roots saying colour.  She nodded her understanding.  Quanta costa?  Ventidue.  I felt like I had been incorrectly quoted in my favour, a bargain price on an expensive item. When can you do it?  Now.

My hair did need a trim yet given my peculiarity about my hair being cut I thought to have the roots coloured would be the test as to whether this was going to be my hairdresser whilst residing in Naples. I had tried only days before to use a packet hair dye which I hadn’t used in at least twenty years and not only did it not take to my hair but it cost me close to 19 euro to buy the products required.  To have my hair coloured for 4 euro more was a dream.

Men usually do hair styling and cutting in Naples; to find a salon that has a woman working in it, let alone all women is a bit of a find.  Why this is so I’m not sure but like my doctors, I prefer someone of the same gender so that they will have some understanding of how things work.  I am certainly not opposed to having a man cut my hair, take a pap smear or discuss the non-joys of menopause but it certainly helps to have someone who shares a similar gender lifestyle to mine.

It was the vibe of the place that told me these women knew what they were doing.  My first clue were the other clients in the salon.  They were middle-aged women, of my own category and some older, who had well cut hair.  Like a butcher, I pride myself on being able to see a good cut several meters off and the way the hair fell on the heads of these women told me that I was in the right place.  Italian women also have thick hair similar to mine so it was reassuring that I wasn’t going to be told, as I once was by a hair stylists, that I had bastard hair. 

Observing all around me, the three stylists, Claudia, Sandra and Veronica didn’t have the attire of a female night club bouncer as some hairdressers do that can make me feel that my regular clothing falls short of interesting.  And if we shared the same language I also believe that I wasn’t going to be asked ‘and what are you doing tonight?’ as if it were obligatory to be dining or partying at a recently opened business that was launched by Vogue or owned by Justin Hemmes. 

No, Sandra is a place of regular women of no nonsense who are unpretentious, hard working Zen masters of hair styling and cutting.  Watching these woman move around a small space with grace and calm, remove hair from the floor with an efficient slow curving sweep of the broom reminded me of a gardener’s rake attending to a Japanese sand garden.  The three women greeted their customers as an Australian would greet a relative.  They said their name, kissed each cheek and sometimes took hold of a hand as they spoke.

The Zen stylists washed the heads of hair with as much care as a palliative nurse: gentle, loving and soothing.  To watch hair being cut by them is truly remarkable as the cutter’s eye measures the thin gathered strands with a seconds pause before cutting and then scooping the next thin layer drawing it back to her rather than straight up.  Cutting in small amounts is a sign of a confident cutter because each layer needs to be connected to the next and to maintain consistency when cutting this way is the work of a master.

Taking fleeting glances at the Italian version of Women’s Day, my hair gooped with colour and facing a large mirror I can see all that goes on around me.  When I reached for my reading glasses, Sandra stops what she is doing, gently takes the glasses from my hands, Gladwrap’s the ends of them and presents then to me with a smile.  You have no idea how much this impresses me.  As a stickler for fine detail – big time!

Following the two hours of pleasure viewing hair stylists at Sandra it is time for me to have the colour washed out.  This takes about 12 minutes.  It is washed, then washed, then conditioned, and then washed.  When placed back into my chair, I am asked in Italian if I want my hair dried straightened or natural, but I didn’t understand this at the time and so shrug.  Claudia takes charge and starts to blow-dry my hair.  Each layer, like cutting, is taken by a round bristled brush and rolled and straightened and rolled with the arm movements of a weaver or a percussionist.  I worried about her arms getting tired and so slid down in my chair to accommodate.  She smiles and we both feel good.

When the hairdryer is turned off I look up and feel transformed.  My hair is a soft bouncy ball of shiny blond so perfectly styled that it looks like something from a magazine.  Ordinarily I always opt for au naturale but that day I loved my new look.  Perfecto! Grazie mille.  Bueno, molto bueno.  Grazie, Claudia.  Grazie mille.

My hair bounced and curved with a silky texture I hadn’t felt before on my head.  I was Mary Tyler Moore, who could turn the world on with a smile.  I wanted to hug them and it took a little control not to.  I paid my money and hovered a few inches off the ground all the way home. 

