MAY 2026
Napoli. The name alone sounds magical. But why do we Anglicise it? If the Italians want to call it Napoli, why do we insist on calling it Naples? I can say Napoli. It’s not difficult. It even sounds better. Milano. Roma. Firenze. Torino.
Whatever you call it, Napoli/Naples is a blast of a city. Chaotic, gritty, vibrant, and brilliantly alive.
Day one began with a free walking tour of the Centro Storico. It’s a great way of familiarising yourself with the city’s layout and some key landmarks before setting out to explore by yourself. And after two hours the number of sights seen was remarkable. We started in Piazza Dante and a statue of the great poet. (I say ‘great’ – I’ve never actually read him). Then Port’Alba – a gateway to the old city. The nighttime hangout of Piazza Bellini.
Then more Palazzos, Piazzas and Chiesas. Palazzo dei Di Sangro, where in 1590, nobleman and composer Carlo Gesualdo murdered his wife and her lover. Chiesa e Chiostro di San Gregorio Armeno where the blood of Santa Patrizia is said to liquify every Tuesday. Via San Gregorio Armeno, a street famous for craftsmen producing nativity scenes. Pio Monte della Misericordia – containing a rather underwhelming Caravaggio. And of course, Spaccanopoli, a combination of streets that combine to create one long road which splits Naples in half. And some more Palazzos, Piazzas and Chiesas. Based on Lonely Planet’s similar walk, there are some 25 sites of interest within Centro Storico alone. That’s a lot to take in in two hours.
Thankfully there is a steady stream of espresso bars and delicious street food to keep you going. Supplì – deep-fried risotto balls. Arancini – fried, breaded and stuffed rice balls. Cuoppo – paper cones of potato croquettes or deep-fried seafood. And of course, pizza slices.
It then seemed appropriate to escape the heat of the day and head underground. Napoli Sottereana explores a network of tunnels which have been used at various stages by Greeks, Romans and Italians, as quarries to extract tuff stone for building, as aqueducts and water cisterns, and as WWII air raid shelters. Some of the tunnels are so narrow they need to be negotiated sideways. Not something for claustrophobics or those of a prominent girth.
The following morning, prior to popping off to Herculaneum, I went for a wander down to Porte Nolano. The gateway itself (porte) is framed by two cylindrical towers, on one of which some enterprising soul has since built an apartment – not sure how he got planning permission for that. But Porte Nolano is better known for its street market, with fishmongers, greengrocers and bakers plying their trade. Further up Via Sopramuro the market evolves into a thronging array of stalls selling cheap clothes, shoes, perfumes and the usual fakery. You brand it, they can fake it. Thankfully my interest in fakes ended over thirty years ago, when the novelty wore off as quickly as the colour faded and the fabric shrank.
I’d considered popping over to Ischia or Procida for a day but there is so much in Naples that an extra day wandering around seemed far more appealing.
A metro train took me to the National Archaeological Museum, which is incredible, holding, as it does, so many ancient artifacts from Pompeii, Herculaneum and Naples itself. The sculptures, statues, mosaics and frescoes are quite breathtaking. I found myself channeling the spirits of (the presumably late) Arthur Harrison and James Dean. Not that James Dean but the poor old souls who had the misfortune to try to teach me Ancient History A Level. I hope they’re looking down with some degree of pride knowing that they did inspire something in me despite my tiring indifference.
Another metro took me to Mergellina for a walk along the seafront on Via Francesco Caraccio and a peek at Castel dell’Ovo (closed at the time). Then up to Piazza de Plebiscito, home to the church of San Francesco di Paola with its extensive hallmark twin colonnades extending to each side, and the Palazzo Reale (Royal Palace). But as grand as those buildings are, the whole square felt a little run down.
Naples is a poor city. Whatever money it once had has long gone. And it must have been extremely prosperous at some stage given the grandeur of its architecture. The streets are full of litter, the piazzas full of weeds. The homeless and destitute are everywhere. There is a constant soundtrack of police sirens. The very first thing I saw upon emerging from Garibaldi Station for the first time was a discarded syringe. The eponymous graffiti is everywhere. And not in a creative street-art way, but in an angry, nihilist way. Even grand churches and public buildings are not immune from a subculture that doesn’t care, and a municipality that can’t afford to remove it.
