Martin de Alteriis, The Traveling Cartoonist:
"New Year's in Naples"

"War has broken out," my cousin, Francesca, cried over the rockets' thunder. All around us, hundreds of firecrackers jolted Naples' baroque palazzi and gothic tenements, while pink, green and purple flares lit the night sky.

In Naples, New Year's Eve celebrations do not involve excesses of alcohol. Instead, the feast of San Silvestro, as the Italians call it, revolves around other excesses: extravagant meals; chaotic and dangerous firecrackers; and a night of partying that ends only when the sun rises over Mount Vesuvius.

My first experience of a Neapolitan New Year's Eve began early in the morning when I accompanied Francesca to a street market in the Vomero, a district in the hills above the city. She'd been charged with buying fresh ingredients for the elaborate evening meal my Aunt had planned for us and her next door neighbors.

The day's first shock concerned the price of clams, which had soared from their normal price of about $10 a kilo to about $67 a kilo. Spaghetti with clam sauce, I'd been told, was traditional on New Year's Eve. But I wouldn't be eating any. My cousin stalked away from the fishmongers in disgust and decided: "We'll have lasagna instead."

We rattled down cobblestone streets in Francesca's tiny Fiat, enjoying spectacular views of the islands of Capri and Ischia as we descended the city's steep slopes on a brilliantly sunny day, heading for a grocery store close to the bay.

“They sell the best mozzarella here," Francesca declared as we ordered delights such as fresh egg pasta, Parma ham and pickled artichokes. The assistants seemed to weigh our purchases by waving them over the scale, never actually placing them down, but confidently shouting out the prices.

That afternoon I was sent out of the house so that my aunt and cousin could cook. Even though my aunt had been born in America, she'd been Italianized by 40 years of marriage to a Neapolitan. Men, from what I could tell, were not expected to help in the kitchen. I decided not to challenge this quaint local custom.

For the next several hours, I strolled about Naples' historic center, and went to see several 'presepi' (nativity creches) in the local Churches. These lifesize creches don't just contain biblical figures, they also include contemporary Neapolitan characters, such as fishmongers, fruit vendors, greengrocers, and pizza makers.

I returned in the late afternoon to find my aunt and cousin snoozing. The cooking had been timed to allow for a late afternoon nap, as a long night was in store for us.

At eight that evening, the neighbors appeared at the front door. While the final preparations for the meal were being made, I went onto the balcony with Sergio, a cheerful fellow of about thirty, who regaled me with his plans for the night ahead. "Just before midnight, I'm going upstairs to the roof," he announced, "where our landlady's children will be setting off firecrackers. When it's safe, maybe about an hour later," he added, "I'll get my girlfriend and we'll all go to some parties and maybe a discoteca."

Then he switched on the television so we could watch to the Italian President give his traditional New Year's Eve address. We were soon distracted, however, because Francesca and Sergio's sister, Linda, brought an antipasto of fresh mozzarella, deviled eggs, stuffed olives, capers, tomatoes, prosciutto and artichoke hearts to the table. For the next three hours, we slowly worked our way through a succession of sumptuous courses.

There was lasagna baked with sausages in a cream sauce; swordfish broiled in lemon, oil and basil; a mixed salad, sartu, a rice cake stuffed with cheese, eggs and ham; and finally cotecchino and lentils. Cotecchino is a fatty boiled sausage traditionally eaten on New Year's Eve; lentils are also traditional, and are supposed to bring good luck, as they are said to represent coins. Desert consisted of fruit, nuts, and strufoli, the hard, chewy pastries Neapolitans devour at the end of the year.

After about a quarter of an hour into the meal, Sergio's father grew bored with the President's somewhat long winded address, and flipped to a circus from Monaco. Sergio's father was a benign looking man, who would occasionally holler something in a heavy Neapolitan accent I couldn't understand. In reply, I just smiled broadly, which made him beam with delight.

At around nine thirty, a woman from the floor above pounded on the door. "Aiuto" (help), she cried. An emergency had arisen: She'd run out of salt. Could we lend her some?

