Turmoil, Art, and Demise

 

Tiny Yet Strategic Malta

Turmoil, Art, and Demise

My tale begins, of all places, with a visit to Malta, a small independent island nation just south of Sicily.  Malta, only an hour’s flight time from Naples, is rich in history, positioned at a strategic chokepoint in the Mediterranean.  It’s famously known as the final stronghold of the Knights of Saint John, who, despite being outnumbered, successfully resisted the May-September 1565 siege of Ottoman Sultan Suleiman, the Magnificent.  Three hundred seventy-eight years later, Malta served as the headquarters for Operation Husky, the Allied invasion of Europe via Sicily that preceded the D-Day invasion of Normandy during World War II, a year later.  From Neolithic times, Malta oozes history.

We may be familiar with these gory incidents, but I’d wager few, if any, of us have ever heard of

Valletta, Capital of Malta

Michelangelo Merisi, who briefly lived there beginning in 1607.  You might recognize him as Michelangelo Merisi Caravaggio, named for the small Italian town outside of Milan where he was born.  This also helps distinguish him from another widely regarded Michelangelo of the time, Michelangelo Buonarroti, the renowned Renaissance sculptor and painter.  

For us, Caravaggio’s story began in Valletta, the capital of Malta, while attending a performance of Into the Woods.  In one scene, flashes of lightning froze the actors' movements like a strobe light, offering brief glimpses of the characters.  In a similar fashion, it was on another day in Valletta when flashes of insight into Caravaggio’s tragic and historic life

The Cast Takes 
Their Bows

began to take shape.  Piece by piece, the shards of the stories we’d heard, combined with a special viewing of Caravaggio’s The Beheading of Saint John, began to spark a deeper appreciation.  This famous work, circa 1608, is considered one of the most influential masterpieces in the history of Western art.

Our Caravaggio enlightenment gelled at a performance of The Caravaggio Experience. in the Oratory Chamber inside the overwhelming St. John’s Co-Cathedral (“Co” for conventual or monastic.  The weighty history of this soaring chamber dates to 1602 and was later embellished in a Baroque style.  Entering this chamber, we were projected through time to a place of sacred fraternity where, in setting and mood, we joined with the Knights.  It was not just a convenient site to host a dramatic explanation of Caravaggio’s life, but the actual location of investitures and functions of the Knights of St John of which Caravaggio was a member. 

Saint John's Co-Cathedral Main Altar

 As we passed beneath the entrance portal, a towering organ greeted us.  At the opposite end of the room, commanding attention with its mysterious allure, rose Caravaggio’s The Beheading of Saint John, arguably his most powerful work.  Installed there on the feast day of the “Beheading,” the 29th of August 1608, this painting dominates the room with its dramatic aura. 

It was in this evocative setting that Caravaggio’s tumultuous life and this monumental painting unfolded.  Accompanied by classical music, the tale was brought to life in theatrical fashion by a cast of three exceptionally talented performers: a costumed narrator swathed in sword and dagger, an angelic soprano, and an accomplished musician who performed on an 1886 harp named Lucia, the very organ that loomed above, and a Baroque cello.  The

Organ Above Entrance to Oratory Side Room

narrator, Fra Bartolomeo (Fra, from the Latin word frater meaning brother), claimed to be a 17th-century friend of Caravaggio.  His passionate storytelling, accompanied by swooshes of swordplay, was riveting, especially from our front-row seats.  Through his dramatic portrayal to the accompaniment of stirring musical interludes, a crack in time opened, and we were inducted into Caravaggio’s world.  Moments like these are when history thaws and comes vividly alive. Before us in this historic backdrop, the story of Caravaggio’s tumultuous life unfolded beneath this momentous painting.

Fra Bartolomeo Swordplay with Dagger

    

Caravaggio was born in 1571.  Orphaned at the age of seven by a bubonic plague that swept through northern Italy, he began his life’s journey when he was apprenticed to a painter in Milan six years later.  Essentially self-taught, he developed a distinctive artistic style, characterized by an intense blend of religious themes with the realism of raw human emotion in dramatic, visceral representations.  To this he added what would become his unique trademark, the dramatic interplay of light and dark, known as chiaroscuro.  This became his realm, something utterly unique.  For Caravaggio, his intentional use of dominating blackness and brilliant whites was not a mere aesthetic expression, but likely a reflection of an inner plague, some personal torment that haunted him throughout his life, mimicking the world as he saw it.  His complex life was as dramatic as the scenes he painted.  Caravaggio’s character could be described as volatile, yet prone to violent reactions to any perceived

The 1886 Harp, Lucia

disrespect or slight.  We might think of him as easily triggered, with a chemistry that frequently involved him in forceful disputes.  Famously bad-tempered, he frequently carried a dagger with him, and at times a sword, both of which were illegal. 

