Hello from Vomerò

Naples is a beast, a beauty, a theatrical mystery with neighborhoods full of drama, history, and mystery. On the hill above Chaia overlooking the picturesque Posillipo is the affluent Vomerò where I stayed in an ancient church cave that a young fisherman converted into an Airbnb. Traveling inspires our inner voyager, so first, to get there, I walked down the famous Via Toledo where French writer Stendhal wrote the famous words: “to me, this is the most beautiful city in the world.” Behind palm trees, the facade of the funicular rose tall and pink, and who doesn’t want to take a cable car built in the early twentieth century? If “funiculì funiculà is coming into your head; a journalist wrote that classic Italian song when the first funicular railway opened on Mount Vesuvius in 1880.

The architecture is worth the trip to Naples, one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities on Earth, but Vomerò, in particular, offers a stunning display of Neapolitan Liberty which the last station stop features in pink glass. Out of the funicular station, I hung a left and curved along an architectural heaven over rolling hills—Liberty in all its facets and shades—with spectacular views. Tip one if you’re staying in Vomerò: just walk around. Take Via Luigia Sanfelice and Via Fillippo Palizzi. You’ll see a flourishing graffiti: “maybe we’re crazy,” to turn left and see a Liberty mansion in orange gold across the street from a grey castello. Continuing on Sanfelice, however, I had to get to my Airbnb first. I passed the Villa Santarella where Baroque composer Domenico Scarlatti lived and worked. The castle grey and pink—a classic Neapolitan color combination—was constructed in 1909 in the Liberty and also Renaissance revival style, somehow, but Naples can be patchwork that gives the city its flavor. Right beside it, I found a villa behind a gate that could have come out of a novel.

A young strapping fisherman was waiting for me at the end of the block next to a sweet graffiti of the word “bird” on the side of a light pink building. Down a set of steps, we reached another skinny and steep set as if we had arrived at some tiny hilltop town and made our way down to his cave. Over the stone wall across the sea was the island of Capri, a tiled portrait in blue and yellow marked the spot in front of his front door with four windows.

The arched raised loft was his fisherman spot with a dark blue SMEG fridge and nautical decor. Though he had an ashtray from Grand Hotel Vesuvio—the most famous if not expensive lodgings in Naples—his place was simple and well-done, but I liked that little touch. He came from a family of fishermen and bought this little gem a couple of years ago and treated me like royalty but he was laidback—he even offered me a private driver…his friend.

I passed the funicular station and headed up some steps next to an escalator with fashionable Neapolitans in leather and hats hanging out between handsome buildings and graffiti. At the corner of a grey apartment building with wooden shutters, the terrace of fonoteca was packed; a stylish bar that sells craft cocktails and records! I got a Negroni, a classic, and perused some jackets with a cool, fun crowd. A friend of the fisherman had a citrusy drink in a tall glass with fresh mint in it. As a solo traveler, I never feel alone in Naples, because the city lives outside and Neapolitans are warm, boisterous, and prone to strike up a conversation.

Up the street, I found Cantina La Barbera, a secluded restaurant tucked down an alleyway with an enclosed outdoor terrace, woodsy. A large table conversed with voices that cocooned me in a warm embrace. The owner welcomed me as if I were a special guest if not home. He took his seat at a table with the restaurant musician was there who plays Thursdays. And Naples is a music capital, so I’dgo back to check out a local musician. I had a fagioli and meatball soup with rosemary followed by a zucca risotto thick and creamy with tartufo and fungi. Excited to explore the interior, the staff led me through the dining rooms with bright colors on the walls, empty at this time of day. They have a pizzeria downstairs in a tavern with archways, and Naples unfolds like a story; always a surprise or a delight to discover. “Come back,” they said. “Oh, most definitely,” I said. I admired the restaurant’s hot red emblem in the window of the facade on my way out.

