Dave’s Ramblings – Postcards From Naples
Postcard One:
Not the earliest of starts, but airports exist outside normal society, which means beer is both acceptable and medically necessary at any given hour of the day, or night.
Today Guinness was the medicine of choice, administered in pints, with no known side effects except happiness and poor decisions.
Storm Chandra came to the airport to meet us and wave goodbye. Apparently “Chandra” means bright, shining or glittering. Let me tell you, it was none of those. It was windier than I am the morning after a good curry, and wetter than the airport floor after a budget airline baggage carousel incident.
After all the build up, the flight over wasn’t bad at all. No crashing, which is always a positive start, and the crew insisted on us tasting lots of the vino.
They say you know you’re old when the police start looking young. They rarely mention aircrew. On this flight, the pilot and co-pilot both looked about 12. One was flying with a joystick, the other was crying and shouting, “Mum said it’s MY turn to land!”
Still. We made it. We landed. Which is the main thing.
And honestly, by Ryanair standards? That’s basically a five star experience. The plane arrived, more or less on time, in roughly the right country. Reeeesult!
Landing was, of course, just the warm-up. Then Naples took over and said, “Hold my espresso bitch”.
One thing I did learn. Tarmac has not yet been invented in this country. The drive from the airport would honestly have been smoother if we’d just aimed directly for the biggest potholes.
By the time we arrived, the taxi was fine, the driver was unfazed, and every single one of my organs had relocated. I now have a new spine, and I don’t trust it.
Then we encountered the streets… Scooters ignoring all known laws of physics. Cars treating lanes, where they exist, as a vague suggestion. Pedestrians crossing the road powered entirely by faith and a strong will to live.
But the truth is, Naples is magic once you accept the chaos. Unreal pizza. Lush pasta. Vesuvius just casually looming in the background like a dramatic extra. And that constant feeling that anything could happen at any moment… and almost certainly will.
Buonanotte, sogni d’oro, and remember… Chelsea campioni del mondo. 
Postcard Two:
Day two has dawned, and it’s match day, the actual reason we came to this manic city, as opposed to just aggressively walking around it.
The air-conditioning unit kindly ensured I didn’t oversleep by waking me at regular intervals.
Sometimes it sounded like gentle rainfall.
Other times it escalated into a full-blown domestic argument with itself. No clear winner.
Sadly, the weather has chosen to side with the forecast. Heavy rain. Outstanding. Had I known, I’d have skipped the shower entirely and just carried some shower gel around for nature to apply at its leisure.
The rain limits our options for the day. You don’t really want to be aimlessly wandering the streets unless you enjoy the drowned rat look, so I suppose we’ll be forced to seek shelter in a small café. A terrible fate. Thoughts and prayers please.
Sadly, our new favourite bar was closed. Not opening until 17:30, which frankly felt like a personal attack. So, with heavy hearts and damp spirits, we were forced to walk the cobbles in search of a potential new favourite. I don’t think anyone truly understands the sheer level of effort, sacrifice, and emotional resilience that goes into our overseas trips.
Eventually, success appeared in the form of a pizzeria that specialised in… pizzas. Groundbreaking stuff and totally unexpected. 
The plan was simple. Just a drink before eating. A sensible plan. A foolish plan…
The plan was simple. Just a drink before eating. A sensible plan. A foolish plan…The pizzeria, however, had other ideas and began bringing out what they casually referred to as snacks. Now, I don’t know what kind of snacks these people eat, but these were less snacks and more four course meals with ambition. By the time the actual pizza arrived, we were emotionally attached to the furniture and questioning our life style choices.
I won’t mention the match, mainly because I’ve already bored everyone senseless elsewhere, but I will have a small, gentle, totally restrained moan about security. Or, more accurately, the bold artistic concept of security.
Naples, like most big cities, requires a dash of common sense while visiting. That’s normal. It doesn’t detract from the fact that it’s a genuinely fascinating place, chaotic, beautiful, loud and endlessly entertaining.
However… go to Naples for football and suddenly you’re not a tourist, you’re an extra in a low-budget thriller.
The police very helpfully inform you before you even arrive that they cannot guarantee your safety.
That is reassuring in the same way as a pilot saying, “We’ll give landing a go” is reassuring. You’re then handed a list of things you shouldn’t do, which on match day includes such luxuries as using public transport or, presumably, existing.
I won’t go on and on about the absurdity of it all, but being told that the authorities can do nothing except stand politely on the sidelines while the idiot fringe does idiot fringe things is, frankly, crackers.
Yes, I’m glad Chelsea won, obviously, but not just because I support them. Napoli shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near European competition until they properly deal with the small number of “ultra” idiots who seem to think intimidation, threats and violence is the way to live.
There’s also a worrying habit of treating visiting fans with unnecessary aggression, while simultaneously adopting an impressive commitment to looking the other way when threats appear.
That’s it. Mini moan over.
None of this should detract from Naples itself, which is extraordinary. Every local I met was brilliant. The food is outrageous. There’s history, beauty, chaos, and joy everywhere you look.
Now it’s time to get on a plane and head home, alive, mostly relaxed, and slightly wiser.
Thank you, Napoli. It’s been… a blast!
Dave M
