Southern comfort (a weekend in Naples)

“Just one thing – be careful of your stuff” said a guy I work with. “The area round the train station is better than it was, but still…” said another, rolling his eyes to complete the sentence. “You do not look like a local, so make sure you take extra care at night” cautioned a third.

I was going to Naples for the weekend and it seemed that even my Neapolitan colleagues’ tips about what to see there came littered with caveats.

The warnings were hardly surprising. Much of Italy’s south suffers badly from chronic underinvestment, corruption and crime. Naples is a working class port city that, among other things, is home to the Camorra Mafia. It’s not the kind of place for flashing valuables around or carrying your wallet in your back pocket. Then again, where is?

Evening light by the Bay of Naples

That's amore

More positively, Naples is almost universally acknowledged as the city with the best pizza in the country. This is where tomatoes were first put on a pizza base (some time in the 1500s) and today a strict series of rules defines what constitutes ‘proper’ Neapolitan pizza.

I’m not exaggerating. The Italian government produced a 2200-word document setting them out point by point… which may seem like rather a lot of fuss, until you taste it.

For context, I grew up in the UK, where Margheritas are typically the pizzas of last resort. You buy them if you’re low on cash and you haven’t got your bank cards on you. The cheese is heavy, the tomato base is sugary and the crust is as bland as a Coldplay b-side.

In Naples, a Margherita is a dish fit for royalty (literally – it was invented in 1889 for Queen Margherita of Savoy) and it tastes divine. It is light, juicy and flavourful. In fact, the memories of it are making my mouth water as I type.

It’s also a symbol of Italy since the colours of the Margherita were chosen to represent the national flag. The cheese and tomatoes are the white and red of course, while the green comes from the traditional basil garnish that is so often missing on British Margheritas.

Mount Vesuvius, an acceptable backdrop for stuffing your gob

Going underground

Food aside, Naples has a lot going for it. The city is a great base for exploring the wonderfully preserved ruins of Herculaneum and Pompeii if that’s your thing. And it’s a good place to start your trip if you’re island hopping in Capri and Ischia.

As Ms Ciao and I had only a day and a half there, we confined ourselves to wandering the centre, exploring the tunnels under its streets and strolling along the seafront in the sunshine.

The historic centre is a charming muddle of snaking alleys, timeworn buildings and diverse graffiti. It’s easy to pass an enjoyable few hours there window-shopping and strolling around – and you'll find plenty of cafes and bars to choose from when you want to take a break for coffee or something stronger.

Painter finalising a mural near the Sotteranea

The Sotteranea underground tunnels were recommended to me by several Italians, and didn’t disappoint. For €10, you get a guided tour of a subterranean warren which was built by the Greeks as temples 2,400 years ago.

After being abandoned for centuries, the tunnels were used again in the Second World War by locals hiding from bombing. One of the eeriest parts of the tour involves looking at dust-coated children’s toys that have been down there ever since.

The tunnels also house grottoes shimmering with fresh water (they were used as underground canals for a while), and your ticket even gets you entry to a hidden theatre where pyromaniac loon/psychopath/emperor Nero showed his lighter side by appearing in a number of plays around AD65-70. Seriously.

If you go, be sure to bring an extra layer of clothing. It’s cold underground, even in summer. For those who are more interested in recent history than the Greco-Roman era, the separate Bourbon Tunnel has plenty more Second World War memorabilia, along with specialised tours like underground rafting.

Stories from the city, stories from the sea

Once we’d headed back above ground, we made our way to the seafront to sip drinks looking across the water to Mount Vesuvius and take in the sunset. If feelings could be bottled, I would sell the relaxation of that hour. Via Partenope is a great place to watch the passeggiata and switch off from stress. As we walked back to our hotel, fireworks lit up the sky above the Bay of Naples.

The next day passed too quickly. We blitzed a few more sites and ate more great food. The Palazzo Reale is a bargain at €4 if you like neo-classical architecture and stately rooms, while the Castel dell’Ovo is free and has excellent views.

