It’s Easter 2023, and Naples is in the throes of twin religious ecstasies; not only is the re-birthday of Jesus coming up – in the Catholic heartland this is obviously a big deal – but even more importantly, the resurrection of Saint Maradona is all but assured, with local soccer team SSC Napoli poised to win the National Football League for the first time in 30 years. It’s not overstating it if I say that the Neapolitanos have painted their town red in the advent of this event – or rather blue and white, the colors of their heroes.

Every street is hung with banners, plastic stripes, flags, and sheets; entire buildings and assorted infrastructure have been repainted to manifest the locals’ worship; effigies of the players are as numerous and as venerated as the many shrines to more traditional saints that can be found on every street corner.

(It’s strange (to me) to see how such copious sums of money are expended on these two religions when the population is clearly utterly impoverished, but I guess the explanation is the same as the rationale behind why poor people play the lottery: they are in dire need of hope.)

The abject poverty of the city is accentuated by the faded grandeur of bygone days; most buildings are centuries old, from an era when the city and its denizens were obviously very well off, but now they are dilapidated and crumbling, covered in grime, filth and graffiti. At least the latter is quite creative at times.

All this to say that, with the addition of the many people out and about for the holiday, plus the habitual madness that is Neapolitan traffic, Naples is quite the cacophonic assault on the senses – it has to be experienced to be believed. As a result of that experience we avoid the city for the most part, using it as a base from which to see Pompeii and Herculaneum.

Pompeii is the larger site, more famous and as a consequence it’s overrun with tourists. It’s a complaint as old as the site itself – apparently Goethe was shocked to find it crowded when he was on his Grand Tour (the all but mandatory trip of Europe that young noblemen were supposed to take back in the day to better themselves (and/or avoid scandal at home)). I doubt he had to contend with hordes of school children, pensioners and Chinese, however… Add to that that many of the houses are – perhaps understandably – closed for maintenance (in spite of what the audioguide claims) and it is a wee bit disappointing, however evocative a stroll through the old streets may be.

A couple of interesting side notes: the local Amphitheater was closed down for years because the citizens rioted after a particularly intense gladiator bout. Clearly the mad infatuation with sports is a long-lived local tradition (and I will not speculate as to whether the same holds true for the penchant Pompeiians had for frescoes of Pygmy al fresco fornication, often in boats and watched over by hippos and crocodiles – you can count on the Romans to be pervier than most!)

And secondly: years prior to the eruption that buried Pompeii, the city suffered a severe earthquake that caused a great deal of death and destruction. Why is that relevant? Well, 30-some years ago, Naples was subjected to the same treatment, leaving 2,500 people dead, so if that’s a harbinger we might be in for another eruption. Worse still, some experts speculate that the shape of it indicates that the entire Bay of Naples is in fact a caldera, or super volcano, compared to which Vesuvius would be akin to a matchstick next to a log fire…

But be that as it may: Herculaneum proves to be the opposite of Pompeii’s pomp; smaller and closer to the volcano, it was submerged under ash and pumice rather than lava, which meant that the buildings were better preserved, so the site is more intact. It also benefits from its relative anonymity, so there are but a handful of other people around. Bliss! I lose myself in the labyrinth, stumbling into temples, brothels and pizza parlors (where the Romans presumably awaited the Coming of the Tomato, brought by Columbus 1500 years later, to complete the recipe). Combined with a visit to the local Museo Archeologico (where all the finds from the two sites are kept), this in itself would be enough to justify the trip, but there’s more:

We leave the Bay of Naples behind and set out for the Amalfi coast, on the other side of the isthmus that forms the lower part of the bay. It’s a mountainous coastline along which lie various fishing villages where the houses climb each other and the steep cliffs like swallows’ nests. It’s an improbably difficult terrain to navigate, where every flat surface is constructed by erecting stone terraces, but once there was a road connecting them, the villages all turned into chi-chi tourist destinations.

Much like Pompeii, the more popular ones are considered a “must”, meaning that the main arteries in Positano, Amalfi and Ravello are clogged with tourists, and stores selling rubbish bric-à-brac, like so much cardiac arrest-inducing plaque. Thankfully, as soon as you get off those streets the situation becomes infinitely more bearable. Better yet, stick to hiking in the mountains above it all, where breathtaking views and vertigo pull you along.

The best experiences in this area are undoubtedly two: the first is the Sentiero Degli Dei (Path of the Gods), a footpath that connects the hamlets of Nocelle and Bomerano. So-called because it was supposedly used by the gods when they wanted to head down to the ocean for a bit of sub-aquatic how’s-your-father with the Sirens (of Ulyssean fame) that inhabited the little islands off the coast, the winding path certainly makes you bucolic: wandering it you feel like Pan in Arcadia – terraced orchards and espaliered vines showing off the fertility of the volcanic soil; wild myrtle, rosmary and thyme filling the air with their scents, and the bees and butterflies that do their bidding; the meandering coastline laid out below your feet all the way to Capri, and the enormity that is the ever-changing seascape of the Mediterranean glittering and rippling to the horizon and beyond. Who wouldn’t want to roam here in an endless spring?

The second highlight is Villa Cimbrone, on top of the precipice at the end of the hilltop village of Ravello, perched high above the sea, where a young English lordling decided he would create a modern version of a Roman emperor’s country vila (think Tiberius’s Villa Jovis on Capri but minus the slave-throwing contests). It’s safe to say he succeeded. The villa is now a fancy hotel, but the gardens are open to the public, and since they were laid out by Vita Sackville-West they are a wonder to behold in their own right. However, the prize for most breathtaking view goes to the terrazza dell’Infinito, or belvedere, a hidden gem at the end of the garden, 300 meters above the water, which Gore Vidal (who lived in town for twenty years) claimed was the best in the world. And I’m not about to argue with that.

And so the trip comes to an end, as trips do. Extra mention must be made of La Lepre B&B for going above and beyond in Naples – special Easter breakfast, local delicacies brought in because they happened to come up in conversation with our hostess, complimentary wine, impeccable servicemindedness, the list is long – and the most unmissable restaurant in town, A Figlia d’o Marenaro, whose Zuppe di Cozze is now and forever more the gold standard against which all sea food will be measured – and found wanting. Mamma mia!