He perceived a different world, one of harsh realities which he expressed with a pictorial intensity as they had likely occurred.  The passion of Christ was brutal, the beheading of John the Baptist bloody.  Consequently, he depicted them as such.  His audacious style, characterized by unflinching realism, employed visceral human drama, emotional intensity, and the bold use of light, where scenes seemed to melt from view into blackness, challenging the idealized norms of the Renaissance.  Additionally, his choice of everyday people for his models—rugged laborers, street vendors, often prostitutes—was revolutionary when religious themes and saintly characters were the unshakable standard.  This was a stark departure from the idealized forms celebrated in earlier works throughout Italy.  His painting The Death of the Virgin, for instance, caused outrage for depicting the Virgin Mary as a lifeless, overweight figure.  In total, his

Caravaggio's Beheading of St. John the Baptist 
Just After His Death

counter-reformation defiance of societal norms, denounced as sacrilegious, along with his rejection of conventional decorum, including non-compliance with artistic customs, made him both a revered and reviled figure.  Instead, he chose to present the gritty truth of human experience as living drama.

His approach took root and resonated deeply with the faithful.  Something this shockingly realistic about life proved magnetic.  It remains so to this day.  Imagine a gallery arranged with masterworks by other artists, such as Rembrandts, Rubens, and a piece by Johannes Vermeer, like The Girl with a Pearl Earring.  Near them, add a single piece by Caravaggio, like his Beheading of Saint John.  I’d venture that in no time viewers, as though drawn by an invisible force, would soon gather, shoulder to shoulder, before the Caravaggio.

At the age of 21, Caravaggio left Milan for Rome, where he would spend much of his career and gain lasting fame.  Rome was where his darker ‘bad-boy’ reputation for heavy drinking, fighting, gambling, and womanizing took root.  In truth, the city was a dangerous place, rife with thieves, con men, and sudden violence.  Whether to protect himself or due to an innate inclination to join in, Caravaggio’s temper grew in reputation.  He was soon caught up in brawls, legal disputes, and violent altercations.  Police records show he was frequently arrested or cited for carrying weapons illegally, but his most serious, persistent, and life-changing incident was the charge of murder. 

In May 1606, Caravaggio and three of his cohorts got into a brawl in Rome not far from the Pantheon.  This melee appears to have been a prearranged duel to settle some issue of honor, complete with seconds, witnesses, and choreographed around daggers and swords.  As a result, Caravaggio killed Ranuccio Tomassoni, a member of a powerful and well-connected family of mercenaries.²  Caravaggio, himself wounded in the turmoil, quickly fled Rome and in absentia was convicted and sentenced to death by papal authorities.  A bando capitale (a capital sentence form of exile and death warrant) was issued, which allowed anyone to kill him and, with legal impunity, earn a bounty.4  The next three years, on the run to Naples, then Malta, followed by Sicily, and finally back to Naples, would remain a shadowy period in his life.  All this time, despite his precarious circumstances, he continued to produce extraordinary works of art.  

It was when he sought refuge in Malta that we picked up the details of his time there, thanks to that evening in the Oratory Chamber.  Hoping to gain a papal pardon by his acceptance into the

Eight-Pointed Maltese Cross
Symbol of the
Knights of Malta

powerful Knights of Malta.  It was his donation of the painting of St John’s beheading, the Knight’s patron, that he cleverly offset the entrance fee needed to join the Knights.  

This image, whose figures are approximately life-size, depicts the beheading of John the Baptist following his execution.  It is the only work by Caravaggio to bear the artist's signature, which he placed in red blood spilling from the Baptist's throat.   It became visible to modern viewers only during restoration in the 1950s.¹  The work is signed f. Michelango but it is popularly claimed that Caravaggio signed "I, Caravaggio, did this."¹  I’d rather believe the latter, where much like Michelangelo Buonarroti, who had died seven years prior to Caravaggio’s birth, had chiseled his name along the chest band of the Virgin of his famous Vatican Pieta to make clear that he was its creator.

His status as a Knight, however, proved short-lived.  In September 1608, only six months after his induction, a ceremony took place in the very Oratory we occupied.  Before his momentous painting, Caravaggio was defrocked in absentia, declaring him an "infamous and a putrid member" ³ of the Order.  This action followed another violent altercation involving the assault and serious wounding of a distinguished Maltese Knight, Fra Giovanni Rodomonte Roero, at the home of the Knight-organist Fra Prospero Coppini.  As a result, Caravaggio was imprisoned in Malta’s fortress but managed to escape a month later.  On the run again, he headed north to Syracuse, Sicily.

