Naples is a city of contradictions. I am constantly wandering around marvelling at the contrasts and confusion. It seems as though everything is at cross purposes and yet, somehow, slowly, and somewhat inefficiently, the city lumbers on through the daily grind. Sometimes I think it’s a matter of creative employment. Sometimes I decide it’s due to over regulation and/or the incompetence of law enforcement agencies. Sometimes it’s the Camorra – Naples organised crime network – controlling or disrupting things. But often, I’ve decided, it’s a bit of ignorance, it’s always been done like that, it’s an attitude of (real, deeply ingrained) change is impossible so what’s the point (while most of the rest of the world struggles with the concept that change is inevitable).
Here are some of my most recent observations.
1. There’s a traffic cop directing mid morning traffic at a busy intersection, although the traffic lights are functioning. There is no apparent reason for him to be there. There is no evidence of an accident, or road works, a burst water main or anything out of the ordinary. Yet he stands in the middle of the cross roads, directing traffic in contrast to the traffic signals swinging above his head. It creates confusion, and doesn’t seem to improve the flow of traffic, although it does reduce the number of people that routinely run red lights. Those queued up behind can see that the traffic light is green but can’t work out why the traffic isn’t moving, so resort to signalling their frustration with their horns. And still, the traffic cop stands benignly in the centre of one of the city’s busiest junctions holding up his plastic white and red sign in his white gloved hands, ushering traffic to and fro, before wandering off for his mid morning coffee break.
2. Then there are the rubbish collectors who have to use a shovel or a back hoe to do their job. Each night (or is it early morning?) they rumble down our street, pulling up beside the large industrial metal refuse bins at the front of our building. Three or four of them huddle together in their regular spot, like local drunks at the pub. Clearly inadequate for the neighbourhood’s refuse needs the waste routinely overflows onto the cobbled road, plastic bags of household rubbish, flattened cardboard boxes, broken furniture mixed with vegetable off cuts and spoiled fruit discarded by the fresh produce market vendors. The mini rubbish truck, suitable for trawling through the narrow alleyways dodges double-parked cars and scooters temporarily abandoned while their riders pop into buy bread, mozzarella or bottled water, is ordinarily accompanied by a rubbish collectors. The workers manually shovel up everything not contained in the bins. Their long handled wide faced spades making the job only slightly less unpleasant, but ensuring that they don’t come into direct physical contact with any of the waste. It is shovelled unceremoniously into the bins where it waits for tomorrow’s collection as the rubbish truck has already grumbled onto the next set of bins some ten metres up the road.
In the outer suburbs we’ve seen a back hoe in use, following an extended rubbish collection strike. The back hoe edges in, awkwardly scooping up all of the waste outside of the bins, before depositing it into the back of the rubbish truck.
It is a thankless, arduous job. A large part of Naples has a daily rubbish collection service, which is one of the city’s hidden blessings. There is no way our street would survive more than a few days without a collection service. The local markets fill the street with activity and refuse everyday. Our street alone accommodates literally hundreds of people. The daily rubbish service makes it liveable and leaves the street fresh for each new morning.
Neapolitans think nothing of throwing their rubbish and litter into the street. There are very few areas where the footpaths and streets are clear of rubbish. It’s a seemingly unsolvable problem. The dense population produces mountains of waste on a daily basis. The busy, narrow, crowded streets restrict the space available for rubbish bins, and there certainly isn’t room for individual rubbish bins for each household (that the council workers in other countries would refuse to empty if they were overflowing or filled with inappropriate matter like garden waste, leaving you frustrated and embarrassed that your council rates do indeed only pay for a certain amount of rubbish to be collected on a weekly, yep weekly not daily, basis).