And you can’t escape the presence of one Diego Armando Maradona. He is everywhere. On football shirts. T-shirts. Murals. Banners. On every piece of tourist tat you can think of. He is absolutely revered here. I can’t think of another footballer who has achieved such a level of divinity. Not even Keegan or Shearer are worshipped like this. I thought it best to keep my counsel that in my opinion he is nothing but a cheat. Good job we can let these things go and move on eh? Hand of God my arse.
The Italians have their North-South divide the opposite way round to the UK. Here it is the south that is poor, deprived and neglected, while the northern powerhouses of Rome, Milan and Turin flourish and prosper. In winning Serie A in 1987, the Maradona-inspired Napoli became the first team from the south to win Italy’s highest domestic honour. He didn’t just win a football trophy, he inspired an entire region to believe in themselves. Napoli have since won the title a further three times. And he bloodied the nose of those arrogant northerners at the same time. Perhaps my disrespect is unjustified.
The most famous of the Maradona murals is in the Spanish Quarter, Quatro Spagnoli. It is currently covered up or painted over in a style cheekily reminiscent of one of Naples even more feted marvels, Giuseppe Sanmartino’s Veiled Christ (which I bypassed due to the queues). Covered up or not it doesn’t stop a steady stream of visitors lining up to have their photo taken – against the concrete wall of a council block.
The Spanish Quarter itself is a delight of narrow streets and alleyways, bustling with busy cafes and trattorias. Laundry hangs across the centuries old lanes, schoolchildren chase each other round small squares, and scooters weave through crowded streets. As delightful as it is you can’t help feeling that whatever authenticity the Quarter ever had is being rapidly eroded. You wonder what its long-term residents think of their neighbourhood becoming a tourist attraction. (Pots and kettles, I know.)
One more afternoon in between travels elsewhere afforded time to visit the Catacomba di San Gennaro, Naples oldest and most sacred catacomb, and one of its top-rated sites. Perhaps you need to be a little more pious than I am to truly appreciate it. I found it all a bit dry and not as interesting as Napoli Sottereana. And they don’t allow any photos at all. Bah humbug.
But it’s a lovely walk from Capodimonte down through the rough and tumble La Sanita district, which our guide had advised to have once been the home of the Comorra – the Neapolitan mafia. And that led me down to Il Duomo, the magnificent cathedral. The significance of the various chapels, frescoes, paintings, etc, is way beyond me. But you don’t need to subscribe to the religion to appreciate the sheer grandiosity and splendour of such buildings.
In between all this sight-seeing, I also managed to consume inadvisable amounts of the obligatory pizza, pasta, a vast array of street food, espressos, Peroni lager and Falanghina wine. The pizza really is as good as you’d expect from the place that claims to have invented it. Sloppy, cheesy, simple, and as far from the bastardised abominations we have in the UK as you could expect to find. And so easy to find. I daresay you can go to great lengths to hunt down the ‘best’ pizza or the ‘original’ pizza or the ‘most authentic’ pizza. Or you can just go into just about any pizzeria and still sample something divine.
Unlike Venice, where it proved difficult to find reasonably-priced places to eat which didn’t stink of a tourist rip-off, Naples is home to innumerable excellent trattorias and pizzerias. If It hadn’t been for all that walking I’d have come back twice the man I ever was.
Naples is gloriously imperfect: loud, chaotic, gritty, and bursting with life. Its history is rich, its architecture stunning, and its people real. Yes, it has its rough edges, but that is an essential part of its appeal. Give me unpolished beauty over glossy curation any day.
Useful links
Palazzo Firenze Hotel https://palazzofirenze.net/en
Napoli That’s Amore Walking Tour https://www.napolithatsamore.org/
Naples Underground https://www.napolisotterranea.org/
National Archaeological Museum of Naples https://www.museoarcheologiconapoli.it/en/
Catacombs of San Gennaro https://catacombedinapoli.it/en/luoghi/catacombs-of-san-gennaro-naples/