Napoli

Ciao bella 

 I arrived in Naples (Napoli) a little worse for the wear. Not only was I exhausted, I was intimidated. I hadn’t heard great things about this city: It’s dirty, it smells bad, there’s a lot of crime, there’s nothing to do, it’s basically a transfer city for other places, you only need a half day at most to see it… people went on and on. Even Rick Steve, my guru for this leg of the trip, gently warned me to watch my back, although he had mostly good things to say about the city. I ultimately had to get to southern Italy for my work/stay for the month of September, but I thought about rerouting my trip through somewhere less intimidating than Napoli. 

“Just go, you’ll be fine. Don’t let other people’s opinions scare you,” said my intrepid little Polish friend, Katty, back in Sevilla. Her words made me feel better, and then I got swept up in the madness of Barcelona, and resigned myself to entering the deep dark mafioso underworld that I imagined Napoli to be. 

Except, upon leaving my hostel room for the first time, after a big long nap, I was greeted by a vibrant, bright, busy, friendly albeit a bit confusing city. I needed to buy a new phone charger, and the front desk suggested Via Toledo, so I cautiously walked (with purpose!) up to the recommended street. As I stood on the busy street filled with tourists and locals, street vendors, and motorinos, I wondered how in the hell I would ever find an electronics shop. And then I looked to my left and saw a street vendor selling iPhone accessories. I showed him my phone and not only did he find me a charger, but he plugged it into a battery to prove that it worked. Prego. 

Feeling empowered (pun intended sort of), I looked up the dark, narrow alleyways curiously. They appeared to be lined with charming shops and restaurants, so I decided to take a wander. As it turns out, I was dead in the middle of the Spanish Quarter, a “must see” according to Rick Steve, when in Napoli. I wandered the maze of streets, noticing with a smile the tribute to a patron saint on every corner, the colorful laundry flapping in the breeze on every balcony, the old ladies sitting on their front steps chatting away like they’ve probably done forever. 

As I walked by restaurant after restaurant, the aroma of garlic filled the air. I was tempted to stop and get a delicious looking pizza or bowl of linguini, but I wasn’t hungry enough to commit to one of the huge plates. Really, I was still too tired to do much of anything except wander, but not for too long. I walked past a castle on the waterfront that looked exactly like the castle of the Wicked Witch of the West, feeling like I should take a tour or at least Wikipedia what it was, but decided to go back to my hostel and take another nap instead. 

I chose Ostello Bello based on Rick Steve’s recommendation on where to stay. He didn’t recommend this hostel, but he recommended the area, and the hostel had good reviews on Hostelworld.com. Yet you never really know until you go, and as it turns out the location was absolutely perfect. Thanks, Rick! I had a lovely private room that was cool and quiet, a far cry from my rickety bed at Mambo Tango, which made me appreciate every ounce of privacy and every inch of space. 

The reception desk had mentioned that there was a kitchen on the second floor with free food, so after my second nap, around 9pm I went down to check it out. I walked into a kitchen full of young travelers cooking their evening meals. “Heya mate, you hungry?” A nice young man asked me. “Me? Um.. kinda? But I don’t want to take your food,” I responded, still bleary eyed. 

“Nah, all good, this is our leftovers. Join us.” He put a bowl of delicious looking pasta in my hands, and for a moment I thought wistfully about the garlicky pizza waiting for me in the Spanish Quarter, but here was an opportunity to eat a home cooked meal with about-to-be new friends. I pulled up a chair and we all got to getting to know each other, sharing travel stories and the like. 

When reception told me that the kitchen was stocked with food, I imagined that there would be half a loaf of stale bread and maybe a block of old cheese, if we were lucky. Except, this kitchen was fully stocked: pastas, oils, spices, baskets full of fresh vegetables. “Is all this food free?” I asked my new friends. “Yeah! Pretty amazing, right?” They told me. This could be my favorite hostel ever, which to be fair, was written in a few of the reviews on Hostelworld. But you never really know until you go.  

I chatted with my new friends for an hour or two, while they drank bottles of wine or cheap vodka, and I delighted in a night of respite from alcohol. Some had just graduated from university, others were in a gap year deciding if they would go to, others said they were lost but trying to stay lost as long as possible. I wanted to hug them all and tell them that their path was true, as so many people have done for me, but I refrained from being house mom. Had I accepted a glass of wine from them, it might have been a different story. When they all gathered up to go out for the night, I opted for a quiet night in, still a bit wrecked from 10 days in Barcelona. I wanted to wake up fresh and ready to explore this new, big bad city.