People are so accustomed to throwing their cigarette butts, plastic, tissues and litter onto the street that they don’t even think about where it ends up. Why bother when someone will, usually and eventually, come along during the night to clean up the majority of it, but what they don’t realise is that much of it ends up washed down into the drains, carried out into the bay. The Bay; that’s the beautiful Bay of Naples, that pocket of the Mediterranean that hugs the three islands of Procida, Ischia and Capri, offsets the iconic volcano and provides much of the locally relished seafood.
I remember during my childhood, an anti littering campaign called ‘Keep Australia Clean’. Some thirty years later it is considered anti social to drop your litter anywhere but in a rubbish bin at home. In fact, at least in Australia, if you risk dropping something on the street or footpath you will probably be pulled up by a fellow citizen with a ‘Sorry, but I think you dropped something’. The resulting shame and embarrassment is largely what prevents us from littering. That’s not to say that Australia is clean, clean, clean. There are certainly towns, cities, suburbs, highways, ditches and parks where rubbish and litter are still a problem.
Neapolitans though have a different approach. Instead of fearing humiliation and repercussions, they puff up with bravado and present a “What’s it to you?” attitude. This is then followed by “It’s my city; I have just as much right to litter as anyone else’ and a look that clearly says “Who are you to tell me what to do, how to do it or where to do it?” Unfortunately, children watch their parents and are mimicking their actions, attitudes and stance well before they start their schooling. I can only assume their thinking is ‘What’s the point of me walking three metres to the trash can when someone will sweep it up eventually anyway.’
It is of course illegal to litter, but the police turn a blind eye to infringements. In fact I can only imagine the scorn and ridicule a police officer would face if they pulled someone up and proceeded to issue a fine for throwing a cigarette butt onto the footpath. Everyone litters, why should one person be fined? It’s this lack of individual responsibility for the bigger picture that characterises so much of what needs improving in Naples.
3. There are old men selling ladies hosiery in the market. Just metres from the front door of our building they sit behind a couple of fold up tables with a blue tarpaulin strung up as a sun shade. Boxes of packaged hosiery are laid out on the table, a variety of colours, styles and sizes on display. There is nothing particularly strange about stockings, tights and pantyhose being for sale on the street in the daily open air market. But I can never quite bring myself to go over and have a look. Sometimes its two men, sometimes three or four planted behind the table, a permanent feature of the market arena. They’re more than middle aged, and there’s something a little bit creepy about men with wrinkly faces and cigarettes hanging from their lips selling ladies hosiery, be they fifteen denier or stay ups. It just doesn’t seem right to discuss the pros and cons of cotton gussets, reinforced toes, rear seams and the latest fashion patterns with these men that would look more at home at the bar or playing cards in the nearby Socialist party club.
4. I’ve previously written about the different law enforcement agencies in Italy. There’re the Carabinieri, the State Police, the Fiscal Police, the traffic police and the local urban police. However it’s the plain clothes policemen that always draw my attention. The first few times we came to Naples we’d be walking down the street and Gigi would suddenly say “See them? They’re drug cops”. Me, in my innocence and head-in-the-clouds I-can’t-take-it-all-in way would say “What? Who? Where?” well after they’d sped by and disappeared into the crowd. Years later I can now spot them coming. And in accordance with the Neapolitan approach their idea of plain clothes is to dress in their own civilian uniform (dark jeans, black T-shirt in summer or black sweater/jacket in winter with a black beanie, on a uniform type of motorbike. They always look the same, and you can see them from a mile away (once you know what to look for). I understand that these cops used to be responsible for drug enforcement, but now they cruise around policing on a more general basis.
What’s the contradiction? These cops, kitted out in their black clothes with a black and red plastic ‘Stop’ sign tucked in between, cruising around on their big off road motorbike…without helmets. Five years ago, hardly anyone in Naples wore motorbike helmets but slowly, very slowly, this is changing. I estimate 50% of motorbike and scooter riders now wear helmets (although often they aren’t buckled up). The State Police and Fiscal Police, in regular police uniforms, are now always seen wearing helmets. But, still these plain clothes cops continue to flagrantly flaunt the very laws that they should be enforcing.
