Upon my arrival in Italy, though, whenever I mentioned I wanted to go to Naples the first thing I heard was “Oh, yeah, Naples is dangerous” or "Oh, you shouldn't go there, the Mafia is all over the place there" or some variation thereof. EVERY. SINGLE. TIME. Problem is, I’m quite the stubborn brat—so when someone tells me I shouldn't do something based on fear, especially when it’s people repeating only anecdotal advice they’ve heard elsewhere, well…nothing gets in the way of me and the world’s best pizza, least of all some rumors of “danger.” I like to live dangerously, to my father's perpetual chagrin.
"Just makes it all the more appealing!" I chirped to my detractors, determined to go even if it was alone.
My apparent fearlessness (or possibly sheer stubbornness, or complete disregard for my life) appeared to spread to my fellows, though, and before I knew it there were nine of us set to depart on the 6:26 AM train last Saturday.
Alas, not all of us managed the "departing" part, at least not properly. In the dash to the train and amidst the confusion as to which train we were actually supposed to be on, nearly climbing onto the wrong one before I overhead an announcement in Italian confirming our *actual* train getting ready to depart on another platform, Marshmallow (formerly known as Smash) got separated from the group. As train 701 pulled away from the station, gaining speed, I counted off and realised with a horrible sinking feeling that we were one short. Sure enough, as we found out later, Marshmallow had doubled back to go check the main display board and in the meantime we left without her. Compounding the situation was the fact that Marshmallow has no way to communicate outside of WiFi zones, so there was no way to get in touch with us and vice versa. It was at this moment that Garcia and I mandated the implementation of a "Battle Buddy" system, wherein each person with phone service pairs up with someone that does not, and is responsible for keeping an eye on only that one person--though Garcia and I consistently practiced our Italian counting skills by counting off to nine all weekend long. Fortunately Marshmallow is the kind of person to stay cool and calm in such a situation, and she explained later simply hopped on the next train and found her own way to our meeting place as I had faith she would do.
Nevertheless, on our way we were, this particular weekend trip being funded by two of my GoFundMe sponsors: Caylee Walker, and the Brindley Family!
Our accommodation of choice at only 16 Euro a night (plus free breakfast) was Hostel of the Sun, located near the city center and the metro. The directions to get there provided to us in a confirmation e-mail had us chortling and feeling like we were on a treasure hunt of some kind: “Emerge from the metro and you will see a statue of a horse. Turn the opposite direction the horse is looking and you will see two streets. Tale the street on the left.” Once we found the place and climbed up 7 flights of stairs (yes…) we were warmly welcomed into what appeared to be a hippie commune filled with brightly painted walls, bean bag chairs, Bob Marley jamming on the sound system, and varying degrees of nose rings, dreadlocks, and alpaca sweaters. The staff were super chill, allowing us to leave our bags in a storage closet while we went off to explore the city and inviting us to the free breakfast available even though we were only reserved for one night. Nutella is the drug of choice in Italy, and on every table in the tiny kitchenette we found a MASSIVE 3 pound tub.
(I introduced Caylee to Nutella when we were kids and she claims she's never been the same.)
Small toasts, salami, cheese, OJ, and coffee rounded out the simple but filling spread. We rejuiced while chatting with Sabrina at the front desk, who pointed out that because the following day was the first Sunday of the month all of the archeological sites and museums in Italy were free. That fact combined with the cold drizzly weather outside forced us to switch up our plans and nix the Isle of Capri, also pushing Pompeii to the following day to save us the 20 Euro entrance fee. As we stood at the front desk, having given my cell phone number to Sabrina and showed her a picture of Marshmallow and explaining what happened, who should just so happen to casually saunter in? MARSHMALLOW! Cool as a cucumber, of course. Our relief was palpable as we smothered her in hugs.
Now that we were all reunited and our plans for the day dashed by the weather, what was there to do?
PIZZA. (Because pizza is always the answer, to everything.)
As I mentioned earlier my primary reason to coming to Naples was for pizza, because of the book Eat, Pray, Love. In it, the author/main character travels around the world for a year to three countries: Italy, India, and Indonesia. In Italy she details the spur-of-the-moment train trip she takes to Naples with a Swiss girlfriend to seek out what is rumored to be the best pizza in Naples (and therefore the world, since Italy has the best pizza in the world and Naples has the best pizza in Italy). It’s called Da Michele, or in it’s entirety L'Antica Pizzeria da Michele, and it’s the first place I wanted to go. Not only because of the book, which put Da Michele on my bucket list over 8 years ago, but because just about everyone I talked to about Naples mentioned it as a must-stop. The other place that was immediately brought up as rival to Da Michele is Di Matteo, which we unfortunately never visited. A second trip is perhaps in order, then, for a true Battle of the Pizzas.
So off we toddled to Da Michele, marvelling at the unsavoury frequency of dog poop on the sidewalks and shameless (mostly ugly) graffiti on the walls.We did find some exceptions.
The city was still largely quiet due to the early hour (about 10:30 AM) and slick from the same on-and-off again rains we’ve had in Rome.
As we meandered along we passed several street vendors setting up for the day and it looks like even though I missed the best of artichoke season, gorgeous Japanese eggplants are in coming into abundance.
Upon arrival to Da Michele we were relieved to see that it was largely empty, having been warned from online reviews that sometimes people can wait in line for up to two hours for a seat.
