Page 26 of Marcello

She made a grumpy face, but agreed. “I won’t smoke pot before I do it.”

“You had me at ‘blowjob,’” I joked.

She squinted in annoyance. “Give it here.”

I held out my hand and winced as she pricked my palm with the tip of the cornicello.

“Ow!” I said as a tiny bead of blood welled up on my skin.

“That’s what you get for negotiating for more than just a blowjob,” she teased as she handed over the cornicello. “But now you’re protected from the evil eye.”

“Thanks… I think.”

“You’re welcome,” she said with a grin.

“Now, about that blowjob…”

“FINE,” she said in pretend annoyance, then giggled as she grabbed my hand and led me back to her place.

9

We ate street food all the time.

Fede introduced me to cuóppo ’e mare, or ‘cup of the sea,’ which was a paper cone filled with delicious fried seafood: prawns, calamari, and bits of fish.

There was also pizza fritta, or deep-fried pizza; pagnottiello, a bread roll stuffed with cheese and ham; and for dessert, babà al rhum, balls of fried cake batter soaked in sweet rum syrup.

My opinion from my first day in town still held: Neapolitan street food was awesome.

Sometimes we would walk along the waterfront and watch the giant cruise ships docked at the wharfs. Far across the bay, you could see Mt. Vesuvius – the giant volcano that had destroyed Pompeii nearly 2000 years ago.

“We’ll have to go someday,” Federica promised.

On other days, we would explore the various museums Naples had to offer.

There were literally over 800 churches in Naples, and many had been abandoned and fallen into ruin over the last century. According to Federica, the city struck a deal with artists: they would lease them old churches for a pittance if the artists promised to use them for the betterment of the community. We saw some really cool modern art in ancient churches that had been renovated as galleries.

But my favorite place to explore was the Spaccanapoli, pronounced spa-kah-NAH-poe-lee.

The first time I heard about it, I asked, “‘Naples splitter’?”

That was the literal translation.

“It’s a street that cuts directly through the heart of Naples and divides it in two,” Federica explained. “It was also one of the original roads back when Neapolis was a Greek colony. We’re walking on it right now.”

I looked around in confusion. “The street sign says Via Benedetto Croce.”

“Spaccanapoli is a nickname. Look up there.” She pointed behind us to the west, where a giant castle sat atop a distant hill. “That’s Castel Sant’Elmo. It was built when the Spanish ruled Naples in the Middle Ages. From up there, this street looks like it splits Naples in two – hence Spaccanapoli.”

The Spaccanapoli was crammed with stores: pizzerias, high-end chocolate shops, cafés, clothing boutiques, tourist shops, fancy restaurants, and more.

But my favorite was a hole in the wall with a sign outside: MUSEODIVINO. The Divine Museum.

Inside was a dimly lit space with wooden cabinets displaying tiny boxes on the shelves.

A college-aged girl at the counter asked in English, “Welcome to the Museo Divino. Would you like a tour?”

“No thanks, I’ve been here a lot – I’ll show him around,” Federica answered as she dropped a fiver in a basket marked ‘Donations.’