Hurrying Up to Wait in Naples

Naples is a crazy place. And I mean that in the sense of "insane; without sense." Things really tend not to make sense.

For example: the streets are, indeed, often filled with trash, and yet the people who live here seem to love their city immeasurably. In Rome, it was assumed that you would enjoy the beauties of the city, in spite of the fact that it could be grimy at times. Here, they realllllllly want you to know it's a great place in spite of what your eyes (and nose) might be telling you.

This living contradiction is further embodied by the way of life. When I went to the Museo Archeologico di Napoli, which houses just about everything of interest from Pompeii and Herculaneum (including sexy pics and wind-chime phalluses [phalli?]), I first encountered this unique way of being. First of all, the place isn't climate controlled, and as a former museum-employee, it took all of my will power not to storm over to the director's office to demand an explanation for this egregious mistreatment of cultural heritage. I swallowed my American uptight-ness, however, and tried to forget it. So, on I went. But the museum employee in me couldn't help but notice there were no guards....hmmm. Then, entering a room full of Herculaneum's mosaics, I found them: seven or eight of them sitting on the porch, smoking cigarettes, chatting, and texting. Oh, Napoli. Here they were, hurrying up to work to wait for a perfect opportunity for a smoke break.

Moto drivers are the same—they take the narrow alleys of Naples at breakneck speed only to STOP SUDDENLY to say hi to their aunt or whoever is hanging laundry nearby. Famous pizza places like the Antica Trattoria da Michele (highly recommended) will make you wait for an hour or more, rush you to your table, take your order right away, and then let you sit while the pizza takes its sweet time. (The wait is worth it, however).

Everyone here seems to be in a hurry to do, well, nothing. And, really, this is an improvement to my erstwhile life in Boston, where hurrying meant arriving sooner to hurry more and then hurry again. I much prefer hurrying up to wait, because sometimes waiting is a luxury - a way of saying, "I have this time, this time is mine, and goshdarnit I'm going to have this giant Peroni at 2pm, thankyouverymuch (graziemille)."