Da Michele offers only two pizzas: Margarita or Marinara. You can have extra cheese on the Margarita, and that’s about it. We all opted for the main favourite Margarita and a round of Nastro for all. We waited about 7 minutes—snapping pics of the photo of Julia Roberts at the pizzeria during filming hanging on the wall—before huge steaming circles of wonder were placed in front of us.
I know I can't blame only you Julia for such a shitty movie, but seriously. What a disservice to the book.
So simple—thin crust, blackened and slightly charred on the puffed rounded edges, soggy and impossibly thin in the middle, with fragrant red sauce, melty white cheese, a lone basil leaf on top and a finishing drizzle of olive oil—and so. unbelievably. good. Granted, it’s not hard to please a bunch of early-morning-rising, travel worn, and starving college students, especially with beer, but yes—oh, yes—this is the best pizza I’d had in Italy thus far.
Thanks to Scraps for one of my favourite candids of all time. :)
After thoroughly stuffing ourselves we wandered around the city trying to avoid slipping into a carb coma too soon.
On the way we discovered Caffe Ciorfito, where some of us stopped to get an espresso. I opted for a cappuccino and thank god I did, because in the process of my research for this trip I had also discovered that Napoli is famous for its coffee. Oh, my. I don’t know what it is about their coffee, what they do to it, but…and as the daughter of a Guatemalan woman raised on a coffee farm, having drunk it daily since I was 12, I probably shouldn’t be saying this…IT IS THE BEST COFFEE IN THE WORLD. If my compatriots hadn’t been restlessly waiting outside to explore more I could have happily posted up at the bar for the next few hours enjoying several more.
At this point The Assassin took over the navigational duties and took us to a metro-type thing that would take us straight up to the main hill that overlooks the city for a panoramic view. Unfortunately we never really made it there as the heavens opened up and began pouring down on us, with two umbrellas between the nine of us. We sought refuge in what showed up on the map as Castel Sant’Elmo and agreed to fork over the 5 Euro entry fee to explore a cool castle. A cool castle it was decidedly not, as we walked into what was a modern art museum--with all of us hating modern art.
Here Scraps displays our disappointment at our discovery in front of...whatever the hell that is. (AKA NOTHING ANY OF US WOULD PAY 5 EURO TO SEE.)
Admittedly the top level offered quite the view of the Bay of Napoli and the city sprawled out beneath us, but the pouring rain, mist, and puddles proved a bit of a challenge.
Scraps and I crowded under an umbrella and sprinted through several puddles, gushing gutters, and slippery stone steps to the top to see the view for ourselves, snapping this quick panorama before retreating to the dry alcoves in fits of giggles at our misfortune.
It was about at this point with most of us more than soaking wet (I being informed by a certain Albanian with raindrops in his eyelashes: "Awww poor Krazie, you look like a poor wet dog!"--"Wait, I meant like a really CUTE wet dog!") that we decided to forgo our other city-touring plans and head back to the hostel to relax and dry off. Couldn’t make it that far without running into a gelateria of course, and as Italy has proven to me time and again no matter what the temperature is outside (45 degrees and wet, in this case) it is always appropriate to indulge in an ice cold treat. Besides, it was impossible to walk past this place without stopping to gawk—hot pink walls, chrome fixtures, and the most incredible array of gelati, sprinkle covered cones, tortes, coffee, etc. Fantasia Gelati it is indeed.
“This is SEX!” one proclaimed. “No but really, this is actual sex.” And if that isn’t an endorsement I don’t know what is.
Back at the hostel with warmed and dried feet (and, okay, some wine) the group mood quickly escalated into riotous giggling and a hilarious game of "Never Have I Ever". Looking around the room at all nine of us crammed into a six-person bunk bed room, with frizzy rain soaked hair and the flush that comes from exploring a new city and trying new things, clambering all over each other, laughing, smacking each other and shouting over one other I remember thinking “Well I’ll be damned...I guess this is what they say being in your 20’s is all about.” I never thought I’d get to live a storybook life, but in that moment, it was.
Alas! One cannot subsist on wine and gelato alone and the pizza rush had long since worn off, so off we ventured out into the night to find proper sustenance. Torrents of rain have a penchant for forcing you into the first place that’s open, and thank goodness it did, because Il Pomodorino served me a pizza that even eclipsed that of Da Michele. It edges out the win by only a nose, but their Donna Carolina with ricotta cheese, ragu, and meat is the most delicious concoction of carbs and cheese and godly deliciousness to touch my lips since I arrived in Eataly three weeks ago. Angels sang, all in the heavens rejoiced, and I’ve been dreaming about it ever since. It’s highly likely that I’ll go back, JUST for that. Well, that and the cappuccino at Caffe Ciorfito. Perhaps I’ll just ping-pong between the two all day until someone takes pity on me and rolls me back to my hostel bed.
At the end of the night, I tipped my hat to the supposed Mafiosi crawling all over the city, because if it's true that they're there and it's true that they're quite bon vivant, well--perhaps they killed off anyone making sub-par pizza, and thus, the city hosts only the finest. Ciao!
Part 2 coming tomorrow!
Disclaimer: Please note that all photos are mine, and are not to be used for any purpose, commercial or otherwise, without my express written consent.
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