Is it any wonder that the city engenders confusion, chaos and a deep disrespect for authority? But would Naples be the city that it is without the spice and character that comes with hardworking rubbish men, cops that break the law, red lights that are ignored by men with red and white signs and hosiery sold by grandfathers?
I know the answer to that, but do you?
Here are some of my most recent observations.
1. There’s a traffic cop directing mid morning traffic at a busy intersection, although the traffic lights are functioning. There is no apparent reason for him to be there. There is no evidence of an accident, or road works, a burst water main or anything out of the ordinary. Yet he stands in the middle of the cross roads, directing traffic in contrast to the traffic signals swinging above his head. It creates confusion, and doesn’t seem to improve the flow of traffic, although it does reduce the number of people that routinely run red lights. Those queued up behind can see that the traffic light is green but can’t work out why the traffic isn’t moving, so resort to signalling their frustration with their horns. And still, the traffic cop stands benignly in the centre of one of the city’s busiest junctions holding up his plastic white and red sign in his white gloved hands, ushering traffic to and fro, before wandering off for his mid morning coffee break.
2. Then there are the rubbish collectors who have to use a shovel or a back hoe to do their job. Each night (or is it early morning?) they rumble down our street, pulling up beside the large industrial metal refuse bins at the front of our building. Three or four of them huddle together in their regular spot, like local drunks at the pub. Clearly inadequate for the neighbourhood’s refuse needs the waste routinely overflows onto the cobbled road, plastic bags of household rubbish, flattened cardboard boxes, broken furniture mixed with vegetable off cuts and spoiled fruit discarded by the fresh produce market vendors. The mini rubbish truck, suitable for trawling through the narrow alleyways dodges double-parked cars and scooters temporarily abandoned while their riders pop into buy bread, mozzarella or bottled water, is ordinarily accompanied by a rubbish collectors. The workers manually shovel up everything not contained in the bins. Their long handled wide faced spades making the job only slightly less unpleasant, but ensuring that they don’t come into direct physical contact with any of the waste. It is shovelled unceremoniously into the bins where it waits for tomorrow’s collection as the rubbish truck has already grumbled onto the next set of bins some ten metres up the road.
In the outer suburbs we’ve seen a back hoe in use, following an extended rubbish collection strike. The back hoe edges in, awkwardly scooping up all of the waste outside of the bins, before depositing it into the back of the rubbish truck.
It is a thankless, arduous job. A large part of Naples has a daily rubbish collection service, which is one of the city’s hidden blessings. There is no way our street would survive more than a few days without a collection service. The local markets fill the street with activity and refuse everyday. Our street alone accommodates literally hundreds of people. The daily rubbish service makes it liveable and leaves the street fresh for each new morning.
Neapolitans think nothing of throwing their rubbish and litter into the street. There are very few areas where the footpaths and streets are clear of rubbish. It’s a seemingly unsolvable problem. The dense population produces mountains of waste on a daily basis. The busy, narrow, crowded streets restrict the space available for rubbish bins, and there certainly isn’t room for individual rubbish bins for each household (that the council workers in other countries would refuse to empty if they were overflowing or filled with inappropriate matter like garden waste, leaving you frustrated and embarrassed that your council rates do indeed only pay for a certain amount of rubbish to be collected on a weekly, yep weekly not daily, basis).
People are so accustomed to throwing their cigarette butts, plastic, tissues and litter onto the street that they don’t even think about where it ends up. Why bother when someone will, usually and eventually, come along during the night to clean up the majority of it, but what they don’t realise is that much of it ends up washed down into the drains, carried out into the bay. The Bay; that’s the beautiful Bay of Naples, that pocket of the Mediterranean that hugs the three islands of Procida, Ischia and Capri, offsets the iconic volcano and provides much of the locally relished seafood.
