Two hours later, we arrive in sunny Naples.
The coach drops us off right outside the modern, glass-fronted train station, smack dab in the city centre. It’s absolutely heaving with passengers, from rushing commuters in smart suits, to interrailing students, their massive backpacks hitched high on their shoulders. I can sense Gus’s tension, and he does his best to keep his head down.
There’s a familiar waft of fast food that, in my exhausted state, is more tempting than I’m willing to admit. I wet my lips as I glance around, looking for any sign of a ticket office. I spot it towards the front of the station.
“Come on, Popstar, this way.”
As we reach the long queue, Gus carefully takes me by the elbow and spins me to face him. I have no idea what it is about the gesture, but something swoops in my belly. I stare at him bemused. “Can I help you?”
He looks like he’s trying to word his question carefully, gnawing on his bottom lip.
“I know we’re tired after last night but, now we’re here,I’m really keen to wander Naples for a few hours. We could book onto a later train. I have plenty of charge in my camera.” He pauses, raising his brows. “What do you say?”
I blow out a breath. “Well, wearemissing out on Taormina. And we have two whole nights before the cruise docks in Rome. I guess I’m intrigued… I don’t see why not.”
And so, on impulse, we spend the following two hours prowling the bustling streets of Napoli. Gus finds a small phone shop in a market that sells portable chargers and I plug my phone in and slide it back in my bag. Ideal.
Gus seems to have a plan and that plan involves a ton of walking, and then some more walking, only pausing intermittently when his artistic eye catches something that he wants to capture on camera. But I don’t mind following him around the city, taking in the sights and stopping whenever I see a food stand that speaks to me.
Who knew Sfogliatella, a shell-shaped pastry with a sweet creamy filling, could change a woman’s life in a single, delicious bite?
As he told me before, Gus seems to be drawn to the life of a place. The hectic backstreets with balconies positioned at seemingly random levels, bougainvillea and other climbing plants searching the shadows for a whisper of light, wires webbing between buildings. It’s as if he’s mesmerised by the chaos, the realness of the place. I wonder if that’s because he felt so isolated from the normal world most of his adult life.
At one point, a small tabby cat sticks its head out of an overflowing bin behind a restaurant and Gus makes it his muse, the tabby trotting towards me and curling around my shins, its fur a soft scrape against my skin. Gus gets down on his stomach and points the camera at her height.
I stand still, waiting impatiently for him to finish.
As if he clues on, he takes his time, lips curving below the camera lens.
Warmth rushes up my neck and all I can do is tut in response, patting the tabby on the head and striding away so that he has to clamber after me.
Thankfully, my ankle seems to be holding up. Probably due to to the new trainers which are only rubbing slightly against my big toe. It’s the sort of pain I can ignore and nurse later in Rome, wherever we end up staying.
“You know, we should go to Pompeii,” I say suddenly, spinning to face him, surprised by my own impulsiveness. Because we could. And it’s been on my bucket list for years. There weren’t any cruises, that I fancied, stopping in Naples so I’d written Pompeii off as an option, but I’ve long been fascinated with the ancient, ruined city and I’d even gone as far as to research how long it would take to travel there from Rome, knowing that was a planned long dock stay for the cruise.
Gus eyes me with surprise. “Rightnow?”
“Yes! It’s only a half hour train away, right?”
“If you say so…” he says, shrugging. “I’m not going to say no to an adventure.”
*
The ancient city is just like all the online blogs said it was, frozen in time. We were too late to join up with a tour, so we wander on our own, weaving through former streets, glimpsing pieces of beautiful mosaics and tiles. We clamber over the uneven cobbled path, Gus and I both in equal awe.
The sun is punching down on us as we stroll alongstreets, past crumbling buildings that were once homes and shops and bakeries. Most of the buildings are without ceilings, jagged pillars, which used to hold up roofs over the markets, stand without purpose. The dark mountains behind create a vivid backdrop, a frequent reminder of what happened here. So much life was behind these walls, so much destruction in so little time. It’s hard to fathom the fear they must’ve felt.
When I stroll into the more intact buildings, with fascinating, ancient artwork decorating the walls, I feel as if I’m intruding, like I’m strolling through somebody’s house uninvited. Some of the art is so graphic I’m almost blushing as I pass, listening to Gus’s soft breathing behind me. He doesn’t take photos inside and I wonder if it’s because he feels the same as me, as if the spirits of those who lived here never really left.
Once we’re back outside, I pause at one doorway, peeking into a cramped space.
Click.
I spin on Gus. “Can’t you see I’m having a moment?” I ask, unable to hold back a smile.
He nods, grinning, looking at his camera screen that he shields from the sun to see properly. When he hears a group of young women laughing, his curls fall over his sunglasses as he tenses, checking the nearby area. His shoulders relax when they move on. I wonder if it’s always been like this for him, the fear of being seen, being followed. I wonder if he even knows he reacts that way. He swallows and takes a steadying breath as he turns back to me.
“You’re so photogenic,” he says. “I think you might be my new favourite subject.”
