Sodom and Gomorrah

Sodom and Gomorrah: that’s how Chiara, the charming owner of our Naples B’n’B described the rivalry between Naples and Rome. I remembered that Gomorrah was associated with sinfulness, but I had to renew my acquaintance with the Biblical story to understand exactly what Chiara meant. It turns out that both cities were destroyed by God: Gomorrah for its sinfulness and Sodom for its “pride, fullness of bread and abundance of idleness,” and for ignoring the plight of the poor. Chiara claimed that the association of Rome with Sodom and Naples with Gomorrah slights Naples’ throbbing artistic and cultural heart. Naples is passionate, she argued (passionately). People either love it or hate it, there’s no middle ground. Having just spent four days in each city, I have thoughts.

I think you can easily argue that both Rome and the Romans are arrogant, affluent, and unconcerned by the plight of the poor. Chiara’s equivalent in Rome was Annamaria — an attractive and well-turned out young woman who rolled her eyes contemptuously when we couldn’t figure out her arcane instructions for entering her guesthouse. She had to travel “across Rome in mid-afternoon traffic” to explain it to our jet-lagged and, no doubt to her eyes, aging brains. She managed six other properties, she told us, but she was available “24/7” for anything. We tested this assertion by texting her to ask her to order us a cab through the automated Italian language-only-taxi service. We never saw or heard from her again, which is probably just as well.

The guesthouse is in an immaculately renovated 17th century building. The bedroom is spacious. A door leads onto a balcony with a gorgeous blooming wisteria. The internal courtyard garden has deck chairs and the common room has a Nespresso machine. Perfecto!


Across the quiet street is the immense former Palazzo Corsini, the 18th century Baroque home of the Riario family. From 1659 to 1689 the site was home to the eccentric Queen Christina of Sweden after she abdicated her throne and moved to Rome. The 12-hectare garden associated with the palazzo is exquisite. Although a little unkempt. Which brings me to an observation — Rome is looking a little tired.

These magnificences are located in the Trastevere. Julian and I stayed here on our last visit to Rome 13 years ago. At that time, it was funky and under the radar (as much as any area of Rome can be), across a bridge from the main tourist area and filled with charming sidewalk trattorias. Now spray-painted political slogans cover every horizontal surface. The nearby river smells of sewage. Rome is still spectacular. But somehow a Rafael exhibit coexists on the same block with garbage, vandalism, and poverty.

There is a lot of wealth in Rome. Tourists line up to enter the haute couture stores near the Spanish Steps. But our bus ride to the station to catch our train to Naples (because Annamaria didn’t book us a taxi) was stuffed with multiracial workers. So packed that Julian couldn’t get to the driver to pay our fares. No one offered me/us a seat. In fact, the nearby black women into whom I and my luggage crashed every time the bus lurched to a stop to take on more passengers looked at us about as contemptuously as Annamaria had. Then a demonstration against government cutbacks blocked the route altogether. We had to get off and walk the rest of the way.

So, it looks like Rome is living up to its role in the Sodom and Gomorrah story.

Onto Naples. Filthy, stinky, noisy, crowded Naples. It may also be licentious, but the adjective that keeps coming to my mind is contradictory. Naples is a mashup of beautiful vistas and grand buildings with chaos and decay.


Even our accommodation reflects this disorder. The owners bought a decaying apartment at the top of a four-storey walk up in an ungentrified part of town. The woman who had lived there was a hoarder. They decided to keep as many of her belongings as possible to repurpose as art, while also calling on their artistic friends for their contributions. The result is eclectic. Old radios sit next to fine ceramics; a kid’s basketball hoop and backboard, like you might set up in the driveway, becomes a chair in the dining room. The B’n’B is crammed with art and textiles and antiques and junk. The doors to the bathroom don’t close properly and half the outlets don’t work. Yet this clutter is delivered with a warmth and exuberance that stands in stark contrast to Rome and Annamaria.

The street scene below greeted us when we set out one morning. The cacophony of honking, shouting and gesticulating out the windows isn’t captured by a still photo, but you get the drift.

The sidewalks are clogged with garbage and racks of drying laundry, with broken glass scattered over the sleeping places of the homeless, and with Vespas secured with industrial-sized locks. The only place to walk is the narrow streets, lined on both sides with scratched and dented cars. It’s a trap. The ubiquitous Vespas delight in whizzing so close to pedestrians that you can feel their breeze. One memorable alley had been blocked off at the top, except for a Vespa-sized hole. Vespas roared up the alley and deked through the hole; Vespas dashed around the corner and down through the hole; and terrified pedestrians (us) tried to judge a safe instant to dash through.

There are moments of quiet solitude. Like the waterfront, with its ubiquitous view of Mt. Vesuvius.


Or this descent from Castello Sant’Elmo through one of Naples’ affluent neighbourhoods, the Vomero.

Seeking respite from the streets, we escaped one day to the Capodimonte, the palace of the Bourbon king of Naples and Sicily.


Another day to the Museo Archeologica, which contains all the best bits from nearby Pompeii. (Our host looked vaguely alarmed that we were even considering a visit to the actual Pompeii which is too slammed with tourists even for a Neapolitan). The best part was the collection of pornographic art. Cardinal Stefano Medici created the collection from offerings brought home to Italy by missionaries, and from troves uncovered at Pompeii. In the 1800s, the permission of three city officials who held individual keys to the room (like the nuclear codes) was required to view the collection. Now it’s in a special room which persons under 18 cannot enter.

Perhaps that reputation for licentiousness is deserved after all.

After our Rome experience, Chiara ordered us a taxi to take us to the train station. The station is only 10 minutes away from the B’n’B, but our host suggested leaving an hour ahead of time because of the traffic. Tino picked us up promptly at 8:45. At 9:10, I thought, this is taking a long time. At that moment, Julian spied the entrance to the autoroute with the sign “aerporto” and calmly clarified, “ We’re going to the train station, right?” Somewhat less calmly, Tino repeated “Train? Not aeroporto?” At which point, he executed a quick u-turn followed by the Neapolitan classic manoeuvre in all the roundabouts where you pretend to be turning off then duck in ahead of several cars at the last second.

As we said goodbye to Naples, I overheard a bewildered English tourist comment, “There must be another first class car.” Sorry buddy, this is first class Naples style: no wireless, no service, and garbage overflowing the waste containers.

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