W and P and Barbara said they would call at nine, but we didn't hear from them until about nine-thirty. They were going to church in the morning, but after lunch they would come to get us and take us out to Pozzuoli, a city just to the west, on the old subway line. We all went down to try to find breakfast and groceries. W and P had assured us that places would be open, but none were, with the exception of Scaturchio, reputed to be the best pasticcerie in town. N bought sfogliatelle (the woman behind the counter asked if she wanted "ricci" or "frolla", and not knowing what that meant, she asked for two of each: ricci are the crisp kind, and frolla a softer version) and we ate them on the street outside. All of us found them a little rich for breakfast; the kids couldn't finish theirs.
We continued down a quiet and largely deserted Spaccanapoli to the east, turned up Via Duomo, and went to see the Duomo. There was a mass in progress, so we couldn't linger in the main part; but the Basilica Santa Restituta, a earlier church incorporated into the Duomo as an extra-large side chapel, was open (though largely covered up for purposes of restoration), and by paying for tickets we gained access to the Baptistry with traces of original 5th-century mosaic, and the archaeological ruins below.
These turned out to be a much larger and clearer version of the layered history we had seen at San Clemente in Rome. On the first level were remains of a medieval church, with layers of mosaic pavement and columns; then below were Roman ruins, including drainage systems with lead pipes stamped with the name of the maker; and below that, a Greek road with ruts cut into it from the wheels of carts. All was well-lit, and we had a photocopied sheet from the ticket people leading us over metal walkways and stairs in a careful itinerary with lots of detail. It was quite impressive.
After that, we headed back towards the apartment along the main shopping street of Via dei Tribunali, but as it was Sunday, everything was closed. I had spotted an open, though somewhat upscale, alimentari around the corner from Scaturchio, and suggested meats and cheese for lunch; but N was worried about not finding any bread (I hadn't seen any there) and countered with a suggestion that we find an open place with takeaway dishes. Gastronomia L.U.I.S.E on the Piazza San Domenico Maggiore seemed to fit the bill, but nothing inside seemed particularly compelling. N spotted a stuffed pizza-like thing called "parigiana", and ordered three slices; it was handed to us directly, and we didn't know how to ask for it to be packed up. We found ourselves out on the street again holding these things. So we ate them about where we had our breakfast; they turned out to be filled with ham and cheese. It occurred to me that they were an Italian version of a Parisian croque monsieur, hence the name.
That was it for our lunch, and we trooped back to the apartment rather dejected, having failed to feed ourselves adequately. I did spot a bar open close to the apartment, and managed to get them to sell me a six-pack of bottled water. The bottles were 2 litres, which made the total price of L.5000 a bargain, but it added 12 kilograms to the load I had to haul up those four flights of stairs, and it was quite exhausting.
We had time to rest, wash up, drink some cold water from the fridge, and we were ready, sunscreened and with hats (except me; I had still not replaced my cap, holding out for something that didn't have a Nike swoosh or a tourist slogan on it) when W and P and Barbara showed up. They buzzed us from the street; a video link showed us it was them, and we headed down.
We hopped on a bus and went back to the train station. I'm not quite sure why we did this; there was a stop at Montesanto, where we had walked the other day, and it seemed closer. But we couldn't have taken a bus there. The old subway line wasn't really a subway; it shared tracks with the rail service, and so was really just one limited east-west route. A newer line was snaking in from the suburbs, but the more useful downtown stations on that route were still under construction. On the bus to the train station, a older woman got on with a couple of cardboard boxes filled with clothes from some market stall; a cell phone went off, and that was her cue to start talking animatedly, flashing the gap where her top front teeth were missing, at anyone who looked as though they might have been listening. I couldn't understand a word of it.
"What was she saying?" I asked Barbara as we got off. "She was speaking Neapolitan dialect -- it was about how things were in the old days and how they are now, but I couldn't understand most of the words, either," she said. We went down into the subterranean platforms of the train station -- the subway used the same platform as local trains. It took half an hour for one to arrive, and then it sat on the platform for fifteen minutes while incomprehensible announcements came over the PA system, and people got on and off in no discernible pattern. "It's not usually like this," said W. Eventually the train left, and it didn't take long to get to Pozzuoli.
Pozzuoli is an area of geologic activity, notably minor earthquakes and earth movements called bradyseism that cause areas to change in elevation (enough to submerge seafront towns) over decades. Our first destination was the Solfatera, a dormant crater and site of minor phenomena (fumaroles, bubbling mud), which was up at the top of a hill reached by a long switchbacking road. We hiked along the sidewalk in the full heat of the day. At the top we paid admission, declined the guide (extra cost), walked past the souvenir shop and the cafe, and onto the Solfatera.
It may have been an important stop on the Grand Tour, but so were brothels. The Solfatera resembled nothing so much as a dusty dirt parking lot. From time to time we would catch sulfur smells; there was one small puddle of bubbling mud, which you could just barely see by standing close to the guard rail at one spot; and one steam vent turning nearby rocks a sort of dirty yellow.
Barbara had to leave at this point to catch her train back to Potenza, and we waved goodbye and watched her walk briskly across the wasteland, while we sipped warm water from our bottles. We retraced our steps and went halfway down the switchback road to a small cafe with a terrace overlooking the hill with a view of the bay. The kids had ice-cream bars out of a freezer, and we ordered a large bottle of cold water and frullati (fruit milkshakes). But, due to a lack of communication, I didn't get a fruit shake, but a dish of blackberries, with sugared lemon juice drizzled over. The server said they were picked very close by. They were quite a treat.
We walked down to the Roman amphitheatre, below the railway tracks. This was not as large as the Colosseum, but it could seat 40,000; it was the third largest amphitheatre in Italy. The arena floor was intact (it was not wooden) and we were allowed to go into the intact rooms below. We could see where the iron gates must have been, and the elevators. No one else was in the place at all.
Continuing down the hill, we reached the harbour, thick with little boats and yachts. Ferries to the islands (Procida, Ischia, Capri) left from here, and periodically one would disgorge a miniature traffic jam onto the pier. Before this we walked along the edge of a sunken park containing what was once known as the Temple of Serapis, before further research proved it to be a macellum, or market place. Three tall columns presided over the remains of a circular market structure; on the columns we could see bands of mussel shells, dating from the days when the area was underwater before bradyseism raised it somewhat (it still needs pumping out).
We walked along the tall pier, with a good view of the old quarter of Pozzuoli, the Rione Terra, which was evacuated and closed in the '70's due to earth movements, and which was now covered in scaffolding as resettlement efforts commenced. It would have been an ideal time to eat, but it was only seven, and the places we had in mind (one facing the macellum, one the harbour) would not be open for an hour.
So, instead, we took the bus back into Naples, passing close to where W and P lived in Fuorigrotta before going through the Piedigrotta tunnel and along the back of the waterfront park (Villa Communale). We got off at this point and walked along Via Partenope to Via Santa Lucia. W had a place in mind, but it was closed, so we ended up at a random place with outdoor tables. The food was decent if not exceptional -- seafood appetizers and pastas. A band came along playing cheesy music, encouraged by what appeared to be an Italian-American who could sing the words to the songs but couldn't otherwise speak a word of Italian. We had gelato at a stall near Piazza Plebescito, then walked home.