CATACOMBS
San Gennaro’s older, dating from Christianity’s earliest days. Its upper, superiore, chambers feature crude altars and faded Byzantine-painted family tombs. “The Vatican claims this room was ever consecrated, always being a church,” the docent waves an arm around the dank lower, inferiore, level “but, when a boy, my uncle would break in and play, here, football!” Though newer, the San Gaudioso catacombs over- compensate with vile grotesquerie. Examples? A hole in the ceiling connotes easily the worst career choice in the Renaissance. Undertakers would drain corpses here, then break their bones, folding them to fit carry-on sized caskets. Yuck! And for the wealthier citizens who’d bought quick passage to heaven? They’d cut off their heads!
Later, they’d slot the dried skull into a hole in the wall, capping a painting of the departed’s skeleton like a funhouse cut-out. Some depict symbols of the skull’s erstwhile earthly status — say a cutlass for gents, jewels for the ladies. NOW SURFACE AND GET LOST IN THE PRESENT. It’s tempting to compare maps of Naples, the birthplace of pizza, to a plate of spaghetti. Moreover, built on sinewaves of hills, navigating here gets doubly confusing. Taxis must zigzag narrow urban switchbacks, many one-way. So, a 500m trip straight uphill — “I see my hotel from the Lungomare!” — can take 6km and $30. Don’t drive! Naples is Italy on steroids. Those tales of psychotic drivers are not bunk. Instead, choose
CATACOMBS
CATACOMBS
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