italiafile

The evenings are lengthening and there is real heat in the sun. Consequently the via Partenope and the other roads on the sea front are submerged under parked cars, 3 and four abreast. Needless to say, the papers are full of outrage, the latest victims being taxi drivers. I find it hard to say victims and taxi drivers in the same sentence, as in all my dealing with Neapolitan taxis the only victim is me. Nevertheless the general feeling amongst all citizens is that something has to be done. No doubt those who quadruple park only do so under duress, but here once someone has broken the law it’s only fair that everybody else follow suit.

Already the tourist season has started. For three days the commune played host to 600 American travel agents, trying to cajole them into sending package tours of John Jason Juniors and Mary-Belles to complain about the litter, noise, food and people. The group I saw took no interest in their surrounding but had their faces thrust deep into The Wall Street journal, icecreams and, unaccountably, a guide to Munich. There is a dearth of one and two star hotels in the city, and I toy with the idea of selling up in England and opening a B&B in the city centre. I entertain myself with the image of knocking up a nice breakfast and playing mine host, guiding strangers around the centro storico and regaling them with stories over long lunches. Then I remembered I hate tourists and the fantasy recedes rapidly.