A month later on my second appointment I had my hair trimmed and was very happy with the result.  The cut was classic, as are the cutting styles at Sandra.  I don’t believe it is the place to have your Mohawk or lop sided style that appears to have made a come back into fashion which is not to say they wouldn’t do it.  I’m a big fan of classic with a twist, but more so of styles that suit the face despite the fashion de jour.  The cut I was given was so good it inspired me to purchase some vintage sunglasses, (yes there is an ‘s’ on the end of the word), to go with my classic look.  One pair is Christian Dior and the other a no-name brand but well suited for my face and I love wearing them.

I have sent quite a few people to Sandra since being here and ne’er an unhappy customer.  I found out that they also do the odd eyebrow shaping and who knows what other talents these women have up their sleeves.  For those of you who may venture to Naples and need your hair done here is the address:  Sandra Querini – Parrucchiere per Signora, via Morghen, 70 B, Napoli. 081 578 88 91

The other thing to add is that making an appointment is not the done thing.  You just turn up and wait, and what a pleasurable wait it will be.

Ciao

hellsbells

The Art of Wearing Heels

Neapolitan streets can be treacherous to walk on in flat shoes in fine weather never mind in heels.  There are two kinds of road surface here: ones made of small, square, cobbled stones or large square flagstones with barely an even surface between them. 

The Birkenstock sandals that I wear most days since being here are ruined already due to the raised corners of buckled, chunky, square stone that have cracked and split the cork of the shoe.     

I have also experienced aching legs from all the walking on these hard uneven surfaces let alone accomplishing such kilometers in the foot wear I'm in awe of, despite whether it is attractive or not.

You may be a flat shoe follower like myself but one cannot help but admire the precision required by so many women in Naples who wear excessively high shoes.  I am amazed and fascinated how they can walk in such shoes on such surfaces.  To hear a car drive over this surface is like hearing a truck run over a cattle grid, which is very similar to the sound of a flat tyre on a moving car.  I journeyed on a bus from Posillipo one Sunday afternoon and thought the teeth were going to be shaken from my jaw.  Apart from the rough surface of the road, the bus clearly had no shock absorbers.  I had concerns for elderly citizens on the bus who were desperately trying to hang on to the rails whilst the bus’ rattle viciously tugged at their grip.  And anyone who was close to full term pregnancy took delivery of their offspring into their own hands when ascending the bus steps. 

Italians look adorable when they promenade, arm in arm, not just with their partner but friends of the same sex.  Seeing linked arms makes me feel that the world is good place.  Yet I now know that walking arm in arm is not about friendship or love but about having someone to support you in ridiculously high heels and to catch you if you take a dive.  A slow stroll is another thing that can be seen in Naples which I believe provides some calm amongst the chaos.  I suspect this too is about negotiating the uneven surface and maintaining balance as well as coping with the heat and humidity in summer.

In all the time I have been in Naples I’ve not once seen someone fall or even stub her or his toe on these uneven stones so this suggests to me that there must be an art to it. 

A month ago I purchased a pair of platform shoes as nothing makes you blend in with Neapolitan life more than a pair of platform shoes, stylish boots and some bling on your denim wear.  The shoes I purchased are without doubt, comfortable, and I can easily walk in them, at the shoe store.  The true test however is to walk on the paving stones of concern that takes the experience to a whole other level and like my Italian, it’s one I’m prepared to practice. 

Shoes with a seven-inch-plus heals are reserved for the Olympians in this field.  It appears impossible for the small surface of a shoe, particularly one with a spiky heel and a wedge, to make a solid purchase on the uneven face of a path or road and yet they do it!  I have tried to observe their method when I pass a Shoe Olympian in the streets putting my own safety at risk as I do so by diverting my eyes from looking out for potentially threatening traffic, to watching these Olympian feet in their clobber of highness walk like a model on the catwalk. 

It is unheard of for Italians to wear rubber thongs and given their style, quite rightly so.  There are quite a few Neapolitans who wear a sports shoe, which is of course very sensible and stylish and clearly for the non Shoe Olympian such as myself.  Yet, I also know that when Neapolitans have a special event to attend to they get dressed up and the heels are brought out and put on.  Again, I stand alone, but do I?  I now have my platforms, I have taken them for a test drive and passed my Learners and as I walk my way out of my Provisional period I know that I will graduate proudly by the end of my time here.  

Ciao

hellsbells

Wax On Wax Off

I’ve never had my legs waxed before so when I found out how relatively cheap beauticians are in Naples I was ready to give it a go. 

