By Amanda Ruggeri

The first time I visited Naples, I did not fall in love. I arrived at night, and the darkness of the streets intimidated me. So did the graffiti and the way trash erupted, Mt. Vesuvius–style, from the Dumpsters. I even felt intrigued, but a little anxious, by the loudness of a parade that passed down the Spaccanapoli made up of 20 people chanting and waving flags. I still can’t remember if the procession was in honor of a saint’s day or a soccer win; both, in Naples, have almost equally religious undertones. Compared to Rome, whose chaos is contained by rules you learn the longer you live there, Naples seemed like an explosion. It overwhelmed me.

Then I visited again. And again.

By my third trip there, I was a convert. I recommended a stop to anyone who would listen. Italian friends ribbed me for how much I adored the city, one historically almost as maligned in Italy as it is abroad; they threatened to set me up with a napolitano, just to make sure I’d never leave the country. (I also spread word to anyone I could that garbage there is no longer an issue. In every visit I’ve made in the past few years, there has been less garbage spilling onto the streets than, say, in midtown Manhattan on a Sunday night.)....Continue Reading

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