Naples: The city that's always washing

The image of Naples is inseparable for me from the image of freshly washed laundry. Freshly washed laundry hangs everywhere here: in front of windows and on balconies, across narrow streets, and on clotheslines in the middle of traffic. It's held in place with clothespins and sometimes with clever contraptions, like a full water bottle tied to the end of a bedsheet as a weight. The laundry dries and shapes the cityscape, while I worry about its cleanliness: Is the laundry still as fresh as when it was washed, after hanging for hours over or in the midst of car and scooter exhaust fumes? And then, during my two-day stay, it starts pouring rain constantly – and once again, I'm thinking about the freshly washed laundry.

Alongside the drying laundry, it's the scooter riders who dominate the cityscape and urban soundscape. They zoom through the narrowest alleys at breakneck speed, without slowing down at intersections, let alone paying attention to right-of-way rules. They only do one thing to alert other road users of their approach: they honk. They honk at every intersection, they honk when turning, but they also honk to greet each other. So, while dodging the honking scooter riders, I walk among and beneath other people's dangling laundry. Naples is funny in a quirky way, but over time, it also becomes exhausting. And what gradually gets me down during my walks is the poverty I encounter. Because it's impossible to overlook.

Here's a scene that touched me deeply: A family of four is doing a major cleanup. Since their apartment is right next to the street on the ground floor, I can see directly inside: It consists of a single room that's about 40 square meters in size, divided into living, dining, and shower areas. Dad is lying on the couch and doesn't seem fully conscious. Mom and two daughters (approximately 8 and 12 years old, I estimate) are scrubbing the windows vigorously, and some of the shabby, worn-out furniture is partly on the street – I assume that the floor is also being cleaned. The radio is blaring at full volume, and the older daughter is singing along. She sings so loudly that she drowns out everything: the radio, the honking scooters passing by with their engines revving, the curses of the drivers, the conversations of the onlookers, and probably her own hardship as well. She sings with such a powerful chest voice that for a moment, I'm convinced she'll manage to escape the tiny apartment with its meager furniture and a father who seems comatose. Then the moment passes, and all I see is the trash around them, a frail cat sniffing at leftover food, and a neighbor emptying a bucket of dishwater right in front of the family's possessions on the street. Then I hear a honk again and quickly turn into another street.

Poverty is present at every turn in Naples. Although the capital of the Campania region is only 230 kilometers away from Rome, there are worlds between the two metropolises. Just by looking at the prices, you can tell that they've almost halved on the short journey south. And yet, or precisely because of this: there's a shrine on many street corners, a cross hanging, or an image of a saint. And in Via San Gregorio Armeno, where my (slightly rundown) accommodation is located, it's Christmas all year round. Because this street, also known as the "Nativity Street," offers everything related to nativity scenes and accessories all year round, whether handmade or plastic. It's a street full of kitsch and hope in the midst of a city with a lot of poverty and suffering.

Sure, there are numerous churches and museums worth seeing, the bustling shopping street Via Toledo with many chic boutiques, and the Galleria Umberto, the beautiful Piazza del Plebiscito with the Royal Palace (Palazzo Reale), and last but not least, the fortress Castel Sant'Elmo on a hill above the city. However, the majority of the old town (which, by the way, is a UNESCO World Heritage site) looks very neglected. And yet: when I smile at someone in Naples, I get a smile in return; when I ask for directions, I get all the information I need; and when I want to take a photo, someone jumps out of the frame with a "Scusi." As great as the need may be, the warmth is also great. And I hope for all Neapolitans that when the laundry is taken down, it's always dry and clean!