The Solemnity of a Good Time

 The Solemnity of a Good Time

There are rhythms in my life, one of them being a return, again and again, to the alleys, grottos and mazelike walls of Italy.  There is an enchantment to 

Unlocking Our Calitri Door

the ‘villageness’ there which hardly exists anymore.  But this love of place carries a price that tallies by the hour on the day of travel beginning the moment I lock one door in anticipation of unlocking another half a world away. 

Our most recent jaunt across the Atlantic to renew our rhythmic yearnings was in late August.  It, unfortunately, did not have an auspicious beginning.  Oh, the bus ride to the airport went well but trouble began when Maria Elena surprisingly drew the unexpected attention of the ever-vigilant pre-check staff of the Transportation Security Agency.  Apparently, they had new, extra sensitive equipment that got the idea that she was a human ‘mule’ of sorts, attempting to smuggle contraband out of the country.  The culprit?  Powdered medication in her carry-on triggered an alarm.  A smaller amount, we later learned, would have slipped by unnoticed.  But in classic Catch 22 “damned if you do and damned if you don’t” fashion, we were following their own advice: carry your essential medications with you on the chance your luggage is lost.  In Maria Elena’s case, the stakes were higher still because we knew this medication isn’t available in Italy.  The catch, of course, was that six weeks’ worth could hardly be hidden.

Once initiated, the process had to run its course to completion.  Their rules required a formal report be prepared.  Maria didn’t mind—but I certainly did.  To my surprise Maria seemed quite amused, almost entertained by the whole affair, beginning with a pat-down after she agreed there was no need for it to be performed in a private room.  Thankfully, we had time to spare, which was needed because, just short of the need for a ‘line-up’, she had to wait for a member of the State Police Explosive Ordinance Division (EOD) to arrive. 

When he finally appeared, he set about his ritual of analysis and performed a series of chemical tests.  These ranged from droplets of colored fluids on swabs of powder samples to pulsing a beam of red light on Maria’s suspicious white powder.  The testing concluded with the declaration of a false alarm.  Without fanfare, she finally got a stamp of approval to proceed to our waiting aircraft.  Only then did the tensest person in the room, anxious me, preoccupied with what was going on and imagining a hundred what ifs, relax.  In the end, we made our flight with time to spare.  Still, the whole episode lent support to the growing notion that it is, perhaps, easier to enter our country than to leave it.

This had been an atypical experience, poles apart from the norm.  It served to cap off a final threat to our long-awaited return to Italy.  Only weeks earlier, in some unintended incident, I’d managed to damage my knee.  The pain felt like my knee was coming apart.  Worst case, I thought I might have torn a hamstring making our trip impossible.  My doctor quickly put an end to my self-diagnosis, and to my chagrin declared it the onset of arthritis.  So, this is what my mother complained about!  At least temporarily, it was resolved with a shot of cortisone.  The trip remained a go.  

Hours later, Aer Lingus deposited us in Naples.  Our only remorse is that ours was not a direct flight.  Touching base in Dublin can’t be avoided.  Being the longest terminal I’ve ever walked, from international arrivals to in-country departures, involves a long trek to the next gate.  Still in knee pamper mode I opted for wheelchair assistance.  All the intrigue aside, we safely arrived in Italy and by early afternoon, my recurring passion just begun, I unlocked that long anticipated door half a world away and along with our intrepid friends Leonardo and Joann, we stepped inside.

We lingered only briefly in Calitri.  Two days later, we locked the door once more and set off on another journey.  Our destination this time was Sicily, preceded by an overnight in Naples for two reasons.  First, to position ourselves for an early morning departure to Catania the following morning and secondly, to visit the Sansevero Chapel Museum (Cappella Sansevero) in the city’s historic center.  We tried to visit this chapel on a previous visit but found entry requires a reservation made well in advance.  This time, with tickets secured months earlier, we were able to step inside and experience one of the greatest masterpieces of Baroque sculpture: The Veiled Christ.

 The  Baroque Veiled Christ

The Sansevero Chapel was created not only as a noble family’s private chapel but also as a symbolic sanctuary layered with rich motifs including stars, zodiac signs, labyrinths, and hidden allegories of life, death, and spiritual rebirth, many tied to Masonic traditions.¹  Walking into the chapel feels like entering a space where art, science, and spirituality converge.  Surrounded by marble masterpieces, the silence and subdued lighting serve to craft an atmosphere that is at once reverent, mysterious, and awe-inspiring.  It is a setting that radiates both sacred devotion and secret knowledge, all culminating in the presence of the Veiled Christ at its center.

The Veiled Christ, commissioned by nobleman, freemason, and patron of the arts Raimondo di Sangro, is a life-sized marble statue sculpted by Neapolitan artist, Giuseppe Sanmartino in 1753.¹  It

depicts Christ after the crucifixion.  What makes the piece astonishing is its impossibly delicate shroud, carved entirely from a single block of Carrara marble, that seems translucent, draping the body as though it were fabric.  The hauntingly realistic transparency of the shroud leaves most observers utterly spellbound.  The veil appears astonishingly light.  Almost like fabric it clings to Christ’s body to reveal his features, wounds, and even the tension in his muscles beneath this sheer veil. ¹  The complexity of this gossamer cloak, the shear boldness of the concept, is a challenge to fathom.  This illusionary, nearly photographic technique was so unexplainable, it was initially thought the result of alchemy where a real veil had astonishingly been transformed into stone.  A legend soon emerged that its patron, Raimondo di Sangro, known to be fascinated by alchemy used a mysterious chemical process to “marbleize” an actual veil and placed it over the statue.  Modern scholars, however, confirm that it was purely Sanmartino’s extraordinary mastery of his craft  

Among the other remarkable sculptures commissioned by Raimondo to fill the chapel is Francesco Queirolo’s Il Disinganno (The Release

A Sample of the Illustrious
Pantheon of the Sansevero Chapel

from Deception), a breathtaking work symbolizing liberation from sin and ignorance. ²  The sculpture is steeped in symbolism.  Our audio headsets said it symbolized “man’s liberation from wickedness and ignorance.”  In stunning delicacy, this was depicted by a man struggling to free himself from sin (depicted as an intricately carved marble net), aided by a winged angel.  