During his Sicilian exile, where he continued to produce significant works for local patrons such as The Raising of Lazarus, his behavior became increasingly paranoid, likely due to fear of retribution by the nearby Knights or bounty hunters seeking reward per the bando capitale.  He became desperate to regain his standing in Rome.

Inside Present Day Locando del Cerriglio 
Restaurant, Naples

     Late in 1609, Caravaggio fled to Naples, hoping to receive word of a long-awaited pardon from Pope Paul V.  The appeal was likely pushed forward by influential patrons in Rome, including Cardinal Scipione Borghese, a powerful admirer of his work, and bolstered by the clout of the Sforza-Colonna families.  Unfortunately, instead of peace, Caravaggio found violence.  He was ambushed in what appeared to be a carefully staged vendetta, widely believed to have been orchestrated by agents of the Knights of Malta.  According to our narrator, the organist of the Oratory room, Fra Coppini, was rumored to have been part of the Neapolitan hit squad.  It's unsettling to imagine that, even now, the two men face each other across the Oratory space, locked in eternal opposition.  Other theories shift the blame to Rome, suggesting the family of Ranuccio Tomassoni, whom Caravaggio had killed years earlier, had not yet put their blood feud to rest.  The attack took place just outside the Locanda del Cerriglio, a tavern that still stands today.³  Caravaggio was held down and slashed across the face in a brutal act of sfregio (ritual scarring), a violent symbol of revenge for dishonor.  The assault left him both physically and psychologically broken.  Seriously injured, his vision faltered, his once-bold brushstrokes grew uncertain.  Still, Caravaggio pressed on.  In July 1610, Caravaggio set off by boat from Naples to Rome carrying several paintings.  But fate intervened.  At a stop at the port of Palo (modern-day Ladispoli, near Civitavecchia), Caravaggio was arrested, possibly in a case of mistaken identity.  Though released two days later, the boat with his precious cargo was gone.  Desperate, furious, and weakened by his wounds, he set off on foot through coastal marshlands beneath a punishing July sun, hoping to intercept it at Porto Ercole, a remote Tuscan port.  He never made it.  On July 18, 1610, at the age of approximately 38, Caravaggio died, alone, pursued, and scarred.

While historical accounts vary, it is generally believed his life ended under murky circumstances, a fugitive from justice, his legal problems still unresolved.  While some accounts suggest he died from malaria contracted from swamp mosquitoes, or the failure to recover from his earlier wounds due to infection, others propose theories ranging from lead poisoning following years of exposure to paint or to heatstroke.  What exactly happened remains shrouded in thin evidence and speculation.  A papal pardon through the auspices of the Pope’s nephew, Cardinal Scipione Borghese, was at hand.  Caravaggio never knew for certain whether his pardon had been issued; the three paintings he carried, intended for Cardinal Borghese, were part of his efforts to reconcile and seal the deal.  After his death, the Cardinal did receive one of the two Saint John paintings.  The remaining two paintings, another of Saint John the Baptist and one of Mary Magdalen, disappeared.

Caravaggio’s influence on art is immeasurable. He’d opened a new vista on how humanity and divinity are portrayed in art.  He could capture the divine in the faces of the ordinary, while ironically,

Caravaggio the Artist

his own life embodied a bloody turbulence couched in the violent world of the street, rife with crime.  I’ve wondered whether Caravaggio’s lifestyle was symptomatic of madness, or something just shy of it. 

In his defense, the term painter’s colic comes to mind.  Painters were not bad people by nature, just people who used bad paint.  Paint did not come in tubes then, but had to be made from dusty powders.  Due to their lead content, they were especially toxic.  Over time, due to the dust and the habit of painters licking the tips of their brushes, it took a toll on their bodies and behavior.  Symptoms took the form of concentration problems, irritability, aggressiveness, depression, and anxiety.   There were clear lapses in Caravaggio’s concentration, especially following some form of rejection that saw his art production fall off considerably.  This form of impairment may have gone a long way in characterizing Caravaggio’s behavior when he lowered his brush to cruise Rome’s violent alleyways by night.  He may not have been mad by nature, only driven that way. 