At a quarter to twelve my cousin suddenly told me we were going to view the fireworks from her elder sister’s terrace, a five minute drive away. "Be careful," Francesca warned, as we hurried towards her Fiat. Midnight was approaching and stray fireworks were already landing on the narrow, deserted streets. As we were driving, the smoldering remains of a rocket fell on the windscreen but Francesca deftly used the windshield wipers to flick it off.

At about two minutes to minutes to midnight, we pulled up outside a former Princess' Palace where Francesca's sister (and my cousin), Beatrice, had a small apartment. The olive skinned Beatrice was nervously pacing outside the wrought iron gates, worried we'd be late. She gave us quick hugs and placed empty plastic champagne glasses in our hands. We all dashed up several flights of stone stairs to a terrace high above the city, where about thirty people had gathered with Spumante and sparklers.

Gazing around, I could see lights from the Sorrentine peninsula and hills of Posilippo. Vesuvius, however, was eerily absent from this nighttime panorama. "Don't worry," Francesca replied when I pointed this out, "even without the Volcano, there'll soon be an explosion." A moment later, ‘war' broke out as midnight struck, and thousands of fireworks were discharged from balconies, roofs and even out of windows. I sipped Spumante and edged away from a little guy with a big mustache who was maniacally setting off firecrackers.

Way down below, I could see the Piazza del Plebiscito, the square where the city's official New Year celebrations were taking place. A local television station was broadcasting a parade led by helium filled snakes and dragons, which had started in a medieval castle, and was entertaining a crowd of about hundred thousand people. The parade was followed by speeches from the mayor, the city's official firework display, and an open-air all night disco.

Once the fireworks stopped falling, about an hour and a half later, we left Beatrice's terrace, and drove through the city, along streets littered with spent fireworks. Bars and cafes were doing a lively trade, even though most patrons were drinking coffee rather than alcohol. The caffeine was a good idea, given that many revelers intended to circulate all night, and put in appearances at up to a dozen parties.

We reunited with Sergio, who drove us, his girlfriend and one of his buddies to a party in a villa outside the city. Sergio's sultry girlfriend, Marcella, didn't care for the music, however, so we left that party and went to a club on a cliff above the Mediterranean, where we swayed to slow, romantic, Italian songs.

Dawn seemed to come quickly. We left the club about 6:30 and wandered to a stone wall by the cliff’s edge. We were several miles north of Naples, almost in the countryside, it seemed. Glimmers of light appeared over the hills to the east, and we waited to see the sun rise over the Bay of Naples.

By the time we returned to my Aunt's building, the sun had risen, and the streets were empty except for a few weary looking revelers finally heading home.

Naples is like most American cities on New Year's day, I soon discovered. Everyone sleeps late, and no one does much of anything.

Sidebar: Naples has become an increasingly popular destination for New Year's Eve revellers. Therefore, it would be wise to make hotel reservations and dinner reservations as early as possible. There are a number of places from which you could enjoy the fireworks. The hotels higher up in the city provide better vantage points than the ones right by the bay. The hotels Britannique (081) 761-4145, and Parker's (081) 761-2474 both have excellent views of the city and bay. Both are also within walking distance of the Piazza del Plebiscito where the city's festivities are centered. The Jolly Ambassador, a high rise in the middle of the historic center, also provides some striking vistas.

The most interesting restaurants are in the city center. If you speak little Italian, you might ask your hotel concierge to make reservations for you. Otherwise, La Cantinella (081 764-8684) is very expensive, but is set in the very picturesque port of Santa Lucia. The Casanova Grill (081 764-0111), the restaurant of the Excelsior hotel, is wonderfully intimate and also is right on the bay. La Cantina di Triunfo (081 668101) is a former wine cellar, that offers traditional Neapolitan food at more moderate prices. The Osteria al Canterbury (081 413584) is warm and welcoming, with homemade pasta and reasonable prices. and reasonable prices.

You should plan to dine from about 8 to 11:15 or 11:30. Give yourself ample time to reach the point from which you intend to watch the fireworks. Do not walk in the streets from about midnight to 1 pm. After the fireworks end, you can wander about the city center, enjoying the festivities in the Piazza del Plebiscito, or visiting the many bars that stay open all night.

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