There’s an Italian saying: See Naples and die. After driving in Naples, that idiom has a whole new meaning.
The Italian Tour
A tour of Italian gardens had been on the cards since 2020, but as our departure date drew near, so too did word of a highly contagious disease that was spreading through Italy. The pandemic arrived; the holiday was cancelled, and we’d been threatening to rebook ever since.
A couple of weeks ago, we finally flew into Naples (Napoli) for the first leg of a tour that would take in two centres, eight nights, and five of southern Italy’s finest gardens. We booked car hire from Naples, with a return to Rome from where we would depart. We had only one named driver, me, and Jack was to be the navigator.
After some confusion over the location of the Avis desk at Naples airport, we finally rolled out of the car park in a brand-new Jeep Avenger at around 6.30pm on a Tuesday, confident we had probably avoided the worst of rush hour.
A baptism of fire
Other than the usual attempts to open my door when reaching to change gear on our lefthand drive, we headed to the autostrade. From the moment I attempted to filter into a lane, I knew that driving in Naples would be beyond a mere test of my driving skills, it would be a trial of nerve, courage, and composure.
Traffic came at me from every angle. Nobody gave way to anybody. There was undertaking and overtaking and crisscrossing by cars and motorcycles and mopeds. It was like a cross between Mad Max and Wacky Races. While Jack frantically followed Google maps on his phone, I scanned the direction signs and tried to get to grip with the controls, cursing every time my left hand reached for the gear lever.
After twenty frenetic minutes, Jack instructed me to follow signs for Lago Patria on the final leg of our journey. We approached a junction, and I remained in the righthand lane, delighted that as we reached the split in the slip road, Lago Patria was to the right. Suddenly Jack and Jo started screaming:
“Pozzuoli! Pozzuoli!”
Confused, I continued in my lane.
“Left! Left!” Came the chorus.
Incredibly, right on the junction was a sign showing left for Pozzuoli, the first time we had seen a Pozzuoli sign in about six kilometres. I glanced in my mirror. Both cars behind me were turning right (though you wouldn’t know it as Naples drivers don’t use indicators) so I swerved left at the last moment, over the white striped lines, into the Pozzuoli lane.
By the time we got to Pozzuoli and parked the car, I needed a beer.
Driving in Naples
For the next four days, every time I got behind the wheel, it seemed that all roads led to Napoli. Apart from the wonderful day when we got a ferry from Pozzuoli port to Ischia, no matter where the gardens were, we had to use the Napoli ring road. With each outing I became more confident.
Approaching roundabouts, I quickly learned no-one gives way to anyone else, whether you’re joining, or already on the roundabout. You just have to put your foot down and dive in. Speed limits on roads don’t even seem to be for guidance and are clearly there merely as ornamentation for the roadside.
Driving at 45kph in a 30kph zone, cars whizzed past me with the sort of exasperation that suggested drivers were muttering the Italian equivalent of “bloody tourist!” at me in the rearview mirror. We did, however, witness multiple speeding tickets being given out, and constantly scoured the road ahead for the telltale dark blue uniforms and cars of the Carabiniere.
Badge of honour
The second half of our tour was far less frenetic as we left the outskirts of Naples and headed north towards Rome. We stayed in the medieval hilltop village of Sermoneta, south of Rome, and which provided its own test of driving. The narrow streets allow parking for residents and permit holders only.
We had a permit for the duration of our stay, but it always entailed reversing into a very narrow space with the passenger wheels in a gutter directly alongside a stone wall. With Jack directing me, there were several heated exchanges every time.
Against all odds, the Jeep was returned to Rome airport without a scratch. The lady at the Avis return bay told me I was a very brave woman, while the man who managed the apartment in Sermoneta, when hearing where we had been for the past four days, declared: If you can drive in Naples, you can drive anywhere.
We had a brilliant trip, and I would do it again in a heartbeat, but I do think I should have been awarded a badge or a T shirt that says:
I survived driving in Naples.
