The road to heaven and hell or existential twilight is paved with life's dramas for us all; however, by my interpretation
of one old Neapolitan verse, I have now entered the realm of Mailer's immortal sage in Ancient Evenings, an immortal twilight.
An old saying admonishes one to "See Naples and die," reasoning that the bella vista of Mount Vesuvius and the Bay of Naples
absolves any mortal of the futile search for more in life. I was seduced by that view and here's the story.
Captivated by Naples verve and dramatic scenery on a day trip last year I vowed that I
would make my next trip to Italy a trip to Naples and the Siren's lure of Sorrento, Positano and
Capri. And with the encouragement of my romantic traveling partner, we added Sicily to the
itinerary. The areas surrounding the bay of Naples and the southern island of Sicily were once
called "The Two Sicilies," which gave our trip a sort of historical integrity. For my money, don't
visit one without the other. The peacefulness of Sicily was a welcome antidote to the rigors of
Naples, which, in my mind, is the New York City of Italy; and any Manhattan juggernaut that lives
to wake up "in the city that never sleeps" has something left to live for. Naples is as fast and
congested, old and Byzantine, beautiful by natural and man-made design, sophisticated and funky;
as safe or risky as your favorite island, Manhattan, albeit it speaks Italian and lives 30 years to the
rear, which is the part that provides an irresistible charm.
Feeling like pioneers, we had turned for advice on things Neapolitan to our Lewis & Clarke team in Brooklyn,
Charles and Michelle Scicolone for their guidance on the essential quest of finding.... What else? .......pizza and fine dining.
Armed with a list of well-researched recommendations, we flew to Rome, to take a minibus to Naples... you didn't think it was
going to be easy did you? Naples, like the Caribbean island of Nevis, is protected from everyman by the absence of direct
travel connections. You really do have to want to go there; and once there, you're really rather nicely insulated from the rest of
the world. When going to Naples, take an extra $50 to play the cab drivers. Forewarned about these harmless, indigenous
sharpies, our first experience fulfilled the prophecy. Dropped at the rather remote U.S. Naval installation in Naples by a minibus
driver who must have been rushing home for the 1:30 snooze, bewildered with 5 pieces of luggage, we fell into the hands of the
awaiting drivers at the local taxi stand. Sensing our plight, they welcomed us to the next cab in line. Cost of the fare? we asked.
Double the fare grazie Signore, our destination, ten minutes away in the heart of Naples, was in another township from theirs.
Haggling to no avail except fixing a sum, we entered the little chariot and headed for Piazza Amadeus, our local neighborhood
for the coming week. Future cab rides were haunted by the experience, and even when the fares seemed right, the driver's
anticipatory glance recalled the look of a wolf opening the gate for a couple of sheep. We rode, we enjoyed, we paid a little
extra.
If Florence propels you to awe inspired poetry, and Venice drums up a feeling of hallucinogenic euphoria without the
drug, then Naples is Fellini's Italy careening along with two wheels on the pavement, two wheels spinning in the air. Blessed with
a modern, clean and safe subway; little railway trolley buses, vertical trams called funiculars that transport you up and down
hillsides, taxicabs and seagoing hydrofoils, Neapolitans add to the maddening pace by rushing who knows where in streets
clotted by autos and motorscooters with an intensity challenging the Friday traffic East on the Long Island Expressway, though
maneuvering like morning cabs on Third Avenue. Add to this a considerable population of pedestrians, and you have
established the backdrop for a city that throbs along vivaciously; a city very much alive with business and people, and
incidentally full of history, art, architecture, panoramic views, restaurants and clubs.
But what about the important thing? What about the pizza? I've found it useful when traveling to have a quest. It
encourages the fulfillment of the Buddhist saying "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans ". In Naples,
the quest for the quintessential pizza put us in restaurants where a waiter sang Neapolitan folksongs, acapella renderings close to
an operatic aria and led us through the music district, where a Neapolitan Tin Pan Alley exists, made up of
shops filled with sheet music and musical instruments and wafting songs from second story windows. But if you
have a mouth for pizza, Naples will not disappoint. So frequently pedestrian fare in the United States, New
Yorkers are probably the only Americans able to have first hand knowledge of a good Neapolitan pizza and
even then, it's not the same. Close only counts with horseshoes and handgrenades. With pizza, the Neapolitans
get the proportions and intensity of flavor just so, the crust is soft and light, and the rest is thin in the right place.
