NAPOLI

I had been anticipating Naples for some time and had kept receiving advice, mostly negative.  "It's dirty".  "It's full of pickpockets".  The sole positive was "eat the pizza" , a plan reinforced by the proprietor at Kingston Foreshore's Molto Restaurant who provided me with a recommendation for a specific parlour.

The Naples train station was a hive of activity offsetting the streets around Piazza Garibaldi that appeared strangely deserted.  Even the pickpockets were absent.  Kim's arrangement for a taxi was spot on and we were soon dicing with death.  "Surely he's not going to squeeze through there!". Yep, he was and that was simply the entree.  Our B&B was located in the Spanish Quarter, a rat's warren of ascending vias crowded on both side by parallel parked and scraped small vehicles.  Motor scooters swerved out of the taxis' way before he deposited us in front of an imposing wooden gateway that opened to give us entry to the classically elegant Palazzo Della Principessa.

An address like that is either a front for somewhere ordinary or we have struck gold.  Gold it is!  Located on the fourth floor our plant encased balcony looked internally onto a courtyard and externally onto the crowded mean streets of Quartieri Spagnoli ~ the Spanish Quarter.

Depositing our luggage, we departed down via San Mattia in search of beverages, pizza and humanity.  Humanity it was!  We had arrived in Napoli on the public holiday Ferro Agosta which explained the deserted streets.  There was nothing deserted about via Toledo which teamed with Neopolitans moving in mass, walking and of course talking in unison.  Love, lunch and everything in between was the topic and our antipodean demure frequently left us adjusting our trail.  Let's have a drink, we're blocking the traffic.  Armed military and police officers were armed to the teeth and it would have been a foolish pickpocket to try his or her chances.

Via Formale led us up to a trattoria preparing for the evening session where cooking and wait staff were eating at the adjacent table.  Pasta, bread and beers were being consumed while a constant stream of bantering Italian invective was being swapped.  Taking the hint we finished our Aperol Spritz and turned back in the direction we hoped would lead home.  Whoops, we missed our street and ended up in Piazza del Plebiscito where a crowd gathered around a flamenco guitarist and sang lustily of lost love and hard fought Spanish liberty.

Showered and refreshed we hit the vias in search of dinner.