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Archaeologists have always known that modern Naples lies directly
over its ancient counterpart, but until recently have been unable to dig
– few are happy to have their daily lives interrupted in the name of
History. But as apartments have become vacant, some sites have been
taken over, painstakingly excavated, and are gradually being opened to
an intrigued public.
These remains are not world-shatteringly grandiose like, for
example, Pompeii or Herculaneum. But they have a dangerous, edgy,
visceral feel that makes their more famous neighbours feel somehow –
safe. A tourist can happily spend an afternoon trotting around Pompeii,
dodging the visitors and being generally awed. At the end of the trip
they can happily sip limoncello at a street café and smile benevolently
at Vesuvius. A two-hour tour of Napoli Sotterranea leaves the visitor
exhausted, disoriented and freezing cold - but truly stunned.
Lucky enough to have a tour guide almost to ourselves – Naples
was just starting its season at the beginning of April – we join the
Napoli Sottorranea at the Piazza San Gaetano. The early-spring sunshine
is high, yet walking into the gloom of the foyer behind its decaying
wrought iron gates brings a faint feeling of foreboding. We are warned
that this tour is not for the fat, the unfit or the claustrophobic, but
I don’t really believe it. Such warnings are always exaggerated, surely?
Napoli Sotterranea’s tour includes very recent findings.
We are frogmarched back out into the sunshine, up one of Naple’s
hundreds of tiny cobbled streets, carefully avoiding the omnipresent
scooters, into an unremarkable apartment block where a resident regards
us cautiously.
This is where we see the amphitheatre. Naples Roman amphitheatre was
second only to the Coliseum at Rome. That all we can see today – a
minute part of it, lying under one building, is a miracle in itself. The
block, still as sparsely furnished as it was when vacated five years
ago, gives one clue to its secret – a single Roman brick wall. This, and
what lies beneath it, is just a tiny part of the backstage area of the
theatre. Margueritta, our guide, keeping the theatrical feel, pushes
back the heavy iron bed with a flourish and pulls the very floor away
from us in the form of a giant trapdoor.
Treading carefully down the packed-mud steps, we marvel at the
Roman brickwork – built in a diamond crosshatch formation to withstand
earthquakes. This is part of the old backstage area and I imagine the
Emperor Nero pacing nervously somewhere nearby, waiting to give one of
his performances to his “adoring” crowd. It is pointed out that Nero was
one of the world’s worst actors and the Neapolitan audience, notoriously
difficult to please even today, was paid handsomely for its applause.
The main tour of the Sotterranea is cold, eerie and exhausting.
Only one of its 400-odd kilometres has been properly excavated and it is
not hard to understand why. It started life as the underground aqueduct
that brought fresh water to the Graeco-Roman Naples from the hills of
Vesuvius. An engineering miracle, it was carved into the soft tufa by
thousands of slaves and provided the Roman port with drinking water.
During the 17th century, the aqueduct was enlarged to supply a
city which had burst its surrounding walls. Wells from each house were
sunk and it remained the main water provision until 1884, when a cholera
outbreak was linked to the waters and the caves were closed
indefinitely.
But it is a much later reincarnation that we are first confronted
with. After descending 35 metres down a steep tunnel, we come to a
cavern much younger in provenance. In 1943, the government reopened part
of the aqueduct, now empty of water, as a refuge for those escaping the
Nazis. Much like the London Underground during the Blitz, hundreds of
families lived in the cold dank world for months on end whilst
hand-to-hand fighting went on overhead. Little piles of rusting toys,
sewing machines, gas masks and pedal cars lie forlornly; a stark
reminder of desperate times.
The rest of the wells that we will see have been filled to prevent
bomb damage. This, for the Neapolitans living above, is either a
good or bad thing depending on their view of one of the region’s most
enduring mythical characters – Monaciello (“Little Monk”) who originally
derives from the roman well-cleaners. These nocturnal creatures, skinny
and scary, inhabiting the caves like 1st century Gollums had developed,
by the 17th century into shady characters who could hop from house to
house via the underground networks, demanding protection money for not
poisoning the water, stealing things and seducing lonely housewives.
They eventually passed into legend as a kind of Commedia del’Arte
spirit, which could either be benign or malevolent. To this day, if an
item goes missing in a Neapolitan house it is said that Moniciello has
hidden it away.
From here on in, the way gets darker, narrower and colder.
Passing a demonstration model of how the caves were dug, we are brought
to a small, claustrophobic room where Margueritta proceeds to light a
number of wax candles in pottery holders. In the great Italian spirit of
personal responsibility, we are each entrusted with one, and told that
if we have a choice and need not go any further.
Margueritta is not exaggerating when she warns us that the way will
become difficult. Within a few metres the tunnel gets down to 50cm
wide and not much taller than our heads. For 90 metres we stumble on in
the blackness, our candles held like talismans before us. Finding it
hard to go straight, I try walking sideways like a crab. My little
rucksack-style handbag scrapes along the back, and I slip it to the
front, papoose-like, thanking my stars I didn’t stop earlier for
souvenirs. Our breath escapes in little puffs of steam.
We finally spill out into a cavern where the archaeological
society has reconstructed a small part of the original roman aqueduct.
From high above, a little amphora slides into the crystal-clear waters
(albeit a little speckled by candlewax) and goes to join a pile of pots
on some steps round the side. It is, in its own way, as spectacular as
anything to be seen at the flashier Pompeii. The only thing that dampens
the spirits is the thought of the return journey.
Just as Margueritta is showing us yet another cavern – a
cunningly constructed storeroom created by nuns in the 19th century, an
elderly lady startles us from behind. Disconcerting for us, it is
nothing to her response – one of intense relief. An American from
another tour, she turned back from the 90 metre nightmare cave and found
herself wandering alone. Although it is impossible to become truly lost
in these caves (they are sealed off by years and years of illegally
dumped rubbish from the city above) my heart goes out to her. It is a
creepy enough experience with people.
I am glad to see the warm spring sunshine again. Our American lady,
however, seems to have survived remarkably unscathed. Perhaps Moniciello
is feeling benevolent today…
Napoli Sotterranea, Piazza San Gaetano, 68 – Napoli.
Visits are by guided tour only and last around two hours.
Cost: 9.30 Euro per person.
Tours Mon-Fri 12,00pm, 2.00 pm and 4.00pm Saturday and Sunday 10.00am,
12.00pm. 2.00pm, 4.00pm, 6.00pm.
www.napolisotterranea.org
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