The street with bustling bars curved toward an apartment building with a yellow facade dramatic in direct sunlight while the street remained in shadow at the end of the day. Naples is a city of contrasts. Every traveler has their style; I love finding a neighborhood that I can explore that also offers me sites to see and good drinks and eats!

Here are a few of spots to check out in Vomerò—to start

Castel Sant’Elmo

Everyone goes to Egg Castle on the lungomare, the seafront promenade, but I send travelers to this 14th-century fortress situated on the highest point in the city for sprawling views of the city, sea, and Vesuvius. (He’s always there.) A small novecento museum gives you a taste of modern Neapolitan art from 1910 to 1980 in the futurist and neorealism styles. There’s a Scaturchio at the Castel as well, a pastry shop famous for making sfogliatelle for over two hundred years. It’s a small seashell of a thousand crunches stuffed with ricotta, cinnamon, and candied citrus peel that is purported to be packed with potassium and other nutrients. You have to get this delectable treat if you’re in Naples—it’s a must. Most people crowd the location in centro storico and it doesn’t offer these breathtaking views in clear chairs. If you’re feeling indulgent, the cafe crema is dessert in a plastic goblet; a cold, thick, creamy shake for hot days that you can take to go.

Certosa di San Martino

A grand monasterial complex stands right beside Castel Sant’ Elmo as a premier example of Baroque architecture. Erected in 1325, the grounds are palatial with a hundred rooms, two churches, a majestic courtyard, four chapels, three cloisters, gothic dungeons, and hanging gardens. Make sure to allot half a day, at least. The royal chapel of the Treasure of San Gennaro is considered to be one of the finest artistic achievements of the city with a dome covered in paintings. And why not? You went from twentieth-century art at Castel Sant’Elmo to seventeenth-century Neapolitan painting.

Villa Floridiana

Take a coffee or a Spritz to go—porta via—and stroll through a park that was once the grounds of a royal villa that is now a ceramics museum. Under oaks, pines, palms, boxwoods, and through camelia roses and English meadows, the grounds are romantic with artificial ruins, statutes, enclosures, caves, and a small lake with caretta turtles. The neoclassical decorative arts museum houses gorgeous ceramics from the twelfth to ninetieth centuries that even include styles such as Chinese Ming, Qing, and Japanese Edo.

Vanvitelli Metro Stop

The Vomerò metro stop is on the best line in the city—the yellow number one—because it became a public art project. Every stop is a work of art filled with colors, mosaics, installations, and photographs. Among the hundreds of artists that are featured in this spectacular underground theatrical event are William Kentridge, Robert Wilson (Toledo), and Sol LeWitt. The city spent five billion dollars to introduce the city to contemporary art. I tend to take a trip through the subway early in the morning to avoid people entirely. At the Vanvitelli stop, black and white photographs of the architecture cover the walls with escalators ascending and descending through futuristic metal cages with a hot blue swirling lighting fixture in the ceiling.

Naples inspires stories though it’s packed already with myth, folklore, devil sightings (ha—it’s true!), and unbelievable true tales, so it sparks one’s creativity no matter if you lean toward the dark or light. A telephone rang in the space from the television screens on the platform below; a psychological play took off in my head, even a breakout absurd dance number of an almost 50s diner feel. I cannot recommend doing Line One enough, and the metro takes you straight to Garibaldi, too, so it’s a direct line to the train station.

Vomerò makes public transportation fun because driving in Naples is next to impossible. In the words of my cousin Carmine, “It is to be avoided at all costs.” I wouldn’t recommend it. Walking in Naples, in my opinion, is a feast for the eyes, especially from Vomerò; there are pedestrian pathways winding down to Chaia, another chic area to check out. Through archways, you’ll feel like you’re on a secret passageway in some tiny hillside town, once again, and arrive at buildings that will stop you in your tracks in the Liberty style behind palm trees. In the morning and afternoon, the play between the light and the city is a true marvel. Though it’s a healthy walk, you can make your way to Via Toledo and Place Plebiscito and take the funicular back. Avoid the path at night on the return. It’s uphill and not well-lit and Naples is enchanted; that includes the light and dark, so keep that in mind, though I did it and it was fine. Around my fisherman’s cave on Via Petraio, I explored some of these stone alleyways with light splitting through archways.