Basilica in Piazza del Plebiscito, opposite the Palazzo Reale

We had lunch at La Cantina dei Lazzari, which deserves a special mention. Although the pizza we ate on the seafront the night before was outstanding, the service left something to be desired.

In contrast, the Cantina's service, food and prices were all exceptional. It’s a couple of streets back from the touristy area, so it may not get the footfall of visitors it deserves, but if you’re in town I recommend you seek it out. The epitome of simple elegance.

Don't stop believin'

Once we’d finished off our lunch, it was time to get back on the train and head back up north. On the journey, I mentioned to Ms Ciao that visiting southern Italy is always bittersweet for me.

I enjoy it so much that I begin missing it before I've even left. This is the part of the country I fell in love with, and where I originally intended to live. Although we're very happy in Milan, visiting the south reminds me that I've never fulfilled my dream of moving there.

As the train chuntered back to our home, the sun began to set. It was the last weekend of summer 2015 – the summer Ms Ciao and I got engaged, perhaps our last summer in Europe. I found nostalgia creeping over me. I closed my eyes, leaned back in my seat and went with it for a while.




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I went to "the best gelateria in the world." This is what it was like

The heat has arrived in Milan.

Oh sure, it was hot when I arrived in April. I sat outside bars at night in my T-shirt. But that was heat where now there is heat, like something from The Stranger. It burned me through factor 30 suncream on Saturday and turned tarmac to gloop.

Scooter marks in the melted pavement

I feel for the pets.

There are so many dogs here that, in dreams, I've imagined them staging a coup and overthrowing the humans. But they won't be doing that in this weather. No chance.

In this weather their shaggy coats are instruments of torture, and their leashes are chains. Dalmations drag and dally behind owners. Alsations are too exhausted to bark; too exhausted even to sniff the rears of other passing pooches. They all just pant. And pant. And pant.

For humans, there are only two things worth doing when it's this warm: go to the pool or eat gelato. So I did both. And the gelato was exceptional.

Ice dreams

A few weeks earlier, at about 10pm on the night I moved into my new apartment, I walked past a bunch of people outside a bar. There were maybe 30 of them queueing to get in, and around another 30 chatting, smoking and drinking on the other side of the road.

Except it wasn't a bar. As I got closer, I realised it was an ice cream shop and the smokers across the road were eating ice cream rather than drinking.

I repeat: this was at night.

The next day I asked a friend what kind of oddballs hang around outside an ice cream shop after dark. "Have you tasted the ice cream?" she asked with an arched eyebrow. "That is Gelateria della Musica," she added, "and it was voted the best gelateria in the world a couple of years ago."

I still wasn't convinced. Foodies often bang on interminably about how utterly amazing something is, only for me to find out later that it's merely quite good. Could Gelateria della Musica's Strawberry ice cream, for example, really be vastly superior to the Strawberry ice cream in the slightly less popular place down the road?

On Saturday, in the steaming heat, I found out.

Sweet sweet Musica

The queue just after opening, on a regular day

First, Ms Ciao and I queued for a few minutes outside, next to a graffitied wall with a printout of the day's menu taped to it. Once the bouncer (seriously – security is apparently needed for food this special) had let us through the door, I ordered a cone with two flavours: Strawberry Cheesecake and Salted Pistachio, while Ms Ciao bought a tub of Bread, Butter and Jam. And yes, I am still talking about ice cream.

Looks aren't everything

We ate outside, in the shade. And I can honestly say that the Strawberry Cheesecake flavour was like eating strawberry cheesecake, the Salted Pistachio flavour was like eating salted pistachio, and that you could taste each element in the Bread, Butter and Jam as clearly as if you were having breakfast.

Perhaps after all the build up, it seems faint praise to say the flavours tasted like they were meant to.

It shouldn't.