I remember during my childhood, an anti littering campaign called ‘Keep Australia Clean’. Some thirty years later it is considered anti social to drop your litter anywhere but in a rubbish bin at home. In fact, at least in Australia, if you risk dropping something on the street or footpath you will probably be pulled up by a fellow citizen with a ‘Sorry, but I think you dropped something’. The resulting shame and embarrassment is largely what prevents us from littering. That’s not to say that Australia is clean, clean, clean. There are certainly towns, cities, suburbs, highways, ditches and parks where rubbish and litter are still a problem.
Neapolitans though have a different approach. Instead of fearing humiliation and repercussions, they puff up with bravado and present a “What’s it to you?” attitude. This is then followed by “It’s my city; I have just as much right to litter as anyone else’ and a look that clearly says “Who are you to tell me what to do, how to do it or where to do it?” Unfortunately, children watch their parents and are mimicking their actions, attitudes and stance well before they start their schooling. I can only assume their thinking is ‘What’s the point of me walking three metres to the trash can when someone will sweep it up eventually anyway.’
It is of course illegal to litter, but the police turn a blind eye to infringements. In fact I can only imagine the scorn and ridicule a police officer would face if they pulled someone up and proceeded to issue a fine for throwing a cigarette butt onto the footpath. Everyone litters, why should one person be fined? It’s this lack of individual responsibility for the bigger picture that characterises so much of what needs improving in Naples.
3. There are old men selling ladies hosiery in the market. Just metres from the front door of our building they sit behind a couple of fold up tables with a blue tarpaulin strung up as a sun shade. Boxes of packaged hosiery are laid out on the table, a variety of colours, styles and sizes on display. There is nothing particularly strange about stockings, tights and pantyhose being for sale on the street in the daily open air market. But I can never quite bring myself to go over and have a look. Sometimes its two men, sometimes three or four planted behind the table, a permanent feature of the market arena. They’re more than middle aged, and there’s something a little bit creepy about men with wrinkly faces and cigarettes hanging from their lips selling ladies hosiery, be they fifteen denier or stay ups. It just doesn’t seem right to discuss the pros and cons of cotton gussets, reinforced toes, rear seams and the latest fashion patterns with these men that would look more at home at the bar or playing cards in the nearby Socialist party club.
4. I’ve previously written about the different law enforcement agencies in Italy. There’re the Carabinieri, the State Police, the Fiscal Police, the traffic police and the local urban police. However it’s the plain clothes policemen that always draw my attention. The first few times we came to Naples we’d be walking down the street and Gigi would suddenly say “See them? They’re drug cops”. Me, in my innocence and head-in-the-clouds I-can’t-take-it-all-in way would say “What? Who? Where?” well after they’d sped by and disappeared into the crowd. Years later I can now spot them coming. And in accordance with the Neapolitan approach their idea of plain clothes is to dress in their own civilian uniform (dark jeans, black T-shirt in summer or black sweater/jacket in winter with a black beanie, on a uniform type of motorbike. They always look the same, and you can see them from a mile away (once you know what to look for). I understand that these cops used to be responsible for drug enforcement, but now they cruise around policing on a more general basis.
What’s the contradiction? These cops, kitted out in their black clothes with a black and red plastic ‘Stop’ sign tucked in between, cruising around on their big off road motorbike…without helmets. Five years ago, hardly anyone in Naples wore motorbike helmets but slowly, very slowly, this is changing. I estimate 50% of motorbike and scooter riders now wear helmets (although often they aren’t buckled up). The State Police and Fiscal Police, in regular police uniforms, are now always seen wearing helmets. But, still these plain clothes cops continue to flagrantly flaunt the very laws that they should be enforcing.
Is it any wonder that the city engenders confusion, chaos and a deep disrespect for authority? But would Naples be the city that it is without the spice and character that comes with hardworking rubbish men, cops that break the law, red lights that are ignored by men with red and white signs and hosiery sold by grandfathers?
I know the answer to that, but do you?
