Don't Panic (Assignment 5)

This past weekend I opted to forego the group trip to Croatia so I could go to Naples, Capri, and Sorrento. I knew before leaving that Naples is different from the rest of “mainstream” Italy. According to my Rick Steves guidebook, Naples is the best and worst of Italy: the motherland of pizza, but also the hometown of the mafia. It’s dirty and rough, but also delectably authentic. The Neopolitans are who they are, and they aren’t going to change to appeal to the mass tourist market.

With all the warnings about pickpockets, I felt prepared to avoid the travel nightmare so many ignorant/unwary travelers find themselves in—I just didn’t prepare for the frightening, pursuant nature of the men of Naples. 

On my second evening in Naples, Kelsey, Katie and I decided we wanted to go to a bar to meet people and get out of the hostel for a while. Looking up a place on Google, we determined our route, making sure we would be on well-lit, major thoroughfares. It was dusk as we set out, dressed nicely, but not in a way to attract much attention to ourselves (no heels, no excessively short skirts or dresses, no flashy jewelry).

Walking along a one-way street with the cars heading toward us, we watched the traffic and laughed about our experiences in Capri earlier that day. I was walking in front, and noticed a car pull into a side alley on our side of the street. There were two men in the car, hissing and speaking fast Italian; I assumed they were directing their antics at us. Katie and Kelsey hadn’t noticed, so I told them we should cross the street because the bar would be on that side (I didn’t want to alarm them, if it turned out the men weren’t actually trying to talk to us.).

As we reached the other side of the sidewalk, I kept an eye on the car. Apparently, they were interested in us after all. The white car pulled out, reversed down the one-way street, and pulled up on our side of the street. At this point, I could feel my heart beating faster. Not able to understand the Naples dialect, I turned my head toward the car and said, “Grazie, ma no.” Thanks, but no. Katie and Kelsey, now realizing the creep-factor, look at me, Momma Kaitlin (I'm the eldest and most prepared for everything), for direction.

“Keep walking, don’t look at them,” I said, more confidently than I felt. “They’ll leave if we ignore them. Walk with a purpose.”

Ahead of us was a walkway separated from the street by a large construction barrier. Since the car couldn’t pull up next to us and the one-way street became very narrow at that point, I thought we’d be safe and the men would pull away. Instead, I watched as they maneuvered their car down the street to the exit point of the pedestrian area. They were waiting for us.

Adrenaline coursed into my system quickly, my fight or flight instinct starting to rise up. “Don’t panic, you are a 22-year-old woman. Think clearly and rationally,” I told myself. Katie and Kelsey were beginning to get frightened, and I knew I had to do something to get us out safely. Even if they didn’t mean any harm, the fading light and language barrier were enough to make even the most innocent of men appear menacing.

A side street not visible or accessible to the main road was on my left.

“Kelsey, Katie, come on,” I said, leading them down the side street. Getting out of the men’s view was the most important thing to do, and the next was getting in view of other people.

The urge to run was strong, but I made them walk at a normal pace. It was probably only a minute until I had us back on the main road, but it felt much longer. When we emerged, I exited the alley’s darkness first, looking to the left for signs of the car. Our hostel was just across the street, and I wanted to get there fast. Katie and Kelsey joined me at the edge of the sidewalk, watching traffic whip by us. There was no way we could cross—we’d be the frogs in the videogame Frogger, and we didn’t have extra lives.

Then, our saving grace arrived. A garbage man who was working about thirty yards away walked toward us and into the street. Holding his hands up and talking to the cars, he gestured for them to stop. It was like Moses parting the Red Sea. The three of us—probably looking like nervous deer—scampered behind him, practically running to the safety of the sidewalk.

“Mille grazie,” we shouted over our shoulders.

I turned around briefly, long enough to see him look to be sure we had made it, then retreat back to his truck. We hurried to the hostel door, dialed the entry code and entered the safety of the hostel. 

My entire time in Italy I have felt very safe. My friends and I don’t walk alone anywhere, especially not at night. It could be the two men in the white car were just cat-calling and trying to be flattering. Other Italian men in Florence and Rome have said, “Ciao bella,” to me or yelled at me out of car windows, but something about Naples’ reputation mixed with the persistence of these two men scared me. I learned that I can handle a stressful and potentially dangerous situation rationally. I also learned I am not blind to danger or naïve about my surroundings—I was able to look at all the factors and keep my friends and myself safe. The rest of my time in Naples was exciting and wonderful, and I won’t judge an entire city or nationality on one experience; it's just important to remember, especially as a woman in a country that adores women, to heed the little voice in your head. If it feels uncomfortable, don't keep walking into trouble.