An eleven hour day with one or two frustrating moments to test our patience and endurance.
We want to make the most of our last day in this area. We’ve always moved on after three nights. We thought five here would have allowed us a little breathing space. But there’s so much to see. We’re starting to develop sight-seeing sickness.
We pay extra and catch the “Express”. With only six stops instead of the usual thirty four, we save thirty minutes and our sanity. From Garibaldi Station we’re navigating the streets with the help of that kind Mr Google and his Maps app. A couple Gary’s biscuits wouldn’t have gone amiss. I’ve “pinned” Napoli Sotterranea. We arrive just in time for the next English guided tour – so we think. Discover that this is not “the” Napoli Sotterranea we expected. There are three of them apparently. All offer a different experience. The one we want is a forty-two minute walk into the Spanish Quarter. Surprising sights spring up unexpectedly to stir our senses along with our sense of the real Napoli. Inner city living as it’s meant to be.
Luciano eat your heart out . . .
The ingenious Greeks created Neapolis. Homes built from the volcanic rock below. The Romans utilised the underground cavities left, creating an aquaduct water system. Every household with access to fresh water. Huge water reserves only a rope and bucket-pull away. The whole system drained in the late nineteenth century due to contamination, resulting in a huge cholera outbreak. It’s where we’re heading. Luca, our guide, leads us down forty metres into a tiny part of the Napoli Sotterranea. He’s full of jaunty jokes and anecdotes to help us remember the facts and ease the tensions of a couple of claustrophobic women.
The emptied system housed and saved many Neapolitans as they scurried underground when the American B17s bombarded their city above in 1943. Luca, in boisterous Richard O’Brien mode, leads us through the not so Crystal Maze. It’s obvious he loves his work for the Underground Association. An hour later and we re-surface. Eyes squint as if exiting the Saturday morning matinee. But not before squeezing through one or two crevices.
The easy journey back does not round the day off nicely. My fault entirely. A few stops from home and I jump up and out of our carriage. I’ve seen the word Sorrento. Mary-Ann quizzically follows. The doors close. The train moves off. It takes a second to register. The station looks different from when we left. That’s because it is. The full sign reads Piano di Sorrento. Our stop is a few K down line. The next train is an hour away. The conversation develops an edge to it. Signs of verbal frustration being kept on a leash – just. The Taxi-less stand doesn’t help. All forgotten and forgiven by the time we’re enjoying supper in the main square in Sorrento, ninety minutes later.