Like Vincent van Gogh, Caravaggio fits the stereotype of "mad genius.”  Seemingly, as oxymoronic as the juxtaposition of “mad” with “genius” may seem, our interpretation of it may hinge on what might be called the economics of madness.  I see it as a trade-off between being productively or wastefully deranged.  Society tends to romanticize unconventional behavior in geniuses as a form of brilliance.  Their divergent approaches, as in Caravaggio’s consummate The Beheading of St John, are tolerated because of the perceived value of their innovations.  As a form of collateral damage, any suffering that accompanies it is often ignored.  Similar behavior in others, absent some special creative output, is interpreted as madness and quickly

Caravaggio
Not Forgotten in Malta

medicated.  This double standard only reflects how deeply we link worth to output.  Yet, divergent thinking, necessary to perceive the world differently, is often the very spark that drives innovation.  Caravaggio lived on the sword’s edge of this thin margin.

The play we attended early on during our visit offered a strobing glimpse, followed by darkness, and then another illuminated scene repeated over and over.  In much the same way, we were given flashes of insight into the obscurity surrounding Caravaggio’s life.  These intermittent revelations mirrored the interplay of light and shadow that defines his art.  In step with these on-and-off glimpses, piece by piece, however imperfectly, we began to assemble an image of what may have happened.  Even centuries later, pulses of fact and speculation, record and rumor, along with truth and fiction, continue to swirl around the enduring mystery of Caravaggio.

He was clearly visionary, amazingly talented, and in command of a daring technique capable of almost photo-quality paintings featuring unanticipated boldness.  He created an unprecedented visual language of emotional impact, whether employing the blunt realism that captured the subtleties of lifelike features such as facial expressions, bleeding flesh, or a vagrant tear.  The price for such never-before-seen works was survival on the fringe of society, rudderless, quick to reply with a sword, a life of struggles on the run.  Caravaggio’s early demise extinguished his equivalent spark, reminding us that the line between genius and, call it madness, is not only thin but perilously fragile.  Enigmatic Malta, layered in history, seated before the largest painting Caravaggio ever created, taught us that.

From That Rogue Tourist,
Paolo

        1. The Beheading of Saint John the Baptist (Caravaggio), https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/ The                    _Beheading_of_Saint_John_the_Baptist_(Caravaggio)

         2.      Caravaggio Final Days, https:// www.metmuseum.org/perspectives/caravaggio-final-days

      3.    Caravaggio the Criminal: How a Life on the Lam Changed the Baroque Painter's Art, https://www.salon.com/2017/09/10/caravaggio-the-criminal-how-a-life-on-the-lam-changed-the-baroque-painters-art/

       4.      Exile of Caravaggio, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Exile_of_Caravaggio

The Good, Bad and Ugly (Part II: Deep Dive & Secret Sauce)

 The Good, Bad and Ugly 
        (Part II: Deep Dive & Secret Sauce)                                            

Waiting in Line to Descend

      By this point, we’d trod far enough, as recounted in Part I, “Getting There.”  With each footfall, the stone’s contours, rising to meet us, took shape in the soles of our shoes.  Liver spots and calluses aside, they offered no resistance.  Even the white hair on my arms, caught in the rhythm of our lively pace, had streamlined to our momentum.

      Napoli Sotterranea (The Naples Underground) was just ahead, tucked away in an opening along the narrow street of Piazza San Gaetano.  Beneath the city’s surface, a hidden layer of Naples’ rich history quietly waited.  Tours of Napoli Sotterranea lead visitors down below the bustling streets to explore ancient Greek cisterns and Roman marketplaces.

But first, if a personal confession may be allowed, I have something to share.  The hard truth is I could never have been a submariner — I don’t do well in small spaces.  I confirmed this conviction years ago while wading through Hezekiah’s 1,700-foot-long water tunnel in the City David, Jerusalem. That passage had only been two feet wide and at times five feet high.  It felt like an endless eternity.  Our only light came from the faint glow of tiny key-chain penlights, which, thankfully, we’d chanced to buy beforehand.  The saving grace of this wet, cave-like experience was that we couldn’t get lost, the exit was out there, somewhere, straight ahead.

Here in Naples, we joined the line for the English guided tour and soon began a descent 130 feet into an otherworldly space, a hidden world carved out of tufa rock by the Greeks as early as 400 BC, using Samnite workers.  Well-suited for the job (no punintended), these ‘stone moles’ often hailed from 

Dangling Amphora Over One of Many
Underground Cisterns

 the same families, selected for their climbing ability, compact size, strength, and agility.  We had entered part of a vast complex network of underground passageways and cisterns.

