Quite often, I get the question where I find the inspiration for my weekly blogposts. Over the past few weeks, I was told a couple of times that I ‘probably wasn’t writing any blogs any longer now with this corona thing going on. Right?’ Because what is there to write about with everybody staying at home? It made me laugh, as I’m never lacking inspiration! Well, up until now that was. For the very first time in half a year, I really had no ideas spontaneously bubbling up last weekend. I decided to ask my friends for advice. Although all kinds of very good suggestions came in, I somehow didn’t feel it. And as far as writing blogs is concerned, I know right away if there is a story in them. Most of my blogs started out with just a single sentence, an anecdote or a statement that, without any further planning, made the sentences flow out naturally on the digital paper. Suddenly, I remembered a message from my Italian teacher of the language school in Naples, in which she asked me to write something about my time in this southern Italian city last summer. That’s it, I’m feeling it!
Those two wonderful, crazy and colourful months that turned my life into a sweet gust, but occasionally into a challenging whirlwind and a proper tornado too
Napule, oh Napule, as Naples is called in Neapolitan. Where on earth am I supposed to start? Those two wonderful, crazy and colourful months that turned my life into a sweet gust, but occasionally into a challenging whirlwind and a proper tornado too. Two months that seemed like a year, but flew by at the same time. Just hearing the name makes my head overflowing with memories. So what to write about in this blog?
While I was lying completely stretched out on the floor with her hanging over me pressing my belly using her full weight (she fully lived up to the stereotype of the voluptuous opera singer) to teach me the right breathing techniques, she assured me that literally anyone could sing opera with a little practice
About that time I went kayaking with my new Neapolitan friends who I had met less than 24 hours earlier, and I was stung by a giant jellyfish that refused to let go when we had stopped in the most beautiful bay of Naples to admire Roman underwater ruins?
About how one of my new best friends then threw me over his shoulders like a real Baywatch lifeguard and pulled me on the rocks? Thanks to this heroic rescue, I couldn’t sit normally on my heavily scraped buttocks for another week.
About the South Korean priest in my Italian class who paid for my coffee and cornetto (an Italian croissant) every day, but refused to have even the smallest conversation with me? After the first week, I even stopped trying and left it at a grazie mille and my kindest smile.
About how I lived at Napoli’s oldest market, the Pignasecca, and how my neighbour – a greengrocer selling his tomatoes and melons from five in the morning until midnight – never let me go out until I had given him a detailed description of where I was going and with whom? That one time I went out at six o’clock in the morning in a tight red dress to go shoot some photos with a friend making use from the beautiful morning light, he didn’t trust the situation at all.
About that time I got the whole street involved when my bikini accidentally fell off the clothesline on top of the fishmonger’s wide awning? The neighbour across the street had to give directions from his balcony on the third floor to the fishmonger – who was standing on a stepladder that was far too small – indicating where he had to poke his broom exactly in an attempt to get the bikini off the awning, while tourists were filming the whole spectacle.
About the dear signora I lived with – daughter of a famous Neapolitan folk singer who was pretty famous in the eighties – who greeted me with a loud “Ciao Bambola!” every morning and who prayed during the Sunday mass for me to meet a wealthy man? In any case, it shouldn’t be a Neapolitan, she said, as she was completely fed up with all of them.
About how I had agreed with her that in case we had cockroaches in the house, I would get rid of them as she was terrified of them? However, I turned out to be a coward too as I came home one night, spotted one in the hallway and was too scared to even get close to it. I went to bed pretending I hadn’t seen it, so when I woke up a few hours later from a loud scream, I could perfectly guess the reason for her meltdown.
About how one of the guys from the beach club I went to almost every day kept telling his boss all summer that I was his girlfriend so I would always be appointed a lounger in the front row on the wooden deck where a lovely breeze provided the much-needed refreshment? I might have to add here that most of the Neapolitan beaches are private beaches, and it is forbidden to just put your towel in the sand.
About the one time I had dinner at Sorbillo, where the best pizza in the world (!) is served, and we were allowed to jump the seemingly endless queue just like that because I was with Tobia, a friend from university? He happened to have grown up around the corner and is therefore privileged to get a special treatment forever.
About how they, after my painful jellyfish adventure, still managed to persuade me to go kayaking on the open sea with a bunch of classmates, this time for a ‘sunset prosecco tour’ and my kayaking partner – a boisterous Irishman who bragged about being able to drink a lot – was simply too drunk after three long drinks of prosecco to paddle any further? It was pitch black already by the time we finally got back to the shore, far after midnight.
About how I decided to take singing classes, but at the first lesson discovered they were opera classes in fact, taught by one of Naples’ most talented opera singers? While I was lying completely stretched out on the floor with her hanging over me pressing my belly using her full weight (she fully lived up to the stereotype of the voluptuous opera singer) to teach me the right breathing techniques, she assured me that literally anyone could sing opera with a little practice.
About how I let a lady on giant heels talk me into donating blood – in exchange for a free blood test – in a caravan that was parked in the busy shopping street every day? I thought of it as a win-win situation: I finally wanted to get rid of my fear of blood tests and I’d liked the idea of a free medical analysis. However, to this day I am still waiting for the results that I would receive via e-mail.
About the ninety-five-year-old Neapolitan lady a friend lived with who had dementia and drank five gin tonics a day asking herself with every glass she poured if she had had one today already? Also, my friend – who was quite anti-smoking – eventually gave in and tried a cigarette as this woman offered her at least five cigarettes every day. Every time she said she didn’t smoke, the old lady raised her eyebrows in amazement.
About that time I was swimming in the sea – my gaze on the Vesuvius volcano that seems to hug the city like a big mamma – when suddenly a dolphin jumped out of the water? In spite of the warm water I immediately got goose bumps all over my body.
Napule was a lot, but really a lòt, to take in, but I did it. I felt Naples in every vain of my body, and after those two months I’m sure I was almost completely made out of pizza
As all these images from last summer flash by, I realise that it is simply impossible to summarize my whole Neapolitan adventure in one blogpost. These memories are only a fraction of everything that happened and I could actually write a whole book about it. For a moment, I think about all those beautiful people that made my time in Naples unforgettable. Napule was a lot, but really a lòt, to take in, but I did it. I felt Naples in every vain of my body, and after those two months I’m sure I was almost completely made out of pizza. The precious moments on the back of a scooter, in which I could close my eyes for a moment and feel the summer breeze on my face while the noise of a city that is simply never quiet disappeared to the background, are my sweetest memories. Napule, si ‘na pret’. Tiemp’ bell’ ‘e ‘na vot’!