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

See Naples and Live... More – 6: The Antro, The Intro And The Outro

Acropolis at Cumae        Photo©Nigel Summerley

Cumae (formerly known as Kimi) is reckoned to be the first Greek settlement on the west coast of what was later to become Italy.

Today it's a short suburban train ride west from Naples just a few minutes beyond Pozzuoli (see previous blog).

The ruins at Cumae are more extensive than at Pozzuoli, with the star attractions including its acropolis, a temple of Apollo and the Antro della Sibilla.

As with so many stories of ancient Greece/Rome/Naples, nothing is known for certain about the Cumaean Sybil, apart from the fact that she was a legendary prophesying priestess of Apollo, similar to the one at Delphi but said to be more powerful.

She presided over the the gateway between life and death, which has long been associated with the area to the west of Naples – the volcanic lands of the Phlegrean Fields and Lake Avernus (see this blog 5 December 2020, An Odyssey in the Year of the Plague – 11: 15-21 September 2020) were closely connected with the Underworld and entrances to Hell.

The Antro, although referred to as the Sybil's Cave, is a bit grander than that suggests. In fact, to quite a degree, it fits the description given by Virgil of the place where Aeneas visited the Sybil before going down into the kingdom of the dead.

Entrance to the Antro della Sibilla        Photo©Nigel Summerley

The entrance to the Antro is decidedly – and most likely deliberately – vaginal. It seems mysterious yet inviting, but as I stepped over the threshold, I heard a woman's voice in the gloomy distance asking me to go back out.

"I'm filming," she shouted.

I thought she was being a bit unreasonable but did as she asked. It was only after she finally emerged and I then walked down into the long and vacant gallery that I appreciated what she had been trying to do.

The Antro is pretty impressive on the way in, but even more so when one reaches the far end, turns and then begins to return towards the light. That is what this latterday Sybil had been proclaiming she had to capture on video.

Into the Antro       Photo©Nigel Summerley

The Antro is more than 130 metres long with countless side galleries and "windows" to the outside. 

And it's certainly a lot grander than the alternative location – the Sybil's Cave (see this blog 28 November 2020, An Odyssey in the Year of the Plague – 10: 8-14 September 2020) by the shores of Lake Avernus.

View from the interior of the Antro       Photo©Nigel Summerley

See Naples and Live... More – 5: Theatre of Blood

Beneath the amphitheatre at Pozzuoli   Photo©Nigel Summerley

The area around Naples was Greek long before it was Italian. It was only later that the Romans arrived on the scene and carried out a hostile takeover.

And whatever the Romans did, they tended to do it in a big way. Pozzuoli, out along the coast to the west of Naples, was a major centre for them.

Pulling in on the train from Montesanto station, you might be forgiven for thinking there's not that much to Pozzuoli. But when you get off and take a look towards the sea, your eye will be caught by the impressive remains below you of what is reckoned to be a Roman market hall from the first century BC.

Market hall ruins at Pozzuoli   Photo©Nigel Summerley

And this is just for starters. Head northwards and upwards and you will find the entrance to the site of the Roman amphitheatre, which is only a tad smaller than the rather better known Colosseum in Rome.

There are a few differences between this and the Colosseum. There is not so much left of the heights of the outer wall at Pozzuoli. But the vast ranks of seating here are well-preserved. And the below ground area, where animals, gladiators and scenery waited to be uploaded via numerous trap doors is in such good shape that it looks like it could be brought back into use at a moment's notice. And the very biggest difference for me was that I was the only visitor.

Entering the amphitheatre at Pozzuoli   Photo©Nigel Summerley

Entering the site from the eastern end, I was able to walk into the arena that had been the scene of unimaginable violence and cruelty dressed up as entertainment. It's a strange combination of emotions to be marvelling at the scale of the place and to be sickened by all the bloody deaths that happened here.

San Gennaro himself (see previous blogs), patron saint of Naples, was, according to legend, due to be fed to wild animals here as part of the Romans' Christian cleansing operations. But, for some reason, the hungry beasts weren't interested and Gennaro was let off with a beheading the following day.

After taking in the beauty and horror of the vast theatre, I walked out and then round to the western entrance and down the long slope to the subterranean complex of storage areas and cages, in the wake of countless people and animals, many of whom must never have come back out again.

Pozzuoli is no household name... hence the fact that one can have its amphitheatre to oneself – and as a result of that to be able to meditate on a past that is still tangibly present.

Excavating the amphitheatre    

Reconstruction model of the amphitheatre 

See Naples and Live... More – 4: Raiders of the Lost Sleep

Image by djedj@Pixabay

The feast of San Gennaro (see previous blog) is a huge religious festival in Naples and, as with many similar events, it's an excuse for forgetting about work and everyday cares and concentrating on making merry.

On such a major public holiday people relax and let down their guard... hence the reason, it turned out, that those of us bedding down in the central Forcella district after the festivities were woken around 3am by what sounded like an invading army and airforce.

And that's pretty much what it was. A combined troupe of 300 or so carabinieri and police had chosen the early hours of the morning after the celebratory night before to carry out a raid on organised crime targets.

The helicopter that woke me sounded as if it were outside the front windows of my apartment. In reality, it was hovering somewhere just above the building and occasionally doing circuits of the area – for a long time. The ongoing racket was punctuated by shouting and loud bangs that sounded like doors being smashed in.

Next morning's news confirmed that that was exactly what was happening, and the cops had amassed quite a haul of guns and drugs and suspect individuals.

All next day there was a heavy (and preening) police presence on street corners around the centre. They were obviously very pleased with themselves and what had been a good night's work for them – even if it had been a terrible night's sleep for the rest of us.

