Napoli, Day One: Sunlight, Moonlight, and Us

 I left Athens wrapped in rain.

The kind of rain that falls with insistence, thick, loud, almost dramatic, like the city is trying to keep you there for a few more minutes, as if it knows what you’re about to reclaim. And then Napoli… Napoli greeted me the way only Napoli can: with golden sun, warmth on my skin, and Vesuvio standing in the distance like a quiet guardian, watching over the city that has slowly become ours.

A car was waiting for me, and as we drove toward the center, I felt something soften inside me. The road followed the coastline, the same one we rode together on the bike, sea to one side, city to the other, my heart doing that familiar thing it does when it recognizes a place that holds love inside it. I caught myself humming That’s Amore, smiling like an idiot, because how could I not? Even the air there has a soundtrack.

It had been six months since I last saw those streets, those corners, that light… and yet everything felt unbelievably familiar. Napoli doesn’t feel like a destination to me anymore. It feels like a part of my story that never stops existing, even when I’m far away.

And then the taxi stopped.

And there you were.

I froze - not because I hesitated, but because I wanted to absorb you properly. To take a perfect photograph with my eyes. The kind I can replay on the nights when we’re apart, when distance tries to pretend it can compete with reality. I wanted to save that exact image of you standing there, waiting, so I could pull it out of my mind whenever I miss you too much.

Then I ran.

And you held me the way someone holds what they’ve been missing.

Your arms around me, your kiss, warm, immediate, familiar, and in that moment everything in me went quiet. Finally. We were together again. Not in messages, not in longing, not in imagination… but in the simple miracle of being in the same place.

Minutes later we were sitting with a baba and espresso - Napoli’s little ceremony for lovers- and the sweetness of it felt symbolic, like the city saying: Welcome back. You’re exactly where you should be.

Then we climbed the stairs to our apartment for the next four days, our small private world above the noise, above time, above everything that separates us when we’re not together.

In the silence of the room, we made love.

Like two people who have waited long enough and don’t want to waste a single second pretending they don’t belong to each other. Our bodies didn’t need explanations. They remembered. They spoke fluently. They met again as if they had been counting the days.

After, Via Toledo welcomed us with its bright pulse, and from there we walked to Spaccanapoli under a full moon that felt almost celebratory: silver light over the street, soft and kind. Being in Napoli with the best organizer means I never worry; I just follow you, and the city opens in front of us like a gift.

First we visited Gesù Nuovo. You don’t know how much I love churches in the evening. They feel intimate at night, as if the quiet makes them more honest. Like entering a sacred space that has nothing to prove. And walking in there with you beside me felt like something I’ll remember forever: not dramatic, not heavy, just beautiful. A shared moment, gentle and rare.

Then San Gregorio Armeno, still calm, still breathable, presepi everywhere, in every size and shape. Little scenes of everyday life, where holiness and Naples humor live together: Christianity next to pizza dough and bread, and somehow even Pino Daniele. That’s why I love this city: it doesn’t separate life into categories. It makes everything part of the same warm, human story.

We touched Pulcinella’s nose for luck, smiling like children, and then we walked along the book street all the way to Piazza Dante, like our book. 

The moon followed us into Galleria Umberto, and I felt that familiar happiness I always feel there. We always visit it on the first day. It has become one of those small traditions that quietly says: We’re back. We’re here. We belong.

Gambrinus was dressed in Christmas decorations, elegant and glowing. And then, right after the palace, the sea appeared, like it always does in Napoli: suddenly, generously, like a revelation. The moon sat above Vesuvio, marking the horizon like a blessing.

Holding hands, we walked to the Lungomare to visit Parthenope, because this is what we do now. We return to the places that recognize us. This is our city, where nations meet and hearts reunite, where the air itself feels like romance.

Dinner at Mammina was quiet and perfect: ziti genovese, bruschetti, fritti - our favorites, our comfort, our ritual. And I remember looking at you and thinking how peaceful happiness can be when you don’t fight it.

The walk back felt long and still too short at the same time. And then we were back in our room, back in our world, back in the only place where time stops being cruel.

That night, when the city fell away and it was only us, I felt the promise—simple, ruthless, true:

I will search for you in every timeline.
And when I find you, I will choose you.
Over and over again.