See Naples and Live... More – 8: Dark Castle

Grim is probably the best word to describe La Vicaria. It certainly has a grim past... and, as I found, a grim present too.

Just a few minutes's walk from my apartment in Forcella, the Vicaria – officially known as the Castel Capuano – has played a major role in the history of Naples.

Originally a Norman castle, it was used as the Court of Justice from the 16th century until the end of the 20th. Long after medieval times, "justice" at the Vicaria included the accused being locked up and tortured prior to their trial... and then afterwards imprisoned in the basement cells there (if they were allowed to live),

Its more than solid walls reinforce the feeling that this is still not a place one would want to be inside.

After pausing to puzzle over its ornamented facade (where the arms of Holy Roman Emperor Charles V are still visible), I turned a corner to walk along the building's perimeter and saw in the distance at the next corner a furtive-looking man talking to a woman sitting by a line of rubbish bins.

As I continued, the man melted into the shadows of the Vicaria and disappeared.

I suppose that I shouldn't have been shocked when I drew level with the woman, but I was... She was slumped by the bins, emptying a needle into one of her slender, bare arms. She was young, still beautiful, well-dressed... but also looked ravaged and unaware of her surroundings.

The scene had a midnight feel to it... but this was midday. And this was a tableau of the darker side of Naples...

See Naples and Live... More – 7: The Great Lake

Lakeside walk at Avernus   Photo©Nigel Summerley

I am drawn to revisiting Lake Avernus almost as much as I am to returning to Naples.

I'm already beginning to lose count of the number of times I've done the great circular lakeside walk – around this body of water to the west of the city calmly filling an ancient volcanic caldera.

When I was here three years ago I wrote about meeting my mother's ghost as I sat down on a bench overlooking the water (see this blog 28 November 2020, An Odyssey in the Year of the Plague – 10: 8-14 September 2020). On reflection, it seemed a quite normal encounter, bearing in mind that this was the place where Odysseus entered the Underworld and did the same thing.

Whether my experience was real or imagined, it had lasting impact on me. So when I walked by that same bench in 2023, I was saddened to see that it had literally fallen to pieces. No one – human or ghostly – would be sitting on it for a while.

The broken bench   Photo©Nigel Summerley

But even this sorry sight brought to mind my late mother once more. For I remembered a while after my walk that when a bench near her home had fallen into disrepair and been removed, she campaigned to have a new one put in its place.

Some of her neighbours were not in favour of the replacement – one didn't know who might come along and sit on it, they argued.  My mum, though, had seen elderly people using the old bench as a place to stop and rest when they were halfway home from the local shops. She saw it as a social necessity – and she succeeded in getting the council to install a new one.

I wonder if her spirit will somehow bring about the appearance of a new bench by the side of Lake Avernus, entrance to the Underworld.

From this distance I can only hope so... but I am looking forward to my next visit to find out.

The water is wide   Photo©Nigel Summerley