Pitted

Unplanned, we made our way (off the train) and landed in Naples or Napoli (local name) south from Rome. Sorrento was to be the next stop. Yet, my spontaneity filled soul got us to get off and with little warning. Though, we heard Naples was crime filled, I was determined to have pizza where it originated, (plus it helped that my boyfriend looked tough or looked Russian) I felt safe. We walked through the congested filled streets till we past all the older buildings and intimidating men, oddly standing about. We seemed to have found ourselves in a little neighborhood after 15 minutes of walking with a 65 pound back pack; laundry hanging outside of windows and no tourists. Finally finding a leisurely man on a bench and asked him (while leaning over to him) "Dove pizza?" It was that or "Dove Panini?" But, I wanted pizza this day. He turned around slowly and attempted to finger a maze of directions. However, after seeing my face (often expressing my thoughts), he paused and decided to escort us to a "whole in the wall." There were several people about the room and I noticed after seating ourselves that other individuals were speaking other languages, other than Italian. We likely ordered  water con gas (soda water) and our pizza. It arrived as a HUGE thin pizza and with the olives we had asked for. Olives were not the only topping we had asked for but it will be one item I will always remember. They all had the pits inside and purposely. Side note: Italy seems to do this often. On a visit to Italy in 2005, I asked for shrimp scampi (can you guess?), they came with the shells on. In review, I still love my New York pizza; even though Naples is where it all started.