But I don't want to overdo this. I find things that are hyped up too much are often a letdown (I'm looking at you, Sydney). When I expect less from something, it's easier for it to be special (Hello, Budapest).

So I should dampen your expectations by saying that, despite repeated Googling, I haven't been able to verify my mate's claim that Gelateria della Musica was voted the world's best ice cream shop.

And I don't want to animate the prose I write about it with similes, analogies, rhyme and repetition. Or any of the other techniques I usually use to keep your attention. I'll stop all those right now.

I'm not saying this ice cream will change your life. Or telling you to fly from wherever you live to eat it. What I am saying is that it was delicious, the flavours tasted identical to the ingredients they were named after, and, ultimately, this was the best ice cream I've ever eaten.

Perhaps you've had better. But if you're ever in town, I recommend you try it to find out. Maybe, just maybe, you'll be as impressed as I was.




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A stroll down the Navigli canal

Let’s take a walk. Just you and me. We’re going to explore the Navigli canal, one of Milan’s best places for drinking and people watching. It’ll be fun.

We’re starting near my apartment, mainly so I can show you this charming church.

The San Cristoforo sul Naviglio

According to the Wikipedia article I looked up as we were walking here, it’s actually two separate churches cobbled together. Why build two different churches on the same site, you ask? This is Italy, my friend. Asking logical questions will stress you out. The important thing is that it’s quaint. 

The same could not be said for two curiously named places that we’re about to pass on our way along the canal. They're both closed, but that's only one of many reasons we're not going inside. Here’s the first venue:

If you're ever in London, try their English franchise, Tea Chips

Seriously, who outside of Italy would think of coffee and burgers as natural bedfellows? If this place were open, you'd see that nominative determinism is not a big thing in these parts because the patrons are usually swigging beer and guzzling crisps.

There’s not long to think about that though, because here’s a venue with an even more striking name:

Classical drinking

I have almost never seen Johann Sebastian Bar open and I’ve walked past a bunch of times. However, what I have seen, and what I am pointing out to you while you’re avoiding the dog mess on the pavement here, is that the curtains and chairs inside are gold. Puns and ostentation – what's not to like?! 

We’re still not at the main drinking area though, so let’s pick up the pace because I’m thirsty and I know you’re a bit of a lush. The rock bar we’re passing is decent and I might take you there another time, but tonight we’re going to Banco.

I like Banco because they do happy hour cocktails for €6. Also, they bring very tasty mini pizza squares with the drinks. (Technically, this is a form of aperitivo, but that’s a topic for another day.) Thirdly, the tables at the front provide excellent people watching.

Let’s sit at this one, right at the front, and have a look around.

The Italian eccentric 

Britain tends to be rather proud of its eccentrics. The first result that comes up if you type “British eccentrics” into Bing (I know, but I’ve got a Windows phone you see) begins “England may be a small country but it seems to have more true eccentrics than many larger countries”. In my view, there are as many here; people just don't make such a big deal out of it.

Hold that thought because here comes the waitress. I’ll have a Mint Julep and I recommend the Mai Tai if you’re unsure. While we wait for the drinks to arrive, why don't you have a look around? Beergut 80s rocker and his gold clad companion are a decent starting point, but there are plenty of other people here too.

The banks of the canal, seen from Banco

Check your watch. It's 6pm, which means we're right on time for the local "passeggiata." The direct translation is "little stroll," but essentially, the hours before dinner are a time to see and be seen. Half of Navigli is here. Look at the guy who just walked past you. Observe his textures and tones. His hair is silver but slicked, his blazer is blue and starched, and his white shirt is unbuttoned halfway to his navel. Tan shoes match his tanned face, while his red trousers wouldn't be out of place on a Hoxton hipster. He's pushing 70 but he walks with a flourish and there's a shine in his eye that's more than halfway hopeful.

Behind him, there's an interesting woman... and I want you to look fascinated by what I'm telling you because right now there's a rose seller heading for our table and the best way to get him to leave is to be engrossed in conversation. What? No, I'm not buying you a rose. Get over it.