The purpose of the system was to provide a source of fresh water for the ever-burgeoning city.  Many of these reservoirs once existed, and everyone relied on them―the Romans drew water using amphoras, centuries later, the Spanish with buckets.    Over the years, as the city grew, the network expanded as rivers were diverted to feed the system.  It was so large, in fact, that people could lose themselves in its labyrinth of corridors. 

In time, these ancient cisterns took on new roles beyond their original purpose.  History records 

Archived Photo of Residents
Taking Shelter

instances when this underground network was used by invaders to make their way undetected into fortified areas.  Centuries later, during World War II, the tunnels were used defensively as air raid shelters.  Their depth made them ideal places for civilians seeking refuge.  Naples, the most heavily Allied-bombed Italian city during the war, endured more than 200 carpet bombings over four years of the war, including 180 air raids in 1943.¹  The most intense attacks came when the Allies landed to the south of Naples, along the beaches at Paestum and Salerno, in 1943.  Our guide described how families huddled in the dark, cavernous spaces during those terrifying times.  By then, the cisterns had dried up, and the old wellheads were being used as dumps for household trash.  Yet, in their desperate search for safety, the people of Naples inadvertently uncovered layers of their city’s past, unearthing 3,000 years of buried history. 

Stone benches, hewned directly into the walls, were relics of another time and a silent reminder of 

the people who once sat there, seeking safety.  For added gravitas, gas masks and defused bombs crowded a corner.  Scattered children’s toys added to the realism and eeriness.  At one point, after a brief explanation of what lay ahead, our group was given the option to sit out the next part of the tour.  Bob and I, for reasons still unclear, decided to forge ahead.  Maria Elena and Adrienne, more sensibly, chose to stay behind and await our return.  That’s when things got dicey—a spelunking expedition ensued reminiscent of the Hezekiah tunnel, a deep dive indeed, though absent the rapid water at our feet.

The Proverbial Light at
Tunnel's End

Not many turns later, the passage narrowed dramatically.  It was like stepping into the trash compactor scene from Star Wars.  The walls closed in, and I mean really closed in.  I had to turn to squeeze through the tightest openings, awkwardly shuffling sideways in a duck-walk style, my feet slanted as best I could because my size 11 shoes were too long to fit while straight.    With my cellphone in hand, thankfully well charged, I used its flashlight to guide me through the dark.  I quickly realized I did not  have the ideal physique of a Samnite tunnel mole!  By then, I’d had enough and needed to surface. 

A few cisterns later and as promised we rendezvoused with the 'stayed behind' group.  Maria Elena and Adrienne were seated and rested.  While I may have looked OK, you couldn't discern that my spelunking days were at an end.  We soon emerged from the deep shadows of the underground to materialize back in Piazza San Gaetano.  

Surfacing from the Depths of Naples

Back in the present, a restaurant was conveniently located in the square.  Hungry, going on weary, we took our seats at an outdoor table.  When the waiter arrived, instead of menus, he handed us small cards containing QR codes.  I’ll be frank: I can’t stand the remote, inhospitable, and impersonal idea of QR codes, an unwelcome cousin of texting!  The waiter, to his credit, kindly offered to help, but I led the charge to leave.  At that moment, what we craved was not QR tech, but warm, authentic local food, hearty portions, a relaxed atmosphere, and affordable prices.  As it turned out, leaving may have been a stroke of luck.  Just across Via dei Tribunali, we spotted Antica Trattoria da Carmine.  Had we stayed put, we might never have discovered this unassuming eatery where we would shortly connect with the traditional food of Naples.

 Antica Trattoria da Carmine was founded in 1967 by Carmine Romano, the patriarch of the family.  His culinary journey began humbly, selling wine from his kitchen in Somma Vesuviana, a town just north of  Mount Vesuvius, where the 

Streetside at Antica Trattoria da Carmine

volcano's slope reaches

La Famiglia Carmine

 level ground.  Today, despite being nestled in a touristy area (but isn’t all of Naples a bit touristy?), it remains a family-run gem. Carmine’s children and grandchildren now carry on his legacy, serving up traditional Neapolitan cuisine with pride and heart.  From the moment we stepped inside, we were welcomed like old friends, not just guests.  Nothing like a typical restaurant experience in the States, we were embraced in the warmth of a large Italian family, sharing in the joy of home-cooked, deeply rooted Neapolitan dishes.

Behind its street-side facade, this charming, restaurant stretches all the way back to the kitchen.  It's simple, shoe box shape is far more spacious than it first appears.  Guests can sit outdoors, soaking in the lively energy of the street, or head inside to a larger, cozier dining space.  Inside, tables line both sides of a central aisle that, following a few stairs, leads to a slightly elevated area with additional seating.  The interior design is warm and rustic, complemented with wooden tables and chairs, colorful tablecloths, and vintage décor with family photos that speak to generations of tradition.  