An appointment was made by phone by my friend Jenny who speaks fluent Italian, requesting on my behalf to have my legs waxed and eyebrows tinted.  Feeling quite confident that nothing more needed to be done I set off on the appointed day, walking a few blocks before I realised that I had left the address to the beautician back at the hostel.  Recalling the instructions from Jen about how to get there, I forged on and eventually reached the building after a few twists and turns up and down the same street only to find I wasn’t quite there yet.  The beautician was situated in one of the many buildings you will see in Naples whereby you step through a small door that is part of a large set of doors opening into an internal courtyard.  From there, you either ascend steps to the required level or take an incredibly small and old elevator that only works if you have 10 cents. 

Buildings are usually managed by porters who have a small cubicle or office.  As I had no idea what level the beautician was I strode up and asked my usual question, ‘Parla inglese?’ receiving the usual reply, ‘No’.  I then quoted the incorrect business name, Blue Angel instead of Beauty Angel, which of course didn’t help the porter so I was left to my next resort of charades.  I wasn’t particularly keen to re-enact a bikini wax to the porter and his intrigued friend, and miming a leg wax may easily look as if I was brushing off bugs.  He tried to help by placing his two palms together to the side of his head and miming sleep to suggest that I was looking for accommodation, to which I replied, No, I want Blue Angel, appreciatiing how much that could have sounded like the name of a sex parlour and then pretending to draw eyebrows on myself.  Ah, si, si, si!  Both men responded.  They pointed to the stairs saying quattro piano. 

Up I climbed the four floors only to find the door to the business was closed. I knocked and waited.  No-one was seen in reception or walking about the interior hallway.  Eventually I found a buzzer in a not so obvious place that allowed me entry. 

The greeting beautician started speaking to me in Italian and unfortunately for me I didn’t know enough of the language (and still don't) to understand her.  I could only repeat, leg wax and eyebrow tint in an exaggerated way strangely believing that it would somehow help.

Following her into a room I removed my jeans and lay down on the bed.  Warm wax was spread on my legs with a metal spatula, like icing a cake.  It felt therapeutically good.  A piece of cloth was rubbed on top of the wax and zinnnnggggggg, a sensation spread up my legs like pins being inserted en masse followed by the lingering sting of a grazed knee, so I decided at this point to lay back and think of earlier Neapolitan times whilst she proceeded to apply wax and rip it off with such efficiency the upshot was that it wasn’t going to take long.

The room I was in was tiny but due to the curtained petitioning of the cubicles it was clearly part of a larger room in its day.  Slim, white narrow doors with an ornate doorframe once lead to another room has been walled off and now used as cupboards.  I pictured woman in dresses with huge side bustles like Marie Antoinette, stepping through the thin doors to take tea from fine bone china, or perhaps it had been their toiletry room and they were about to piss in a pot.  Ornate decoration is to be seen in anything old in Naples so I also pictured silk ribbons, tapestries and beautiful hand-stitched cushions.

The ceiling had exposed, worn, uneven beams enhanced by white plaster encasing them.  More French doors and shutters opened onto a balcony that faced the street below.  Shania Twain blared out from small speakers screwed to the wall and the beautician, possibly 20 something and wearing a Mini Mouse T-shirt, provided an opposing image of what this room has housed over hundreds of years.

When I was asked to turn over by a circular roll of the hand the back legs were then stripped of their hair and my toes curled up to brace myself from the sting of multiple hairs leaving their pore. 

There is something quite comfortable for me when not having the need to communicate with people in a shared space and it was also comfortable that my leg waxer knew what she was doing.  When the task was done and cream rubbed over my legs there was only one thing left to do - brow tinting.

Another beautician entered the room for this and Mini Mouse left.  Valleria, the owner of the salon, had walked in smiling and talking Italian.  I smiled and pointed to my eyebrows saying colore.  Si, she said. She moved towards me with some tweezers just in time for me to stop her.  I think again about what to mime.  I pinch my index and thumb fingers together arching them over my brows as if painting something; I think she understands this time only to see her going for the waxing pot.  No, no, signora, colore!  Relieved, she found the small mixing container for dye used for eyebrow tints and started mixing so I rested my head back on the pillow again able to relax. 

If I were at home having this process done I would be have been most particular about the depth of shade the brows were being tinted to avoid them looking like a mad lady set loose with a black brow pencil but I didn’t care if they came out purple I was pleased that we were both on track and made a mental note to myself that I would  prepare my sentences before I entered such arrangements.