Perhaps Americans will one day care enough to make great espresso and then go on to pizza. Aspetiamo con piacere! We look
forward to that day. Naturally, we also looked forward to finding out what wine Neapolitans drink with their meals. Naples lies
within the wine region of Campania, and like Naples itself, little wine of the region gets exposure to the American public. The
best known producer here is Mastroberardino, who exports a red wine called Taurasi, made from hillside-grown Aglianico
grapes, and also produces the white Fiano di Avellino and Greco di Tufo. We drank an Aglianico from Taburno that was quite
good and priced at 18,000 lira (about $11.60) on the restaurant list; and I found it the following day in a wineshop for 10,000
lira (about $6.60), perhaps making Italy a testimony to Thomas Jefferson's quote that "a nation where wine is cheap, will never
be drunken." They never are. (Which again raises the question, why must we pay the price of a New York parking ticket in
America to enjoy a decent bottle of wine in a restaurant?)
Equally as welcome was the opportunity to taste the wine from the small islands of Procida, Ischia and Capri; all three
within view of Naples. Quantities produced are limited by the small size of the islands, and the wines do not hold up well when
shipped across the Atlantic, making local consumption mandatory. The wines of Procida and Ischia are primarily white, with
only a small amount of good red produced; while Capri produces both white and red. Earthshattering they are not, but to
someone who has put glass to lip on most of the world's wines they quenched a curiosity; the whites are well made, fresh, well
balanced with good grapey aromas; while the red on Capri, a Capri Rosso DOC called Solaro from the grape Fallenghina, was
surprisingly concentrated; firm structured with aging potential. We drank our share of "important" wines at dinner; however,
adjusting perhaps to climate and lifestyle, we frequently enjoyed a restaurant's vino da tavola, served in little pitchers, to wash
down our meals. These wines are fresh and well made libations that don't get in the way of enjoying food and conversation, but
still leave you with a pleasant afterglow.
To enjoy Naples really is to shop or window shop, to visit the fascinating daily markets, to visit the old quarter known as
Spacca Napoli, the phenomenal churches and museums, to hydrofoil to Capri or the incredibly appealing peninsula towns of
Sorrento, Positano or Amalfi and... to go to Club Tabadak. We'll rush past the great art and history of Naples, to explain Club
Tabadak because perhaps it exemplifies a spirit that lies beneath the rigors of embracing Naples. After dinner we strolled our
neighborhood in search of a bar or club to take in the local flavor--and dinner never got underway before 8:30pm ever--and
around 11pm, we chose Club Tabadak.
At the entrance, we pay a small cover and enter a club with high ceilings, a little stage, a
main bar, and many tables half filled with young Italians. A band plays pop Italian and
occasionally pop American tunes. We're seated at a table on an elevated platform, and every
table has a clear plastic princess phone which lights up when it rings. Over each table is a
Batman symbol with a number on it; your telephone number. The place is filling up with
handsome boys and girls, and the telephone circuitry is lighting up and flashing. You answer
Pronto! I am ready to speak. The men call Linda to flirt: Who is the man you are with? Instantly,
we've become engaged to marry. The women call for me: Come ti piace ? How do you like it
here? The phones are lighting up at every table, the fog machine comes on to envelop the band
and the dance floor. It could have been 1956. You look around the room to see if you can tell
who you're talking to; but you can't find your conspirator. So Club Tabadak became a
metaphor for the unsullied and innocent spirit that informs the Neapolitan life. Naples can be
harsh; its seaport an industrial blight; it can pound you with traffic and the immensity of its
buildings; and its petty thieves are disheartening as they clip your bag from a moving Vespa. For
us, though, it hadn't the meanness, but instead a sweetness, and a sense of adult fun that made it a potent antidote to the
ill-natured cynicism back home. It was all like 1956; and for that alone, Naples could be called Babylon of Paradise Lost.
