Our Ford Fiesta partied its way south, into Napoli, the city a vast number of Italian-Americans believe home to their family, once upon the late 1800s. Truth is, most emigrants have Napoli claimed as a home town only because it was the port city they departed from and they didn’t speak the English to correct Ellis Island officials.
Naples is infamous. We only caught a glimpse. Half passed midnight, the streets converged into a tranquil episode of the chaos. We swerved around the double / triple parked compact cars, and dodged the people that appeared sporadically from out behind the obnoxiously parked cars. Classically Italian architecture buildings shimmered holiday lights in these dark hours. Trees were wrapped in festive color, a glibber to the gloom casted over the city. A shade of mystique bellowed. The night was flooded with street lights and shadows. Prostitutes walked haggardly in heels up, and back down the littered streets.
We parked in an alley. T sensed something not right when she pointed out the massive pad-lock on several vehicle steering wheels we crept past. We picked a hotel we’d try for a night’s stay. But, after walking in the echoing corridor and up the wide staircase, to the second floor, neither us, nor the host felt the connection. We thanked and ciao’d them a bella notte.
A pizzeria offered to stay open an extra 30 minutes for us to refuel on prosciutto pizza and coffee. It cost next to niente.
Keys in the ignition, we re-ignited out party and roared down the road. Onto the auto-stada and along the Amalfi Coast, several hours later, we arrived on the water of Cariati. We witnessed a 7AM sunrise over the Ionia Sea.