BENVENUTI IN ITALIA
IL MIO VIAGGIO A NAPOLI
I arrived at the airport a full two hours before takeoff - feeling proud of my punctuality, I confidently made my way straight to security with my ticket on my phone – I had checked in the night before. But when I got rejected by the auto scanner and couldn’t get through, I realized that I had accidentally checked in for my return flight… scheduled four days later. Not the flight for today.
After a brief moment of horror, I hurriedly made an about face to join the long snake-cue at the check-in desk. Then, I got my ticket and breezed through security like nothing had happened. Everything felt easy! That is, until I took my seat, 13C – where the vibrations I felt weren't from the engine, they were coming from the two tiny tornadoes seated behind me. Sophia, and her cousin, Valentina, (deep in the throes of the terrible twos). I knew their names within minutes — everyone did — thanks to their parent’s volume spike that occurred the moment our pilot asked us to buckle up and those two went… wild. From that point on, their voices remained at full volume for the rest of the flight yelling at their girls to “calmati!”
These two little ones quickly mastered the fine art of tray-table slamming (into the back of my chair, of course), practiced launching their little feet into my seat back with alarming precision, and competed with the in-flight announcements for dominance of the cabin soundscape. If you’re curious – They won.
I considered turning around to deliver the glare, but then remembered a friend’s story of being shamed mid-flight when her baby had a meltdown. So, I opted for compassion — and to save us all, a change of scenery. After a quick chat with the flight attendant, who helped me spot an available seat, rows in front of my current one, I returned to 13C to grab my bags… only to discover a plot twist: the mother had switched seats with Valentina. Thanks be to god, for me. But, eeek! Poor 13A – Valentina was about to give them the ride of their life.
“Benvenuti in Italia!” I guess eh? Where everything in this country is a bit more expressive, a bit more loud and — though we haven’t reached this part yet in En Route — utterly delicious. Just wait…
The moment I landed, I rushed to hail a cab — as I was suddenly caught holding an umbrella over myself and my tiny suitcase as a downpour soaked the tarmac. The same stormy weather that had chased Simon and me around Corsica several weeks before, had apparently followed me to Naples. This would mark my second rain-drenched vacation this month. Mais, c’est la vie.
When the cabby let me out at my destination, Casa D’Anna, I was greeted by Alessandra — the owner of this beautiful boutique hotel and the woman I’d been emailing with for the past two years. Simon had given me a two night stay here for my 38th birthday, but for one reason or another, we had to postpone the trip again and again. Finally, I made it. And Alessandra was happy to get her arms around her pen pal.
Over our email exchange she had booked me in her Ischia Suite. And once I saw the room, I immediately added an additional night to my stay. I already could tell, I wouldn’t want to leave. It was what Italian dreams are made of! The space felt like a mini palace — elegant, eclectic, and lovingly curated. The walls were dressed in paintings and large taxidermy, every surface piled high with books: tables, shelves, even the occasional chair. Oversized candles were tucked into every nook and cranny, casting a warm, lived-in glow. Era perfetto!
I tucked my things into my gorgeous room and did a quick outfit change: from plane-wear (layers, necessary earplugs this time, and clogs) to tourist-wear (shorts, walking shoes, and a good dose of sunscreen). Then I climbed two flights of stairs to the sun deck, where I was greeted with a cappuccino and a homemade mini pastry from the in-house chef. Super!
I scarfed it down — no shame. I’d been up since 5 a.m., and by now it was almost 1 p.m. with nothing in my stomach. That almost felt sacreligious here. That pastry was my very first bite in Naples, and if it was any indication of what was to come… I was in for a seriously delicious time.
Before the trip, a few friends gave me a heads-up: “You might not love Naples, AC. It’s kind of loud and a little dirty.” They weren’t entirely wrong. On the drive into town, parts of the city really did feel like another world — gritty, chaotic, and at moments, almost like a developing country. Even the street I was staying on, Via del Cristallini, had that stark contrast. Just beyond the iron gates of my chic accommodations was a lively, unruly scene of markets and trash every which way on the street while loud vespas zoomed by honking in, not-so-serious, rage. I was a little nervous to venture out — but what was forecasted to be my only sunny afternoon, now that the rain had stopped, I was ready to explore. So, true to form (did you know I’m a planner? Well, now you do!), I promptly made myself this custom Google Map and set off to soak in as much beauty as I could.