Unlike Sanmartino, who emphasized the anatomical details and gossamer delicacy of a thin shroud in the Veiled Christ, Queirolo chose the almost impossible challenge of carving a knotted fishing net.  Every piece of this incredible sculpture, like the Veiled Christ, is carved from a single slab of marble.  Carefully crafted knots in the draped net wrap the large figure of a fisherman. ²  Local craftsmen, who specialized in the burnishing process, refused to complete the final polishing with pumice.  Every twist, knot, and fold was so fragile that they refused to polish it.  They feared touching the delicate net might cause it to break in their hands.²  This resulted in

Francesco Queriolo's
Release from Deception

the sculptor personally polishing the entire piece himself.  This added to the seven years it took to complete.  The final result is regarded as Francesco Queirolo’s pièce de résistance, which solidified his legacy as one of Italy’s greatest 18th-century artists.

We departed the awe-inspiring Sansevero Chapel with its bevy of masterpieces scratching our heads in puzzlement.  The fact that the two examples I’ve described were from single pieces of marble is extraordinary of itself.  Personally, I mused over how such exacting, meticulous works had been created in the 18th century absent today’s tools like 3D printers!  Maybe there had been a little magic after all.

By this time it was late afternoon.  Our appetite for art temporarily satisfied, we next looked forward to dinner, though by local standards, it was far too early.  Fortunately, the maze of streets of the Spaccanapoli district offer endless distractions, as we meandered its narrow alleys teaming with life.  A single glance down one side street spawning from Via Tribunali proved enough to fill the time.  If I’m not mistaken, the name of this backstreet is called Vico del Fico al Purgatoriy, the Alley of the Fig Tree in

Welcome to Purgatory

Purgatory.  The Garden of Eden may have boasted an apple, but apparently purgatory prefers figs.  Not that we saw evidence of a fig tree along the entire lane.  In its place, we stumbled on a truly serendipitous find: a little place called Tapas Spritz, which, after the solemnity of the chapel, turned out to be lively spot in the center of Napoli.  Depending on whom you ask, Tapas Spritz is either delightful or dreadful.  I suspect, as with most things in life, it depends what you bring to the table.  Maybe you catch it on an off night, or maybe, like us, you land in the middle of a self-perpetuating party, not due to the particular mix of drinks, but the blend of personalities

Tapas Spritz Master of Ceremony

involved. 

Our evening began courtesy of a street barker of sorts posted at the alley entrance to the vico.  The young man, whom I suspect would have done well at Fifth Avenue marketing, beckoned that we sit and join the soirée.  Channeling Bacchus, he beckoned us to join in with such gusto we couldn’t refuse.  He wasn’t alone.  His “coworkers” were not staff, but fellow patrons who kept the party alive with impromptu dancing and antics.  Like a spark catching kindling, the place burst into a lively blaze as more and more people arrived, drawn, it seemed, by the sound and their own curiosity.

A bright ember at the center of the merriment was a young woman from Turin celebrating her 31st birthday along with friends.  She had a beachball of sorts and in novel fashion asked those she met to write something on it, at least their names, to commemorate the occasion.  I was pleased to add “Paolo di Calitri” to her growing mix of names and comments.  She asked Maria Elena and Joann where they were when they were 31?  Both replied, “Married with children.”  To their surprise, with all the earmarks of a liberated woman, she replied, “Oh, that was a different

time.”  Perhaps she was right.  I’m not sure about then, but in that moment in the flaming intensity of a good time at Tapas Spritz, it certainly was the only “time” that mattered.

The name Tapas Spritz suggests endless tapas, but in truth the tapas are an afterthought, while spritz’ flow like holy water.  Seating is entirely outdoors in the narrow vico, wide enough for a string of tables on either side with space enough for an occasional Vespa to interrupt the merriment.  Overhead, signs twirled slowly, one of which (if my translation is right) proclaimed: “Alcohol is a precious liquid. It preserves everything except secrets.”  Hardly profound

A Scooter Zips by Our Table

philosophy worthy of classic literature, but excellent Neapolitan wisdom.

The atmosphere was warm, the staff friendly, the vibe magnetic—more than needed to make guests feel relaxed.  After a Spritz, a Negroni, maybe two, I decided one visit wasn’t nearly enough. After all, first impressions can be misleading.  It would take a return visit to confirm, something I’d eagerly volunteer for Tapas Spritz had earned a permanent spot on my Naples must-return list.

We departed Naples early the following morning for Sicily.  We looked forward to a two-week spree along its coastline.  We’d begin first along its eastern seaboard with stops in places like the Island of Ortigia jutting from Siracusa, and lofty Taormina.  From there we’d round the northern shore for a final stay outside of Palermo.  It would be a slow-paced journey measured day by day with the opening and closing of door after door in the pure act of travel.  The hand might be the same, but the reveal inside each would afford a bucket list of adventure. 

From That Rogue Tourist,

Paolo

 

1.     Veiled Christ, https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Veiled_Christ

2.     Italian Sculptor Created A Marble Masterpiece In 7 Years and People Can’t Believe It’s All Marble, https://www.boredpanda.com/marble-sculpture-net-francesco-queirolo-release-from-deception/