Neapolitans are particularly good at getting the look right even if it’s a trashy one.  They appear to be very comfortable in taking charge and making decisions in their specialist areas, whether it be making coffee, mixing colour, selecting fruit or deciding what to wear.  I suspect the sentence, I’m not sure about that, is perhaps not in their vocabulary or psyche.

I left Beauty Angel with smooth legs for summer, brows that didn’t require the use of a brow pencil and a commitment to learning more Italian.  

ciao

hellsbells

6 Small Rooms

Before I go any further about the array of subjects I'm keen to write about on Naples I want to set the scene of my base camp called 6 Small Rooms.

A guesthouse and hostel, this oasis resides in the historical centre of Naples and is an affordable, comfortable and charming rest for travellers that was described in a recent review as 'shabby chic'.  It is a relief to arrive on the third floor after climbing the 100 steps knowing you are about to eat all the pizza and pastry you saw on your way there because those stairs are going to work it off for you.

Established in 1999, the hostel is owned and run by Jenny, an Australian who lives in Naples with her daughter Alyn, two dogs (also frequent lunch time visitors to the hostel) and two cats.  Simon (pictured above), is a permanent resident of the hostel and is relatively famous because his name has appeared in a few travel guide books and is often asked about on arrival by guests.  He is much admired especially by those who appreciate cats.  He lies on my bed as I write this providing me with inspiration.  He even has his own Facebook but is selective about who he befriends.

6 Small Rooms is a familiar to me as I lived here in 2000, had a quick visit in 2010 and am now living here again in 2011.  The murals on the walls of the hostel were painted by guests who stayed over the years and are a great conversation topic and wall decoration.  The building itself was built in the 1700s by Spanish settlers not far from Naples' Spanish Quarter off via Toledo.

The balconies of the hostel that face onto via Diodato Lioy where the hostel is lets in light and sea breeze from the bay of Naples which is a ten minute stroll away.  Horns and engines revs from cars and vespas punch up to the rooms amidst the passionate voices of the surrounding families who live in the apartments in the narrow street.  Washing waves like flags and colours the grey facade of the buildings.  Neighbourhood conversations curl in and out of traffic and earshot.  Mothers call their sons from playing football in the Monte Oliveto Piazza or down the narrow lane, hitting as many cars with the cheap orange plastic ball as they rush home.  Couples often lean from their balconies watching the foot traffic below observing almost meditatively all that goes on around them.

The mousey squeak of swallows as they whizz around the sky and disappear as quickly from sight before they return minutes later.  Ship horns can be heard from the port before they depart for the southern coast and islands and the constant creak and slam of the iron door on the street level of the hostel as guests come and go fondling reminds me of a screen door that swings and slaps open and close throughout summer.

The guests at the hostel range in age from teenagers to octogenarians.  Families with young children, groups of 20 somethings or the lone intrepid traveller are frequent guests.  When there's a good mix of ages and cultures it is great to see them come together to talk, cook and share meals.  The beauty of the hostel is that the rooms are on the one floor in a circular pattern facing a large internal opening in the middle of the building where one can see from one side of the hostel across to the other and the domestic sounds of the residents resonate.  Each room opens onto another room and this open space encourages people to be open and friendly.

The kitchen is a generous room with a large table where travel and cultural experiences are exchanged and where breakfast is supplied by the hostel.  Quality produce can be bought and prepared for lunch and or dinner if so suits.  The lounge is very much like a family home, one big couch, three armchairs, a television for watching dvd's when exhausted for too much else and a bookshelf full of travel and guide books.  Various maps on the wall inform and inspire guests as well.  The dormitories have no double bunks and the rooms are spacious with high ceilings and comfortable beds.

What needs to be appreciated in very old buildings such as this one is that the plumbing can be a problem on occasions and the only small part about 6 small rooms are the bathrooms.  They are not as generous in space as we may be used to back home but they're functional and welcoming particularly after a long day walking around Pompei.  Consider it bathroom yoga as you learn to balance your body whilst showering, drying and dressing in a small space.  I know my balance has improved since I've been here because of the bathrooms.

The hostels central location is prime to those who want to explore the more interesting parts of Naples as it is in walking distance to the central station and port as well as the most amazing historical sites you could wish to see.  Fresh local produce is obtainable very close by from fishmongers, butchers, fruit and vegetable stalls, bakers and deli's along with restaurants, clothes shops and bars.