See Naples and Live... More – 3: Saint's Alive

Photo©Nigel Summerley

Naples, of course, is a crazy place. Crazy about life, crazy about death... and crazy about saints. Such as Maradona, almost the city's ultimate holy icon.

The top spot, though, goes to San Gennaro, patron and protector of Naples, and early Christian martyr beheaded by the Romans just outside the city, at Pozzuoli (of which more in an upcoming blog).

His head and his bones are kept in the Cathedral and so, famously/notoriously/controversially, is his blood (this blog, See Naples and Live – 20: Bones and Blood, 26 December 2021).

Collected when his head was being removed, the blood was kept by one of the faithful. And back in the Middle Ages when the head and body were reunited, it was found, allegedly, that the dried blood miraculously liquefied. At least that's the story.

And that miracle continues to take place on the holiest of days in Naples, when the glass phial containing the blood is brought out and shaken and, hey presto... red liquid blood.

19 September is the anniversary of San Gennaro's death and the day when Naples goes extra-crazy.

Photo©Nigel Summerley

Local dignitaries and a carabinieri marching band lead the parade to the Cathedral with any fascinated bystander (such as me) welcomed to join in. Those not marching, were lining the streets to watch us pass or already massing in front of the steps leading up to the great church.

A sea of people and smartphones waited to witness the magical moment when the blood was brought forth. If we learned anything, it was perhaps that miracles require a lot of patience.

We stood and stood, watching the big screen conveying the service going on inside the Cathedral. And go on it certainly did...

Photo©Nigel Summerley

Eventually the phial was carried out and a white handkerchief was seen being waved to signify that, yes, the blood was liquid once again.

Phew! That meant Naples could rest reasonably easily for the coming year... since the rare occasions when the blood has failed to liquefy have been seen as an extremely ill omen.

And with Gennaro's blood flowing once more, we were all able to concentrate on carving a way through the throng and return to the vital business of finding somewhere to eat and drink.

Photo©Nigel Summerley

It wasn't until the following day that I was able to get up close to see the blood of San Gennaro for myself. That's when it was open house at the Cathedral for the liquefication-curious. I have to say the blood was flowing most impressively.

The question remains of what exactly is in that phial. But because it's sacred blood, it's off limits to any scientists who might want to prove that this is nothing more than a very smart conjuring trick.

In Naples, belief and hope and superstition will always give science a good beating...

See Naples And Live... More – 2: Snaking All Over

The next item in my new series on Naples – about the miracle of San Gennaro's blood – has been delayed slightly by Marius Kociejowski.

Mr Kociejowski has written such a brilliant book on the city – The Serpent Coiled In Naples – that reading it is taking up any spare time that I get.

He covers many of the aspects of Napoli that I did in my first series, See Naples And Live (13 October 2021 to 19 February 2022), but in huge and poetic depth.

The way that he ranges from one century to another, from one character to another, and so often from a lie to the truth and back again, is madly chaotic and perfectly in tune with the place.

I can't recommend it highly enough – it's one of those books that you really don't want to end.

See Naples and Live... More – 1: The Bonelli Collection

My series of blogs See Naples and Live (13 October 2021 to 19 February 2022) attracted a great many readers, so here is the first in a new series dedicated once more to the most amazing of cities...

Gaetano Bonelli

Naples is the outsider, the underdog, defiant in the face of adversity... and so too is one of its greatest champions, Gaetano Bonelli.

For four decades Bonelli has been collecting anything and everything that documents the history of this great city, his city.

His treasure trove – the Bonelli Collection – is tucked away in rooms off the quiet Piazzetta San Gennaro a Materdei, to the north of the historic centre.

But though he has mouthwatering items on display to delight visitors, the bulk of his accumulated documents, posters, memorabilia and ephemera are shut away in files and boxes. Bonelli has neither the space nor the funding to show all he has gathered.

Don't let that put you off visiting. Even the relatively small selection of items on display is well worth seeing... and some of them on their own may keep you entranced for far longer than you might imagine.

So why is there no sizeable Bonelli Museum to exhibit all of the Neapolitana that he has collected over the past 40 years? Because, he says, the establishment doesn't want to know. The implication is that he is seen as an amateur rather than an academic, and that he has been indiscriminate in his collecting – with Bonelli, the "lowbrow" sits comfortably alongside the "highbrow".

"People have donated pieces to me... sometimes I ask local associations for things. This material is coming from the people – that's why the big institutions don't want to know," he says. He has historic posters of yesteryear from the Teatro San Carlo and thought the legendary opera house might want to display them, but apparently he got nowhere.

How did Bonelli's remarkable journey start? 

"Stamp collecting," he says with a boyish smile. It was a common childhood hobby for his generation, but while most lost interest, he found that the collecting bug grew into a passion.

The southern Italian earthquake of 1980 (which caused much death and destruction in and around Naples) had a profound effect on the young Bonelli. 

"I decided in my own little way to do something for the city," he says.

"As a kid I had fallen in love with Napoli. When I started collecting things, I became like a tourist in my own city. But the things I discovered could not be just for me."

His desire to share his discoveries was as strong as his commitment to collecting.

"I've suffered a lot in doing this," he says, without a hint of self-pity. "But I am devoted to history and motivated by love."

Bonelli was an honoured guest at the recent 48th anniversary gala of the National Italian American Foundation (NIAF) in Washington, where a selection of his exhibits documenting Italian emigration from the south of the country were on display.

Like the prophet without honour in his own country, Bonelli may have more renown internationally than he does in Naples. 

But one day, if there is any justice, that will change.

The Bonelli Collection, Fondazione Casa dello Scugnizzo Onlus, 

3 Piazzetta San Gennaro a Materdei.

Visits by reservation; 340 4844132; g.bonelli72@gmail.com.

Gaetano Bonelli and Nigel Summerley