Napoli

Whoever it was that said the problem with first impressions is that you only make them once were speaking on behalf of my first impression of Napoli. Fresh off the carriage from Rome we find our way to the metro line just as the train is arriving, and are caught in the stampede. As far from London's sedate mosh on the underground as you can imagine - think Roman traffic chaos ramped up to ten. In fact, after three days in Napoli, Rome seemed like a calm and composed city - but more on this later.

In the veritable brawl of the boarding mob we are almost bowled over by a pack of nuns (one thing I've been wondering for months now: what is the collective noun for nuns - a rosary of nuns? Well, 'pack' will do for this experience). Yes, a pack of wild nuns, sprinting and shoving to make it onto the carriage before the doors shut. Welcome to Napoli.

So we make it onto the train, despite the herd of ferocious black and white buffalo, and are immediately - immediately - accosted by an elderly man, biting the back of his hand, dribbling, and staring into each of our eyes, one after the other, as he reaches out his other hand, silently demanding our spare change. We are weighed down by our backpacks, and now, by this crazy man's hunger. His eyes are wild, he seems ready to spit in our faces, or bite our noses. But we stand firm. Welcome to Napoli...