Anyway, this woman I mentioned... She's over there. Do you see? She's the one with the King Charles Spaniel bobbing along beside her. Notice how the ribbon in the dog's hair corresponds with the ribbon in hers? That's no coincidence. 

I don't want you to think that Italy is full of peacocking polished people though. There are some, but that's a stereotype and not the general reality. The best thing about the passegiata is observing a panorama of life. 

Tuck in; you're on holiday

Here's a young couple, all laughter and lust. Leaning against the wall behind them is a guy who's been on his phone since we arrived. His right hand's holding the phone and his left one's in his pocket, but that's not stopping him from gesticulating. If you watch closely, you can work out what's going on.

First, his gestures were fast and – literally – furious. Then they became wider, more expansive. He was accepting whatever had happened; shoulders shrugging, arms spreading. Now, though, his right hand moves up and down in his pocket. He is pleading. Has he been stood up? A business deal gone wrong? Whatever has happened, he is not a happy coniglietto (bunny).

That girl in her early 20s at the next table is American. You can tell just by looking at her. She is with a group of males, and seems shy. Did she just meet them at the hostel down the road? They're hardly speaking to her. I can't quite work out the dynamic, but I'd better lower my voice – I think she knows we are talking about her.

If we spend a couple of hours here, we will see Romeos and Juliets, doubting Tommasos and moaning Micheles. We will observe hellos and goodbyes. We will watch the moon rise. We will see Italians young and old in their natural habitat. And tourists. You are far from the only tourist around here.

Let's sit back, relax and order another drink. You're buying.




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Cappucino no-nos and other stories

I am sipping molten boiled sweet. It was sold as “lemon tea” but I cannot taste caffeine. Like everything else in the vending machine, it comes “dolce” (sweet). As far as I can tell, there is no way to alter this. I expect to have more fillings than teeth by Christmas.

Lemon “tea” is one of only three vending machine options besides 11 varieties of coffee. For the record, the other two are hot chocolate and what appears to be hot milk (me neither).

Coffee, obviously, is something the Italians do well, cheap powdered versions aside. Already my days are punctuated by cappuccinos and macchiatos. For some reason, cappuccinos are drunk only in the mornings here unless you want to be thought a slack jawed buffoon. It is not unknown for barristas to refuse to serve those who try to buy one after midday.

Cultural quirks aside, there are plenty of positives to swanning off to live abroad. In this, my first blog written from Italy (confession – I wrote the last one just before I left England), I will focus on two examples.

Exhibit A – weather 

The view from the Duomo roof

Milan has mostly been blissfully sunny and blue-skied since I arrived in April, despite being in northern Italy. I forgot to take my sunglasses to work for the first couple of days and had to squint my way to and from the office. This is the kind of problem I have now.

Occasionally, though, it rains. And when it rains, it doesn’t chuff about. Water invades like bomber command (an unfortunate simile in a city that was flattened during WW2). It assaults shop awnings and attacks the eaves of apartments. Puddles grow, gutters overflow and insects drown. It is brutal, overwhelming, merciless.

And then, as quickly as it came, it disappears. The skies become blue again, the sun returns and warmth fills the air. I eat dinner outside in my T-shirt. Reflect on that, ye who dwell in England.

Exhibit B – gestures

I will devote a full blog to these bad boys when my understanding of them is improved. The basic concept, though, is to throw your arms in the air like you just do care. Need to add colour, emphasis or cadence to a sentence? Do it with your hands.

At the moment, my vocabulary of gestures is limited, but I particularly enjoy putting my forefingers and thumb together and waving my hand up and down to express frustration (1.23 in the video below).

Over the next few months, I will be trying to communicate a lot more with my hands during conversation.

For now, cappuccino is calling me. In my next blog, I’ll address the thorny issue of what kettles, mansize tissues and bacon have in common. And plugs. Don’t get me started on bloody plugs.

Ciao ciao




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