First stop, Duomo di Santa Maria Assunta where I promptly dipped my fingers in the holy water, bowed at the cross, and gave a Hail Mary before I sat to have a moment of awe. In my opinion, if you do anything in Naples (and there is a lot to do!!), do this!!! It was an out of body experience. Next on the list: a stroll down Via San Gregorio Armeno to see what all the Christmas rave was about. And wow! This street felt like the second North Pole, overflowing with ornaments, holly, and enough Santas to keep the elves in business year-round. Every inch sparkled with cheer. From there, I wandered over to Piazza San Domenico Maggiore, then bounced my way into the Complesso Monumentale di Santa Chiara — and honestly, what are we even doing here!? That was the most unbelievably beautiful garden I have ever had the pleasure of stepping in. Grand, serene, and absolutely soaked in history. Go here too!
I continued on to Piazza del Gesù Nuovo, then made my way to what can only be described as a slice of heaven — Pizzeria Da Attilio. This spot came highly recommended by Rafi, a celebrated NYC chef, and soon-to-be boss of one of my besties, Erica, at Hill Stone in Hudson, New York. He insisted I had to try it, and wow — he was right. I ordered their signature pizza, the Carnevale: an eight-pointed star with creamy local ricotta tucked into each edge. It was delicious and yes. I did nearly polished off the whole thing. And while I ate, I had a show. From my seat, I had a perfect view of the bustling fish market next door, where real drama unfolded — men frantically waving off seagulls that were dive-bombing for the fresh shrimp on display. A few lucky birds actually scored some mid-flight seafood snacks!
To walk off the best meal yet (also, only my first meal)! I made my way over to the stunning Galleria Umberto I — and just in time to catch a “private” concert, shared with about a hundred others, courtesy of the Naval Academy Band. The sound lifted through the domed ceilings like it belonged there. Energy electric! From there, over to Castel Nuovo, followed by a walk through a nearby park that led me to the water’s edge — where Mother Nature decided to put on a full-blown lightning show, complete with thunderous applause and umbrellas on high alert. Just around the corner, I arrived at Castel dell’Ovo and then descended a few tucked-away flights of stairs to reach the port. There, I watched fishermen slowly coming in for the day — called back by the heat lightning storm that danced across the sea.
Caught in another quick downpour, I ducked into the Royal Palace of Naples, then wandered through Piazza del Plebiscito — soaked, but content. And just when I thought the day couldn’t get better, I made my way up to Mennella Il Gelato for what I’m now calling the best gelato on the planet. And where I may or may not (but 100% did) go every day after that initial scoop.
That night, after a needed shower and another outfit change, I found myself at Pizzeria Concettina ai Tre Santi. A place that I actually found myself twice during my stay — thanks to its dangerously convenient proximity to my hotel (a one-minute stroll, if that). Both times, I ordered the fiori di ricotta, and yet, each visit held a completely different experience.
The first was outdoors, where I sat beside a lively group of four French women on a girls’ trip. They started asking me about my dish, curious and enthusiastic. I lit up as I explained the entire thing to them in French, beaming with pride that they understood me. At the end of the meal, I even walked over and asked, “Est-ce que vous voulez que je prenne une photo de vous?” I’m sure I botched the grammar a bit, but they broke into applause, showering me with “Oui, oui, c’est très gentil!” as they handed me over their cameras. It was such a joyful, human moment — language barriers temporarily dissolved by food, kindness, and posing.
A few nights later, I returned. Same dish, same table nearly — but this time, just before my main course arrived, I got the devastating news that my girl, Goldie Hawn, had been hospitalized. And I spiraled. Not in the beautiful fusilli, gemelli, or cavatappi pasta kind of way — but in the full-blown, leave the restaurant before my main dish was served, run-a-hot-shower so I can belly-sob in a container of running water, hold on to tons of mom guilt for leaving her for these past two years while I reached for my phone in hopes to text her (I’ve always wished I could), sob myself to sleep kind of way. A totally different experience! Still delicious, but not nearly as satisfying.
[And if you’re curious, Goldie is very much being taken care of by my mama and Joe who are simply devastated at her state, and therefore treating her like a queen. Early yesterday, I learned that my mother had prepared a tenderloin with pureed pumpkin and rice just for Goldie Hawn. Precious! Breaks my heart not to have been there from the beginning of her illness, but I'm happy that she is comfortable and eating better than most adults ever will in her final months of life. Please – if you think of it, say a little prayer for her that her kidneys will start to work again and keep her healthy. She is my girl. She’s my parent’s girl at this point too. Our heart. We are all in such sadness.]
