Pulcinella. Spaghetti alle vongole. Limoncello. Just a couple of hours was all I needed to understand the meaning of the phrase that is the name of the story. A trifle uncertain, (“take care of those cameras, the place is full of mafiosi, don’t even dream of going to the Spanish part”), struggling through the piles of garbage, we managed to reach the door of a small B&B, where we were greeted by Eugenio our host – the first and “toughest” Napoletano I met. By means of some three English words and much more gestures, he made sure we had telephones that we could use to call him if need be, and he, wherever he would be, would come and solve any problem. Once the issue cleared, he took out a map on which he dotted our way to the most wonderful pizza restaurant in the world: L’Antica da Michele, the place where, since 1870, just two varieties of pizza are made, and the only ingredients are the tomato sauce, mozzarella, basil, oregano and garlic. That was how our five-day adventure started: coffee in a doll-sized cup, drunk in a single sip, standing, streets shadowed by immense bed sheets hanging on all balconies, statues of Jesus and Mary carved in the walls, cars with scratches the color of the cars they had collided with. This is Napoli: chaotic, noisy and completely crazy. The narrow streets follow unexpected patterns. It is the bikers’ realm. Kind children and elderly, teenage girls with tattoos or disgusting old women, prostitutes, dealers and carabinieri – in a thorough anarchy everybody rides scooters, bikes or motorbikes. Nobody observes any rule, nobody goes exactly nowhere.