Naples is an adventure, and every neighborhood has a special character. Vomerò is an unforgettable gem, the perfect place to pick to discover Naples for a short trip or long stay also for its proximity to Posillipo; my favorite neighborhood. Prepare to wander through an architectural delight and fall in love—you’ll see the word over and over again across walls: amore. It’s public knowledge; it’s all about love, and as it was written on a box of panettone: whatever you do in life, put your heart into it.

I love you more than Maradona,

Maria

Fascist architecture...

You know, it’s not what you typically see people concentrate on when they take photos of Italy, or Southern Italy, since I’m here. I myself didn’t really take notice or want to, but I started reading Hannah Arendt some years ago, which made me remark on it differently. “The break from belonging,” she said, is at the root of our modern feelings of isolation and loneliness and Totalitarian regimes. As I was walking up the steps to the official post office in Naples, which is fascist, I saw a portrait of a Pope on the stair…and we know that the Catholic Church—the ratlines—were responsible for the escape of many many Nazis. Nazism is a form of fascism. And we are in Italy, too, and it’s a part of their history if not global history. My cousin in Rome took me on a walk from exposed Roman ruins, which was a fascist public project, down the Jewish quarter, extremely old, and to the port of Octavia where the Jews were rounded up. I was facing the synagogue and the Jewish museum…and I cannot exactly look away. I’ve heard in the USA, I’m not sure now, “he’s a fascist,” which places the state, to begin, over democracy…and here’s a real example of that regime.

Here was my walk…I’m just taking a stroll…exploring the city of Salerno…

I’m not an expert, but I’m taking more of an interest in architecture…and this was the journey…I just wasn’t expecting it, so I had to stop. What a gate. I just found an article about fascist architecture…what’s left.

What kind of architecture is this?

Fascist, the guard said.

Right.

Can I go inside?

So I did.

I explored this building because it’s an official government building. And it’s always in these buildings that I’m told, eventually, “you can’t take photographs.” I understand that, from a certain perspective, so I stopped. I’m not focusing on this style of architecture…I’m just making a small point, that’s really not that small, and then, I go back in time…through the streets…and it’s a totally different perspective.

After I posted those pictures, I had a hard time sleeping. I had dreams. As the article above wrote, it was one of the bloodiest times in history, but it’s not reflected in the architecture. The domineering effect. The falsehood. Nationalism. I do not have that in my lineage, but I am Catholic right? It was my childhood rage. My parents were liars, they were sick, in one way or another. I dedicated almost four years from 9-13 investigating this church as deeply as possible with the resources available to me. I left at the end of those four years, and I still didn’t even stop my religious education, I suppose. When it came time to get confirmed, I did it because I heard the word “Crusades.” I was filled with instantaneous rage because of the way it was framed. And I didn’t even have to know what it was. I’m just sharing that piece of my personal history just due to the link between church and state.

I was just rocked by the layers of feelings that I worked through last night because architecture really does communicate a lot, which is why it’s so powerful. It’s where we live, it’s where we go to send mail, it’s where we go to conduct official state business, and it’s everywhere. We move through it. History. There are ideas that make up the design. Do I think it’s attractive? No, it’s terrifying. Monsters…that’s what my dreams were last night, literally. I would think that you might just destroy it or you would not put official government business in these buildings. Is that a valid response? There have been many terrible governments, no, but that one was a part of a world war.