The trouble of vacationing if you don’t plan? You will have everything you want to do written down and yet be surprised when you get there that places are… closed. And in Napoli? Note to self, everything is closed on Wednesdays. Everything! So, knowing this, I let myself sleep late on Wednesday morning and was the last one served for breakfast at the hotel which was perfect because I had the entire rooftop all to myself. Then, I took the most leisurely walk up to Palace of Capodimonte where the museum was closed for the day (of course we knew that) – so I went strictly for the Bosco di Capodimonte — the massive garden. And where I came to the conclusion that this was the BEST part of my trip! I walked for days!!! Ok, just two hours! But still! Perfetto!!
Sidebar: Whenever I land somewhere new — or somewhere familiar for that matter — I try to head straight for a park or a big body of water. It’s become a ritual of sorts, a way to ground (pun) myself before diving (another pun) into the pulse of the city. In London, it's usually Hyde Park. In Paris, I’ll make my way to Jardin des Tuileries, Place des Vosges, or Jardin du Luxembourg — depending on her mood. NYC, obviously, Central Park. And when I land in South Carolina? Ummmmm nothing else will do but a barefoot walk on the beach next to the almighty Atlantic Ocean. So, Bosco di Capodimonte was necessary and food (as if I needed more of that this trip) for my soul.
And thankfully, as the weather does in every sea town, the forecast switched overnight. Greenlight! I had another sunny day on my hands.
Coming down from the massive hill where this beautiful garden sat perched, I wove through a scene that could only be Naples. Vespas zipped past, laying on their horns in full-blown fake fury. I passed several open-air grocery trucks — somehow defying physics as crates of produce stayed miraculously intact, despite the drivers flooring it down narrow streets. And then there were the three priests, dressed in full regalia, passionately guiding a group of followers through what sounded to my ears only like rapid-fire, speed-talking Italian. It was chaotic, a little surreal, and entirely captivating.
When I finally made it down to flatter ground, I found myself near Starita — a spot I'd been told served the best Neapolitan pizza in existence. And let me tell you: they were not wrong. I was honestly surprised, given the sleek, modern interior (and those who know me know I usually go for the more classic, old-world vibe), I thought it wouldn’t be as good as it “used to be.” But, lawd was it! I took a cue from the French couple seated beside me and ordered the Romana. Perfection. Truly, it was everything.
That evening, after what felt like a dozen more laps around the city, I decided to take it easy. Back at the hotel, I cracked open the minibar’s tiny bottle of red wine and headed up to the roof. The chef surprised me with a small dish of local mixed nuts and even brought a candle for the table — such a sweet touch. I settled in with my When in French, a book so uncannily aligned with my own experience that I feel like I could’ve written it myself – and enjoyed the evening under the stars.
Rested and rejuvenated by the next day, I woke up at the crack of dawn, had an epic meditation (another time another place – quite literally), and I had the most filling breakfast. Every single morning, the individual tables were always a dream: a full basket overflowing with three kinds of toast, a glass of fresh-squeezed orange juice, and two homemade danishes (on this particular morning, chocolate ganache — Excuse me? What are we even doing!? So yummy!). There was also a bright fruit bowl, a mini jar of house-made yogurt, and endless cappuccinos — as many as my heart could handle (which was a solid three each day). Two types of homemade jam, lemon and tomato, sat alongside little ramekins of unsalted butter only. This is absolutely one of my favorite things about Italy. Unsalted butter is a love language there. And then, the “communal table”: a beautiful spread of prosciutto, cheese, and a big bowl of boiled eggs, just waiting for me this day … to help myself. Which I did!!!
So, after my full on dinner for breakfast feast, I set out to ride the funicular up to Vomero for a visit to the Certosa e Museo di San Martino. When I arrived, to my delight, I found the entire place to myself. Not a single tour group in sight. Just me, the echo of my own footsteps, and centuries of art and history.
WE DON’T WAIT IN LINES — WE START THEM!
Sidebar: Vivian, one of my best friends, happened to pop into Paris the weekend before I flew out. During her trip, she kept joking, “we don’t wait in lines, we start them!” Because everywhere we went, we’d immediately be served an ice cream cone without a wait at Bachir, in Montmartre, the first glasses of wine before we’d even settled in at L'Etna, the last two in before a tour at Gustave Moreau Musée (one of the best things I’ve ever done in Paris!) or snag the only two seats at the bar when we were starving and needed dinner at Bistrot des Tournelles, Cendrillon, and La Cidrerie du Canal — only to see that within minutes after, a line would snake out behind us. It became a running joke. We don’t wait in lines — we start them. And oddly enough, that same magic seemed to follow me through Naples. Every museum, café, or trattoria I went to – the second I walked in, doors opened, tables cleared, and somehow, I stayed one step ahead of the crowd. Greenlights!