While exploring the interior, I came upon a long table in a corner by the register filled with family members of all ages: children on mother’s laps, others, big enough for chairs, on their knees forking in mouth loads of pasta, seniors overlooking the brood.  Likely reserved and comped, it was a family anointed area, marked by an overhead photo featuring two of Carmines grandsons, twins, one clearly a mischief-maker from his sign of greeting.

Just Maybe, the Second from the Right Twin Confused His Fingers!

     Our waiter, Maurizio, turned out to be Carmine’s mischief-maker grandson in the photo, a fitting continuation of the family legacy.  The menu he provided featured a variety of genuine Neapolitan dishes, the description of each more tempting than the last.  While the chef's specialty is a fillet of  

Involtino

beef with Parmesan, rocket, and cherry tomatoes, there were plenty of other standout choices: Patate e Provola (pasta with potatoes and smoked provolone), Paccheri ai Carciofi e Polpo (large tube-shaped pasta with artichokes and octopus), Ziti alla Carmine, Zucchine alla Scapece (marinated fried zucchini), and their famous Neapolitan Ragù.  No counterfeits here.  Our favorite, though, was the Parmigiana di Melanzane  (Eggplant Parm), so delicious that we returned the next 

Our Favorite, Eggplant Parmigiana

 day just to enjoy it again.

We found ourselves wondering aloud why everything tasted so unbelievably good.  Maurizio insisted it was the sugo—the rich, slow-cooked sauce (or gravy, if you prefer)—that made all the difference.  This led to an impromptu visit to the kitchen, where vats of sugo bubbled away atop six-burner stoves.  The aroma in that room was intoxicating—honestly, if I could bottle it as an aerosol, I’d be a millionaire.  The truth is, no Italian restaurant in the States can come close to replicating what we tasted there.  Between the food and the wine of Italy, we've officially become Italian food snobs—and unapologetically so.   

Maurizio Shows Me the Secret Sauce!

     On this outing, as Italian composer Ennio Morricone had put it, we’d experienced The Good, the Bad and the Ugly.  But Da Carmine was all good—exceptionally good.  For anyone with an adventurous spirit (and aappetite), the journey is worth it just to eat there.  That said, choose your pamphlets (reference to Part I)—and your underground passageways (Part II)—wisely.  Naples, in all its edgy grit and raw humanity, is a true, never-forgotten discovery. 

To the yonder and what's next.

From That Rogue Tourist,
Paolo

1.   The Four Days of Naples,  A Reflection on World War II in Honor of Ukrainians, Danielle Oteri, Mar 06, 2022, https://www.danielleoteri.com/p/the-four-days-of-naples

 The Good, Bad and Ugly
  (Part I: Getting There)

The Earthy Street Scene Vibe of Naples

      Calitri, our home away, sits almost at the center of the Italian peninsula, perched on the eastern edge of Campania, one of Italy’s twenty regions.  And when I say ‘edge,’ I mean it quite literally.  From our windows, I look across to neighboring Basilicata, which lies just a short distance away.  Calitri’s prime location makes it the perfect base for excursions to either coast.  While I’ve previously shared our adventures in Bari on the east coast and beyond to Crete, this post focuses on our recent visit to always exciting Naples, just an hour and a half away to the west. 

Naples is one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in the world, with its origin dating back to the 8th century BC.  Though it’s often thought of as quintessentially Italian, its roots are actually Greek.  It was founded by settlers from Cumae, the first Magna Graecia Greek colony, located approximately twelve miles northwest of Naples.  Its settlers named the city Neapolis, meaning “New City.”  With its strategic location on the Bay of Naples it quickly grew into a bustling metropolis.

Over its long history, Naples changed hands many times as the leading powers and empires shifted and vied to become its master.  In the 3rd century BC, Naples became part of the Roman Empire.  With the fall of Rome, the Medieval period saw Naples pass through the hands of various barbarian tribes, including the Ostrogoths and the Lombards.  In the 6th century, it came under Byzantine rule, continuing the tradition of serving the master of the moment.  By the 7th century, control shifted to the

The Royal Palace of Naples

Duchy of Naples (661-1137).  This pattern continued with a period of Norman (Normandy French) and later Angevin (French) rule, but by the 15th century, the Aragonese dynasty took control (1503-1715), marking the beginning of Spanish dominance in Naples.  Under Spanish rule, the city flourished as a center of Renaissance culture.  In the 18th century, the Bourbon (French) dynasty rose to power and established the Kingdom of Naples.  The Bourbon monarchs (1734-1860) embarked on ambitious architectural and infrastructural projects, including the construction of the Royal Palace of Naples and the expansion of the city’s fortifications.  However, political unrest and the upheaval of European wars destabilized the kingdom in the 19th century.