I was wondering, what do you do with that past? With that history. The Jews have museums, organizations, and from that standpoint, right, you do not forget. I posted a couple of things in a field of buildings and food…there will be stunning small streets…it’s just do you not notice? I just happened to end up there. Do you erase it, not remark it? I woke up feeling so much…and that’s me…it’s history, and what do you do with that? Again, my question is why would you conduct official state business in one of these buildings? Well, they obviously picked these spaces for a reason. It was state over democracy. Nationalism. And you should be able to ask these questions, I think. That’s all. I wouldn’t, quite frankly. I would not want to conduct official business or anything in these buildings. It wasn’t that long ago. It’s just to say. So I apologize if that was shocking…And people study this time in history…people write about this kind of architecture, so. I often thought you don’t pay any attention to it…you do not acknowledge it, but is that the right attitude? It’s a little different when it’s an official space, I think. And maybe facing it, on my end, is positive in its care. I care.

I think about what the refugee camp manager said: “If you know what happened in the past, you can understand the present, and maybe you can focus the future …” So, I suppose that’s about it. I’m not posting any more pictures…I will continue to bask in the scenic beauty of the region…and keep learning about its history. Again, it’s not everywhere, and I’m not looking for it, but I just found that quite stunning, and not beautiful, I mean, I was stunned.

It’s the fear of that time. The reality of it. And it’s that fear that might be dangerous in some senses. I heard once that France is a culture of criticism and the USA is a culture of fear. When I was speaking to the refugee camp manager, I had to be honest, since I obviously carry my culture within me. He said that the USA, he guessed, is all about freedom. We discussed that in the YSL Jardin Majorelle with plant life protected and flourishing from all five continents. On the edge of the old and new city in Marrakesh, I wondered why I was feeling some fear. Just because of his point of view? The difference between our medias, let’s say? The refugee crisis? He himself was a refugee from Afghanistan. On the one hand, which I didn’t put on him, I came out of a crazy home and I wasn’t fed properly, so I could not get hungry without feeling fear. I worked through that. On the other hand, I just said you know there’s a lot of fear for a country that is all about freedom…

“A lot of fear for always defending that right; it’s a paradox. It’s an interesting point.”

“I think that it must be a large thing to admit, to face what one has done,” I said.

“Imagine if they did that, what would happen to the country?”

So, I am very for the state taking responsibility for the ideas that make it up. And also acknowledging the pillars that are inside of me. I confronted my father on homosexuality, since it was the vocabulary word at the time, and racism, basically, at twelve. It marked the end of my investigation. I staged a clown act, small, to refuse to go to church with him, and I didn’t even abandon my faith in a sense. I wasn’t exactly proud to be a Catholic, quite frankly. He had no idea what to do and yes, I went after him outside. I didn’t understand as a child. I saw a pillar inside of him, let’s say, that he himself was not even aware of…and outside, in engaging with the world, it wouldn’t necessarily appear as racism. Just because he said “I think it’s easier to stick to your own kind…” And yes, he had Alzheimer’s, denied it, and all that came along with it. But that would imply your family. “Mankind.”

Plato said in his vision for a utopia that a leader would be a philosopher-king. From an Arendtian perspective, she was not interested in the thinking man but in the acting man. When I think of a philosopher, I think ideas. Ideologically, what makes up the real material. If you can acknowledge the ideas…and then put forth into action a plan over time to shift…that would be possible. When I was a child, investigating the Catholic Church, I thought that there were fundamental human laws that were irrefutable. You cannot place someone further away from God, but that’s just coming from the textbook that I had. We are all human beings, which might sound like an obvious statement, but you cannot argue that. And people have. If you are not in accordance with that, then you’re breaking a fundamental law. There could be a way to properly handle that. You can address the ideology behind the structures that hold up a society…and make a real plan, long-term, to change. The Notre Dame, since it was the etching in my father’s book of poems that he wrote to his first love, was built in a hundred years. It was a time in history when building something like that took time. People worked on that knowing that they would not see its completion…which is a powerful idea. You don’t destroy history, right, because that’s also an abuse of power that has also been waged.