During the other times in my trip I had a glass of wine and a panna e ricotta at Gran Caffè Gambrinus where the pastry chef was French (shhhhhh, they think she’s Italian) and adored that I was speaking with her in French – so I applauded my effort and made me feel proud; I sat at a fourtop with four other solo travelers (Ellie, from Belgium, Vivian, from China, and Rita from Italy) to down an entire pie at L’Antica Pizzeria. Yes, this was the spot, where Julia Roberts famously, the day after indulging in her pie here in Eat Pray Love, had to buy a bigger pair of pants. I didn’t have to do that, but it wasn’t such a bad idea!!; And I popped into the Museo Archeologico Nazionale di Napoli. Where I’d been curious, but not totally convinced that I needed to go — until I got there and was completely blown away. I couldn’t get over the sheer amount of history packed under one roof.
It always amazes me that we can pay $20… sometimes even just $6 (looking at you, Sansevero Chapel Museum, where I saw the legendary Veiled Christ statue!) — and in return, get access thousands of pieces of priceless art. Truly mind-blowing. What a gift!
Oh! And I got to witness restorationists. Too many to count all in white coats and gloves and super powerful lights. I didn’t take any photos of them; something about it felt intrusive, like I’d be breaking a spell. But it was magical to watch their quiet focus, their care, their almost meditative precision of them gently dusted a single tiny toe of a statue. It made the whole place feel alive, like the art was still breathing, still being tended to with love.
I too made my way down the hill to the Sansevero Chapel Museum — a place I would insist you visit if you ever find yourself in Naples. I did something I almost never do as a traveler: I bought the audio guide. And let me tell you — it was absolutely worth it. To see the Veiled Christ up close and personal. What?!! Masterpiece. This museum ended up being one of the highlights of my entire trip. It’s petite, intimate, unlike anything else, and utterly perfect.
Just a heads-up: you’ll need to reserve tickets in advance, and photography is strictly forbidden. Trust me — you’ll get yelled at if you try, as (head in hands) I did.
And on my final day, after my massive last breakfast, and then learning that the Botanical Gardens were closed (didn’t plan for that – in this situation, it was seasonal thing so it didn’t say on google maps), I hopped a bus with a ton of local Italians who all felt protective over me to get me where I needed to go – “l'aeroporto.” They knew I didn’t speak Italian and were all involved in my business! When I got off one stop before the airport, there was an uproar! I’m talkin… wild! I tried to explain but it was lost in translation. I wanted to get off there. I wanted to taste the famed sfogliatella from Pasticceria Madonna and that was the stop! This was a local tip from one of my Napoli native friends who I know living in Paris and who said this was the holy grail. He was right!! Best thing I ever did was to make those Italians angry on the bus when I left like a “dumb American” – because ummmm no regrets! That was the best thing I’ve ever eaten!! This would be a MUST on your list.
As compact as Naples is, it still felt like there wasn’t nearly enough time. So, I’ll leave you with a few places that came highly recommended but I didn’t quite make it to. Maybe they'll land on your list:
Underground Naples. The day I tried to go, the line wrapped around the block and was absolutely packed—with what looked like an entire high school field trip. Dozens of teens giggling, flirting, and being generally adorable... which also told me exactly what kind of tour experience I was in for. I bailed.
Dora's – seafood restaurant in Chiaia, a neighborhood I absolutely adored. I didn’t make it there, but it came highly recommended. Chiaia itself is right near the coastline, where I spent most of my so-called “leisure” time (read: brisk walking with purpose). It had just the right mix of elegance and energy—definitely a part of Naples I’d love to explore more deeply next time.
Antonio & Antonio – a perfect spot for a drink, a bite, and some top-tier people-watching I’ve heard, as it’s right along the waterfront. I didn’t make it this time—but it’s firmly saved for the next round.
Trattoria Enoteca Campagnola – Word on the street (and in several DMs) is that their ragù genovese is the best in all the land. I regret missing it—but consider this your nudge to go and report back.
And finally, a Babà – the famous rum-soaked sponge cake that’s basically a Neapolitan rite of passage. But I have to say... I think it’s an acquired taste. It’s not for me. I stuck with my trusty go-to: gelato. No regrets.
Naples was bold, beautiful, gritty, chaotic, and unforgettable. It challenged me, charmed me, and surprised me in ways I didn’t expect. I may not have checked off every spot on my list, but that just means I have a reason to return. All I can say is that the next time — I’m bringing looser pants and someone to share the experience with!
Until next week, baci!!
xxo ac
Beautifully written. I can see and taste everything! ❤️
Baci!