Bombs Drop on Naples in WW II

   The centuries of turmoil that followed a popular uprising led by Giuseppe Garibaldi in 1860 set the stage for the period of Italian unification, known as the Risorgimento.  This era saw Naples become part of the newly unified Kingdom of Italy under the House of Savoy.  Soon after, two world wars, World War II in particular, resulted in significant hardship.  It was a city caught in the midst of global conflict, inflicted with aerial bombing campaigns.  Far removed, we witnessed the lingering effects of this bombing while on an earlier visit to Naples when an unexploded WWII bomb was discovered, forcing us to cancel our plans to reach the port. 

Legend Says Pizzaiolo Raffaele Esposito
Invented This Pizza for the Visit of
Queen Margherita in 1889

Today, Naples thrives as a vibrant cultural hub, underpinned by its rich history, art, music (it’s the birthplace of opera), and cuisine (most famously, Pizza Margherita).  The city remains a vibrant tapestry of historical significance and charm, blending ancient ruins with artistic traditions and a deeply rooted sense of local pride.

Though we’re still getting acquainted with this lively city, one thing is clear: despite the many challenges it has faced throughout history and continues to face today, including the ever-present threat of Mount Vesuvius, its people are known for their warmth, pride, and zest for life.  Naples feels distinctly different, far removed and more earthy than polished Rome or the sophistication of Florence and Milan.  Like a root-bound plant, the people of Naples are deeply embedded in crowded neighborhoods, such as the Spanish Quarter, sometimes described as rough around the edges.  Naples continues to grapple with modern challenges, including economic difficulties, menacing earthquakes, and organized crime.  The city has earned a 'love-it'-or-'hate-it' reputation, polarizing yet enduring.  But through it all, Naples captivates the hearts of those who visit, drawing them in with its unyielding spirit and infectious energy.

Our  View Toward Piazza Bovi 

Along with venturesome friends Adrienne and Bob, we were staying at Palazzo Depretis, a bed and breakfast in the heart of this historic city.  It was an interesting place, located high above Via Agostino in a multi-story building that also housed professional offices and private residences.  Initially, we used a coin-operated elevator to reach the upper floors, but after checking in, we were provided  a telecommando (remote control) for all future trips.  Once inside the Palazzo Depretis, we were greeted by something unexpected.  I’d describe it as a video concierge, basically a live person, although remote from our location.  This was something unexpected, though not surprising.  It was in Italy, after all, that we first saw chips on credit cards well before they were introduced in the US.  This novel concierge, who likely served multiple

sites, proved an innovative touch, allowing guests to remotely coordinate plans, make reservations, or  

Bob Steps into Naples

 even request a taxi.  She may have also triggered the arrival of our friendly hostess, who helped us settle into our rooms, making us feel at home in this fascinating blend of old-world charm and modern convenience.

Relieved of our luggage, we found ourselves on the streets by mid-afternoon.  The energy of this city, fueled by its rich culture and the liveliness of its residents, was palpable.  Only footsteps from the step-through door onto the street (see photo), patrons of coffee bars and streetside restaurants spilled out onto the pavement.  A group of police officers in their finest regalia, adorned with sashes, epaulets, and gleaming hat badges, mingled on the street ahead, leisurely sipping their afternoon espressos.  

Curious, I approached an especially attractive officer and asked her why there were so many of them and what had brought them here, certainly not a crime.  Her questioning look softened into a smile of understanding as she explained that it's common for Italians to take a break during the afternoon to enjoy a strong espresso.  She gestured toward a nearby police administrative center, or Questura, a term I was familiar with from Italian TV shows like Zen, and said that’s where they worked. I couldn’t help but wonder whether it was the need for a jolt of caffeine, the chance to socialize, or both that drew her there.

Tight-knit Neighborhoods Indeed

    Now, I’m no anthropologist or sociologist, but it was clear to me that Neapolitans, like this officer, are cut from a different cloth.  Renowned for their resilience, the people of Naples maintain a deep connection to their cultural heritage and take immense pride in their city, its rich history, and its cherished traditions.  From the famous pizzaiolos (pizza makers) to the musical tradition of Neapolitan songs, to the historical significance of the city itself, these people truly embrace their past.  Their saying: "Vedi Napoli e poi muori" ("See Naples and then die"), is a reflection of that pride. 

