cryptic Christmas

"Down here, do you see, we are both the same?

You're dead. So am I.

each of us is the same as the other."

—Toto, A Livella 

I spent the day with the dead. The long dead.

First stop was the catacombs at San Gaudioso, down in the district known as Sanita, which originally lay in a valley beyond the city walls. Fittingly, I took a free elevator to the bottom.

Sanita is Napoli writ large. Noisy, boisterous, working class, colorful, crude. (An old man obligingly made an obscene gesture at me, right as I was leaving.) Unlike those buried below, it is resoundingly alive.

Sanita's most famous resident was Italian comedian Toto, who grew up here. Toto is like Charlie Chaplin, though his career extended from vaudeville through talking films.

Church was in service, as I waited for the tour to begin. It's a magnificent church. These saints had an air of Harry Potter about them.

There was a holiday service and also, aptly, a funeral. Everyone was wearing black or navy except me, and a family from Hong Kong.

I sneaked back out into the world of the living for a few minutes to admire the produce.

These stars are above the entrance.

This is the oldest part of the church, and the crypt is below it. Because of Sanita's location, the original people were interred here in the 4th and 5th centuries. Later, it was forgotten and buried after a mud slide, until a mural was discovered where the altar is below.

 Cherubs point the way.

 Best surprise of the day was peering through an open door and discovering the priests' boxing gym!

A lesson to avoid stereotyping...

I also thought this was a marvelous cross, with the little people on it, and the angel wings. (If you can read the inscription and know what it was created for, let me know.)

Time to descend. Note the mural in the back left, which was where the rediscovery occurred, and the plots in the center, for the very richest, most powerful patrons. Also the squares on the far edge, which were trap doors so the bodies could be lowered! Shades of Sweeney Todd.

This section was only for wealthy patrons, and each had a separate family area. They hired talented artists to paint likenesses. By this time, Naples was solidly Christian, though you'll see in San Gennaro that some of the art began as pagan.

Bodies were wrapped in sheets by poor workers, who sat them up and made holes in them, to drain the liquids. The skull and its contents were preserved in these fabulous tombs. The rest of the bones were mixed together indiscriminately. A painter documented who was inside.

This skeleton above is a composite. It's unlikely Neapolitans of this era were so tall.

Men were placed on one side, women on the other.

They seem to be having a conversation.

The crypts are only a little spooky.

Here's the trap door I mentioned earlier, and the place that dead bodies were seated to drain. Not surprisingly, the people who handled dead bodies didn't live very long themselves.

Ah, back up to street level. Fresh air never felt so good! The family from Hong Kong and I rushed up the hill to San Gennaro, to catch the last catacombs tour before they closed. Both tours cost a grand total of 9 euros, and a ticket is good for a whole year.

Flora and then Valentina, our guides, said the tours are quite recent. Originally they began with 5 volunteers, but now, ten years later, 100 people are employed and give regular tours in English, Italian, Spanish, and other languages by request. They hire local young people who live in Sanita, so they don't have to move away to find employment.

The catacombs below San Gennaro are much bigger and older than San Gaudioso. We descended from the top of the hill backward in time.

The tombs at San Gennaro have been used regularly since the 2nd or 3rd century.

The paintings are in quite good shape.

Valentina pointed out they felt like a church.

These murals incorporate symbols from the Christian bible (above Eve and Adam) as well as angels and pomegranates.

San Gennaro was born in Naples and murdered in Solfatara in roughly 305. Naples didn't have any martyrs, because unlike further north, Christians weren't persecuted here. But John I got the idea of bringing his body back home, and it was moved to this Church. Later it was moved away as a political ploy and brought back a second time, now in the Cathedral.

Like most New Yorkers, I know San Gennaro because of the San Gennaro festival in Little Italy in September, which celebrates his body bleeding on the anniversary of his death. So we eat nougat. (Something like that.)

This would make a great wine cellar. Here among the dead. 

The peacock will watch over your primitivo.

It does look like a church. Or a movie theater.

During World War II, the catacombs were briefly used as bomb shelters. There's a traditional church next door, with this inscrutable poster.

We departed through the regular entrance, next to the hospital, where people still live and die, and their bodies are wrapped for departure.

Is that Moses?

Kind of cool copper pipes too.

I stopped by this tribute to Toto and discovered to my dismay that the elevator was closed for the day.

Stuck in Sanita, like the poor people, with only our feet to take us back up.

Why yes, that is a garbage chute. I also watched a woman on the third or fourth floor, on a balcony covered with freshly washed clothes, lower a red bucket to a man on the street, who sent it back up.

Sunday afternoon, and families were gathered for supper or doing last-minute Christmas shopping.

I did manage to discover this staircase of nightmares on Il Miglio Sacro (the Sacred mile).

There were long lines of people pushing outside a pizzeria, and these fun flowers above the streets.

And all I wanted was to get back to my home in the secret garden, and have pizza.

Epilogue: Starita's pizza was excellent. Still soft and served on a glass plate, but crispy crust, if you ate it the moment it was served. Service was kind. Next time I'll spring for the buffala mozzarella. 

PPS: Starita has a branch on West 50th between 8th and 9th. And in a coincidence of fate, Dora showed me the third room in the B&B, which had a photo I recognized immediately as Brooklyn Heights, a block from Liz and Bill's brownstone on Joralemon. It's a small, small world.