Jenny and staff are friendly, helpful and a great catalyst to making guests feel included, comfortable and looked after.  Guests are complimentary about 6 Small Rooms and often extend their stay due to the support, relaxation and rejuvenation it offers.  So expand your Neapolitan experience when exploring Naples by starting at 6 Small Rooms.

ciao
hellsbells

The New Black & Garbage

Should you arrive in Naples via the Central Station at Piazza Garibaldi you may start to have second thoughts about Naples even if you had no first thoughts.  The station itself is no painting and the area surrounding it is filled with lost souls and lost tourists.  The good thing at this point is that it will all get better.

Travellers who walk, bus or train it from Central Station are then appalled at the amount of garbage that builds and spreads so far it can block a footpath and at times roads.

"What's going on with the garbage?"  is often the first thing I hear when people arrive at the guesthouse and it is never easy to explain.  If I say it's political, of course, and involves the Mafia and contention about the method of disposing the garbage it still appears that the inquirers question isn't answered.

As shocking as it is the garbage fascinates me as I haven't seen bags and bags of it pile up in so many parts of a city.  Could it be an installation? I imagine some thinking, and in a way, it could look that way.  It's a reminder to me of human waste on display because usually we're so good at keeping our waste hidden.

Neapolitans often react to the uncollected rubbish by setting fire to it and hang the expense of what else is likely to go up with it, namely cars, shop fronts, recycle bins and news stands.

There is also humour amongst the garbage.  One person put a note on their garbage before sitting it in the pile-up asking, 'please don't touch my garbage'.

The garbage slumps on black flagstones and black cobbled streets and sometimes grey black buildings.  Grey is a fabulous colour and if you want to learn about how many shades there are you will see it here.

It never smells as much as I expect it to and I'm not sure why. The uncollected garbage is a a temporary thing that has cropped up intermittently over the past 3 years and after the local elections hopefully it will be resolved, again.

The accompaniment to the garbage is the graffiti, it's everywhere!  Some of it is great, some not so great.  For me, I like most of it if the colour is right. What shocked me at first is that it is sprayed on to ancient statues, buildings, churches, homes, doors, shop fronts or anything that stands still long enough.  Graffiti is not just in Naples, Paris has its fair share of it as well as other major cities around the world but it would be safe to say it's excessive here.  When I went to Siena a few weeks back, I din't see any graffiti on the medieval buildings and streets so perhaps graffiti is a city thing.

I understand how it saddens people to see such old constructions defaced by graffiti but I often look at the people who live in and around it, and quite possibly people who actually did the graffiti and somehow it works, a mix of the old and the new, the wealth and the poverty, the beautiful and the ugly, the bland and the colourful because this is what Naples is and more.

When I go for walks I see the garbage but I don't react to mainly because I'm used to it but more so because it is dominated by such fantastic buildings and colourful visuals of the shops, streets and people. So, when you decide to visit Naples know that you will get past the station and the garbage to enjoy the buzzing gallery of Neapolitan streets.

Ciao
hellsbells

via Tribunali

via Monte Oliveto

Where to begin

In 2000 I moved to Naples for the first time and fell in love with the city from the minute I stepped out of Montesanto metro station.  The streets came to life then as they do now 11 years later.  This blog is to share my passion for Naples, the city with the not-so-good reputation which is not my experience at all.  When I meet travellers who say they have heard a lot of bad things about Naples I ask them did anything happen to them or the person that told them the story and often the reply is, no!  Many 'stories' are passed on and so the myth builds.

It would be unwise to suggest that certain things don't happen in Naples and I am certainly not saying that. But it is also good to remember that bad things can happen anywhere and it would be a shame to miss out on visiting or living in one of the most amazing and lively cities that I have come across or lived in to date.

This blog is to share with those who read it all that I have explored and found in this jumble jewel box of a place over three visits and 11 years.  Without fail, every time I step out into the streets there is always something new to see and discover.  The boredom factor is ZERO.

There are also elements of Naples that are frustrating, infuriating, dirty and somewhat depressing, yet it all adds to the excitement and earthiness.

As a reluctant guide book reader, all that I wish to post on my site is from what I have experienced from an amateur explorers point of view.  It will range from food, islands, churches, graffiti, garbage, Neapolitans, traffic, shopping, begging and travel to surrounding areas as well as other issues such as leg waxing and hairstylists.

If you read this blog and would like to know more about my time here it would be encouraging to me and I will look forward to hearing about your Neapolitan experience.

Arrivederci
hellsbells