Masterful Nativity Scene

Centuries of hardship have forged tightly knit families and neighborhoods, shaping a sense of belonging and mutual support.  They tend to wear their emotions on their sleeves, whether it's joy, frustration, or excitement, and from those sleeves, their hands often speak loudly with hand movements (this Video, post an ad, offers a hint).  In fact, these expressive gestures can sometimes speak as loudly as their words.

Then there is their unique brand of Italian dialect.  We experienced it long before we visited the city, during a play in Calitri featuring Neapolitan actors. Even the local Calitrani sitting with us in the audience couldn’t understand them.  In defense of the actors, the Calitrani dialect is just as incomprehensible.  Still, we all managed to follow along and could sense when to laugh.  Hospitality is a core part of their identity, and they take pride in making visitors feel at home. That may explain why this officer took the time to soothe my curiosity.

Where I Could Have Joined the Party

    I’d have enjoyed staying longer, but soon we were back on our route to the Spaccanapoli area.  Spaccanapoli, meaning "Naples Splitter," refers to the sequence of narrow streets that slice through the historic center of Naples.  It's a vibrant maze of crowded, colorful alleys filled with shops, restaurants, seafood markets, and plenty of tourists.  The area is also home to famous artisan workshops on Via San Gregorio Armeno, known worldwide for their handcrafted presepi (nativity scenes).  These dioramas of the Holy Family have their roots in the first-ever nativity scene staged in a cave by St. Francis of Assisi in 1223 in the nearby town of Greccio.¹   

The 1753 Veiled Christ by
Giuseppe Sanmartino

We passed through Piazza Bovi, then turned up Via Mezzocannone until it merged with Vico San Domenico Maggiore.  As we continued, we passed the L’Università degli Studi di Napoli “L’Orientale”, a school of Sinology and Oriental Studies.  Outside, three young people were handing out flyers, and I took one, only to discover it was an invitation to join the Communist Party.  As someone from a country built on capitalism, I wasn’t interested and quickly returned it.  In hindsight, I should have been forewarned, considering the entire façade of a nearby building was covered in an enormous mural of Che Guevara and Fidel Castro.

Neapolitan Street Art

Arriving at Via Francesco de Sanctis, we turned right and passed the Museo Cappella San Serveno, home to the famous sculpture The Veiled Christ, where a gauze-like marble veil delicately shrouds the figure.  We tried to enter, but its popularity meant that without tickets purchased well in advance, there was no chance to see this masterpiece.  Throughout our entire route, it was evident that artistic expression in Naples continues to thrive.  Though not enshrined in its many museums and churches, and absent any need for a ticket, there were spray-can expressions everywhere

Via Nilo Statue of the Nile God

     This phenomenon appears to have spread throughout Italy, including Rome.  There in Rome’s charming Trastevere neighborhood, buildings have been vandalized by these phantom aerosol sprayers.  These “street artists,” if they deserve such a title, may not realize how their graffiti takes from the artistry of their architectural heritage, where Angevin Gothic coexists with the purest Neapolitan

Baroque, giving the area a rundown feel and putting visitors off from strolling its streets.  But this may only add to the fascinating, gritty vibe of the area, affixing a backdrop to the chaos of scooting Vespas, the melodic appeal of street-side vendors, and dripping overhead laundry you hadn’t imagined.  

After a turn onto Via Nilo, we arrived on Via dei Tribunali, a major east-west thoroughfare in this historic seven-street maze known as Spaccanapoli.  We had limited objectives for this, the trip’s first deep foray into Naples: a visit to Napoli Sotterranea followed by an afternoon lunch at a place that as yet remained: To Be Determined. 

TO BE CONTINUED

From That Rogue Tourist,
Paolo

1.                  Greccio: The Italian village that's Home to the World's First Nativity Scene, https://www.bbc.com/travel/article/20231219-greccio-the-italian-village-thats-home-to-the-worlds-first-nativity-scene

RELATED VIDEOS:

Palazzo Depretis on You Tube:   https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MHECIP3ONtU

ZEN BBC TV Trailer:   https://youtu.be/YEpuanSa8-I?si=l8-WiEq1lJLER0YG 

Italian Hand Gestures (after ad): https://youtu.be/WwZ6NTV1nRc?si=b14WYm81I7MaYkEs

Graffiti along Via Mezzzocannone: https://youtube.com/shorts/7DhUWB76eyU?si=ooTlVa-WayvOVwx1