I’m done traveling for the year, but other members of my staff are still in the field. While I regroup from 100 days in Europe, I invited my frequent collaborator Cameron Hewitt to share some posts from his blog. Cameron has traveled about as much as me this year, updating our guidebooks in Italy and France, and turning our already strong material in Scotland into a stand-alone Rick Steves Scotland guidebook (due next spring). While Cameron and I are in perfect sync in terms of travel styles and priorities, he gives voice to the next generation of Rick Steves travelers. If you like Cameron’s insights, you can read much more on his travel blog, and you can also follow Cameron on Facebook. — Rick
Early Christmas Shopping in Naples (Shhh! Don’t Tell Mom!)
by Cameron Hewitt
South Italy adores its nativity scenes, called presepi. You see simple ones carved into the walls of urban streets and rustic villages. You see a huge one in the back corner of every church. And you see them for sale in shop windows all over Naples.
I happen to have a very close relative who collects nativity scenes. (And that person is also particularly difficult to shop for at the holidays.) With each trip to Naples, I have to fight the urge to buy her a big, fancy one, because how on earth would I pack it home?
But this trip, I was determined. So I asked my local friend Virgilio for help. Here are some photos from my very early Christmas shopping.
In Naples, Via San Gregorio Armeno — a street that leads away from the historic Spaccanapoli pedestrian drag — is jammed with cheap presepi shops. While these are fine for a basic souvenir, the made-in-China quality wasn’t the special gift I was looking for. So Virgilio took me to one of the most venerable presepi shops in Naples, owned by Signore d’Auria. They let us peek into their workshop, too.
In the workshop, building these Barbie doll-sized presepi figures is a painstaking process: They begin with an articulated metal skeleton, which is wrapped in string and padded with cotton to give volume to the body, and finally dressed with clothes as finely tailored as the real thing.
Neapolitans’ affection for their presepi may stem from their deep family ties. “Each figure in a presepe becomes a new member of the family,” Virgilio explained.
These travel-size presepi are more like it. And you get several small figures for the price of one big one. The level of detail is mesmerizing.
Signore d’Auria proudly poses with one of his fine presepi. The fanciest presepi, like the fanciest dinners, come under glass — a fragile dome called a campana (“bell”).
Virgilio offered to ship my presepe for me. He assured me it would be no problem. He was wrong. A few days later he called me with a regretful tone in his voice. “It may take longer than I expected,” he said. “Because presepi are an important part of our cultural heritage, the local cultural authorities must inspect the piece to ensure it is not artifact quality. It cannot be more than 50 years old.” He told me he had scheduled an appointment at the customs office to bring the presepe for authorization.
Apparently, my presepe got its emigration paperwork: Virgilio just emailed me to say that it’s in the mail. I’m in no hurry — as long as it arrives in Seattle in the next seven months, I’ll be fine.