How do you shift towards a humane system, regardless?

I have to get ready to go to lunch.

Thanks for reading.

Big Sister of America

About to turn ten years old, my eyes were hovering over my globe—Asia. I had demanded for this globe when I was four to understand what this “world” was…I had been blown away by what I had been hearing. Now, I was back from this weird scenario, and I was feeling confused about this continent. I figured I would ask, which I did, for an Asian big sister—it was my sole request—because where was Asia? Where was Asia in my textbooks? I figured, given that I was saved by a Brazilian-Jewish family that I might use this an opportunity to explore another continent…I didn’t care where in Asia, I was trying to give some room. Maybe I would learn a language, I thought that would be good. I had so many questions—what was going on here? Where were you in America? Did Asians call themselves Asians?

When I got matched—I ran, full speed, down the Big Sisters of America hallway—I couldn’t wait to lay my eyes on her. I scared my Big Sister of America. She would begin singing the Jurassic Park theme. Halting in the threshold, frozen and visibly waiting to receive me, I told her to her face that she wasn’t Asian, looking at this case worker. She was ashy blond with highlights well-done, blue eyes from Santa Monica, and a full mouth—attractive. She was about twenty years older than I was working in finance, but she didn’t age.

Without missing a beat, she grabbed her slouchy bag.

“Oh no, I am definitely not Asian,” she said with an assured hand, getting up to her feet.

“I’m from Bakersfield…”

She was tall with a barely detectable drawl…

Crossing her arms, looking down at me, “and you,” she said, “you are not eight.”

Eyeing me, a piece of work, she said to our case worker.

“Eight is not the same thing as ten…”

She was a straight shooter—she wanted an eight year old, not ten.

I blinked. She knew how old I was?

She knew I was about to turn ten and when my birthday was. She didn’t even need to open the file in her hand to check! Smirking, she was a clear, smart person.

She was easy, breezy, quirky: she could brush her layered locks—layers, she would say deliciously—off her shoulders. She could make circles with her hands and perch her voice high; sweet. She was grounded, complacent, with flurries.

With a pointer finger at her chin, we were in a predicament.

I was not eight and she was not Asian.

Where was she from…her accent…it was barely there but her mannerisms, too. Something else going on.

Snapping and hitting her palm, she was driving her pointer finger respectfully around my face.

Her mother was from Orlando, the “real” one, and swinging a little, proud, or making fun of its seriousness?

“Home of the casserole.”

I had never heard of such a thing.

She never wanted to have children, it was never her desire, so she was a very special person who wanted to show up for a girl in this very special way.

With a circle, we could all agree, the case worker did not say one word in this entire exchange, that ten was not eight and Asia was a very large continent. I appreciated it. But where, where is Asia? It was also a large question. I was smart—she liked that. Was she on the basketball team? Ah, yes, she sure was. Hm, she was pleased with me. It appeared, according to her, that we were in the same boat. And she stepped up to me as if a good coach…maybe because she knew more about children than this lady did. She was confident and she had heart.

What do you say, she cut to the chase, we give it a shot.

Wait, what? I hadn’t moved really.

Sometimes, and she gave it me like a coach, you just gotta give it a shot.

The ball.

What do you mean?

Turning her head, you just gotta give it a shot.

Okay, I said, I just wanted to see the world…what’s Bakersfield like?

“Ohhh,” she was laughing, talking to me like a kid but not down to me.

The two of us walked out the door, leaving our case worker behind…

She would always say that sometimes all you have to do is take one clear step and the whole universe shifts…

Arms crossed, she was listening to me.

It was time have dinner with my parent time—at Italy’s Little Kitchen.

Opening her menu, the server made an assumption.

No, no, not my husband—about to turn seventy—not my child.

Yeah, I nodded on that one. I would ask her questions later—straight out the gate.

She would call me the most adult child she had ever met…