I arrived in Napoli near the train station and wandered the heavily littered streets in search of my hostel. By this time, I was feeling confident in my abilities to locate a less than visible accommodation. I walked to where my GPS had suggested and found no sign of a hostel or any other business. I made my way to the next street over and walked to roughly the location of where my hostel was meant to be on the next street. I walked to an unmarked door and perrused the names on the intercom system just to the right. Close to ththe bottom is where I found the name of my hostel. I pressed the button and a voice called out, “hello?” “Yes, I need to check in.” I heard the buzz, walked through the huge metal door, and started up the stairs with a crushing, metallic sound erupting behind me as the door slammed close.
As I made it to the second floor, an older, Italian man walked out a wooden doorway and said, “the hostel is that way.” I walked up another flight of stairs, turned to the left, and saw the desk with a young, Brazilian girl sitting behind it. She was very nice and welcoming and we talked briefly about my trip and how she wpwanted to go to a conservatory to study the accordion. She then gave me my key and said my room would not be ready for some time, but that I was welcome to leave my things and explore or hang out in the communal room and play games or use the wifi. I decided to wait in the communal room and catch up on my sites.
After some time, the Brazilian girl found me and let me know my room was ready. I walked back down the stairs, through the wooden doorway I had seen the older Italian man come through, to my room at the end of the hall. Inside I found an Italian man that was the same age as me. We talked briefly about where we were from and what I was doing in Italy. I told him I was on my way to Caiazzo where I hoped to meet the greatest pizza maker in the world and ask him to teach me his ways. The Italian man had not heard of Caiazzo, but was intrigued by my journey. He then set out to meet with some friends and I looked up the best pizza restaurants in the area. I found a place only a few blocks away and headed out with my headphones in my ears playing music and telling me where to go.
When I got to the restaurant, a huge iron gate covered the door. Behind me, though, was a bustling restaurant with grove of people eating inside and out. I decided this must be at least decent. I looked over the chalk sign listing the specials. The prices seemed reasonable so I asked for a table for one. I waited outside for a moment and then was called to sit inside. I was handed a menu and was left to look it over. The waiter returned and I ordered my first pizza from the birthplace of pizza. I then studied the other patrons and observed their pizza eating techniques. Many were using a knife and a fork and cutting the pizza into small strips. They did this for two reasons. One, the pizza does not come pre-cut and two, it keeps their hands and the food cleaner. I then decided this was how I would eat pizza while I was in Naples.
I devoured my margherita pizza with huge balls of mozzarella and headed to the register to pay. I then returned to my hostel and relaxed in preparation for my log stay in Naples.