Maria Mocerino

The doors closing behind me, 420 locking into place, Welcome to Naples.

As the train leaves the station totally tagged in graffiti, I’ve never seen a train that wasn’t. Graffiti is as Neapolitan as The Odyssey is, as you can see. The Greek heroes are streaking in sculpture form in this moving mural that includes a bad piggy with a key, oranges hanging from the sky, tags such as GIOS, HSVE, and *NSIS WOF, and a whimsical cyclist.

Benedetto Gravagnuolo, a historian, described the city’s architectural style as ultra-modern archaism as if “…the ancient and modern were destined to perpetually switch roles.” And we can see that on the circum — ancient prefix — vesuviana behind me, the commuter train that turns around Vesuvius, the volcano that brought eternal life to Pompei, in the feminine.

“Didn’t Vesuvius destroy Pompei?”

No, everyone knows Pompei, this is the point, winking.

A panel dedicated to Totò is now revealed, the legendary comedian and filmmaker. Do you know, KNOW, KNOW this man? I’m shoving you with these words. You feel that, right? Smiling. The intensity with which I am talking to YOU about this MAN? It is not Toto, OKAY? The little dog from The Wizard of Oz. His face is HERE at all angles as you enter Naples if not BEFORE. It’s Totò.

And now, I will shake it out: the ability to jump you.

Already, without leaving the station, we can see that Naples is a story on top of a story, and no matter where you go, Totò always pops up just like Diego Maradona. Look, look. Not all at once. There he is. You see? Next to the Dalmatian print on the train headed to Seiano, probably…? We’ll be seeing them in the streets a lot, so I will be introducing them to you in this way, the right way, mine. My Way.

Okay, so first, with a thumb, brows raised, sneaky smile turned on. It’s time to get Neapolitan.

No tour group stuff.

We gotta act more like friends as I am doing. I am Neapolitan and you are my foreign friends. Hilarious, I’m laughing at what you just said as we have already been loitering for too long.

Approaching the escalator, I get to the top, regardless, as a rule. We’ll meet up there, I assure you, no fear. I will appear at the counter pretending to be waiting for you, my friends from the suburbs, and propose to you.

Caffè?

You will feel like I am forcing you to get a caffè or that some larger deal is happening around this caffè. I will insist a few times — no, NO? No caffè? I may even look disappointed and at the barman as if you were strange. He might support me on that. This is only to appear natural, you see. There are better coffees out there, but it’s all pretty good, I must admit with the love I have for this culture — to switch, suddenly, snapping at you.

Metro tickets out. Insert them into the machine.

Over lime green arrows and under silver panels and shafts of fluorescent light, we’re going through an underground mall of sorts. I’ll be inserting Neapolitan words into my talk to give the impression that, uh, English is a stretch, and this is very Neapolitan, you see, as a strategy. It is known: everyone has a strategy in Naples, and I have mine. To get through. At the top of the next escalator with GUESS stickers, I will appear a little too far for you to believe and act as if I am seeing you for the first time in a long time, not very.

Shaking your hand to hug you, you see, here in Naples my performance would be recognized and respected. They wouldn’t even have to know why I’m doing it, putting my hand on your shoulder as if it’s really been too long and looking at youuu, right? As if you had a BABY, but it’s been a touch too long to have thought of it right away. I’ll excuse myself.

Yes, we can go from knowing each other to not having seen each other — yes, this flies in Naples.

We perform in real life. A performer in real life is a natural phenomenon. Pointing around as if I’m making a DEAL with YOU because this is how we talk here. "Life is a stage, we are merely players,” this is Shakespeare. We know that. We got that MEMO a long time ago.

Walking backward to convince you that I am a real tour guide but putting my hands in my pockets like John Cusack might, unassumingly. This is your reference, no? Retro. “Yeah,” like my cousins say it, “yeah.” With the box of music in the air. “In Your Eyes,” welcome to Naples, a city of music, Garibaldi Station. Glory. 50 million people pass through this station every year, a fact that reminds us that we are all traveling through life, and we should never forget it. Could be, kinda, a TWA wing at a cool airport in the ‘60s, what do we think? ‘80s? Totally. A glass box, retro, this is what I mean, like a ship, with sails too, as we are on the sea, which we will see, soon, on the lungomare.

Now come, come close, we’re friends.

First, um, how do I say this? In English…

You shouldn’t talk to anyone, ever. Especially the old ladies. They will cut you. It’s just the way it is. It’s actually not that dangerous, as 3.7 million tourists come through here, but still. That’s how Naples talks about the strangers that can approach you, and fast, especially as you exit Garibaldi Station.

Don’t be distracted, lock your body into place — activate.

Pushing the door open, our objective is — cross the street.

SENTI = LISTEN.

I do not pay any attention to “directions” here. “My Way” by Frank Sinatra is a Christmas carol not “Silent Night.” So traffic lights? They flash colors, how extraordinary. Verify in every way that nothing is coming not even a pack of dogs. You cannot drive through Naples, “it is to be avoided at all costs,” in the words of my cousin Carmine. “You can’t go around fixing STREETS,” either, in the words of my cousin Franco. “You always find something of ancient significance.”

Passing architectural flutes stuffed with trash bags on a little island of cardboard sleeping stations, a mattress against the divider, look up — the roof of Garibaldi Station comes at Piazza Garibaldi like the tip of an arrow, one of the biggest city squares in all of Europe…like this matters, cats. The Danes understand what I mean. Let’s just get this over with.

With a thumb, 1 football field = 1 acre. 1 hectare = 2.47 acres. Piazza Garibaldi = 6 hectares, so that’s a lot of acres. I cannot do this math. This piazza, which annoys me personally, was designed by the firm Dominique Perrault Architecture and made better by graffiti artists who added “TOURISTS GO HOME” on a silver box and “Everyone hates the police” on something useless in French. Completed in 2013. Putting my fist to my mouth, um, other important graffiti to note on this piazza includes “MOON” and “Giovanni is my one and only.”

Hands in my pockets, looking down now like a historian, this giant steel canopy we’re strolling under creates the illusion that arrow blades, sails, and kites are flying all around us, but down below, they open into striped umbrellas, in the Galleria—more shopping. There is always a surprise in Naples like this lone red ring box just sitting on this railing that catches the eye. It’s open, empty. What happened? That’s Naples.

Corner pocket—clocked it. A photo of Totò. He is up against the camera in sunglasses with a man behind him as it should be, in the positive sense, so prepare your cool sunglasses and “let’s go,” with the poetry of Henri Michaux, and see one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities the world as friends. They will definitely see us coming. You see? You see. Our tour will change the world.