One of the cocks was carved onto a wall above Shag Avenue (not its real name) while the other was carved onto the road that runs adjacent to it and, tip first, points punters in the right direction. “Fancy a blowie, Mr Centurion? Well step right this way”. You could just imagine the bottleneck, so to speak. We got to look in the brothels, a collection of narrow rooms which, I’ll be honest, looked less than appealing. The beds were made of stone and one can only imagine the back ache suffered by any poor girl who laid on them back in the day and thought of Rome.
The rest of Pompei was just as ‘stoney’ but less giggle-inducing and more thought-provoking. Truly, it’s quite the experience to stand in an area that dates back to the 6th century BC and through preservation caused by a combination of volcanic eruption and staggering negligence is as it once was. Going there is literally like stepping back in time, if you ignore the gaggle of tourists and the former Liverpool centre-half. Ah yes, Sami. It was definitely him. My mate Savva and I both clocked him wandering around the main square of Pompei as part of his own tour group and looking as imposing as ever. That striking blonde top, that razor-sharp jaw, that tall, elegant frame, covered in a black t-shirt and grey slacks. What a man. What a player.
Savva and I were going to walk over and ask for a photo but then Sami’s tour group moved on and we decided it was probably best not to cut him off from the rest of the gang. He wouldn’t appreciate it and the last thing I’d ever want is for one of my favourite ever Reds to think I’m a dick. So we finished our own tour, jumped back in the tour bus (only I called it that) and made the short journey back to Naples, our temporary home since the previous morning and the venue for Liverpool’s first European away game of the season. I’d been looking forward to this trip ever since the draw was made. I’d decided beforehand that I was going to try my best to do all three aways in the group stages and so when Naples, Belgrade and Paris were pulled out of the hat, I was delighted. Yes, it’s a bitch of the group, but for match-goers it meant a cracking batch of destinations, with southern Italy and one of the most evocative clubs in Europe first up.And so here we were, having flown in from Stanstead on Tuesday morning, checked into our hotel and quickly hitting the streets with Euros in our pockets and adventure in our hearts.Boy, do you need a sense of adventure in Naples. Just walking around the gaff is like a task from the Krypton Factor. There are roads, traffic lights and junctions, but they appear to be only for show given motorists, in cars as well as on mopeds, hurtle this way and that, taking each other on at speed and, in the process, leaving pedestrians to worry for their safety. ‘Surely this guy’s going to slow do- FUCKING HELL!’Our hotel, the fancily named P.C. Boutique, is located a short walk from the port, a service point for the Gulf of Napoli and, handily, where the buses to the San Paolo were to depart from on Wednesday afternoon, ahead of the game. Nearby were also the majority of Naples’ tourist sites, which in this relatively small city are all ‘visitable’ within a few hours of decent walking. Thats how Savva and and I took them in on Tuesday, with with the undoubted highlight being Duomo di Napoli, aka Naples Cathedral.
Dating back to the 14th century, it is a stunning monument to Catholicism in a city where religion forms a bedrock of everyday life. Towering stone walls sit between marble floors and the most beautiful, jaw-dropping of ceilings you’ll ever see. Frankly, it’s miracle of construction, and yet again after walking into a church in a foreign city I was left to wonder how any of this is possible, especially in a time way before the advent of machinery. That’s the thing about European aways; it’s not just about the footie. That’s important, of course, and ultimately the main reason why any of us find ourselves in cities such as this in early October, but these experiences also serve an opportunity to enrich the body, mind and soul. Not everyone takes up that opportunity. For some, young as well as old, male as well as female, it’s about getting on the ale as soon possible after landing and staying that way until kick-off, which is fine. Each to their own and all that. But, personally, the older I’ve got, the more I’ve decided I want to use my ‘status’ as a European match-going Red to broaden my horizons. See the sights of the cities I get to visit, learn a little more about them and, through that, become that little bit wiser and worldly. That’s why I decided to join Savva in spending two nights in Naples, and will do so again in Belgrade later this month. It’s not cheap, and hence why I’m not going to suggest every Red should follow our lead – some simply can’t afford to do so. But to those can; seriously give it a go. Truly, it’s a blessing to be a Liverpool fan, to have had a reason in the last three years alone to visit places as diverse as Bordeaux, Kazan, Basel, Moscow, Maribor, Porto, Rome, Kiev and, now, Naples. Places rich in culture and diversity of lifestyle which most of us wouldn’t have dreamed of going to had Liverpool not been drawn to face teams based there but which we now a chance, to explore. I’ve been as guilty as anyone of not doing that, but having had an absolute ball following Liverpool around Europe last season I decided to change my ways. Now it’s a case of not only doing as many aways as possible but also spending as much time in those places as possible. And so it came to pass that I found myself walking around a stunning Neapolitan cathedral on a Tuesday afternoon and a preserved Roman city on a Wednesday morning. Either side of that, there was a lot of walking (mainly dodging cars and mopeds) and a lot of eating pizza. Oh, the pizzas. As you’d expect, they’re fucking delicious around here. Chewy dough that tastes as if it’s been prepared by a squat Italian grandmother of eight in a warm room covered in flour, alongside toppings rich in flavour as well as texture.
And if it’s a seal of approval from an Italian waiter you’re looking for then order a pizza D.O.C. That’s what’s I did shortly after Savva and I had taken our seats at a table outside Antica Pizzeria Port’Alba, a modest-looking pizzeria located in a narrow sidestreet not far from our hotel, and was more than delighted to see my order met with a firm nod by the man stood over us, holding a pad and pen. It was the simplest one on the menu, you see, and if there’s one thing Italians like, it’s an unfussy pizza. Other sights were seen and the city as a whole was observed first hand, proving a reminder of just how different England is to most other European nations. Take the architecture, for instance, and specially those pastel-coloured, medium and high-rise buildings littered with bay windows that you get in Naples, Rome and, even, Moscow, but which you never see in London, Liverpool and Manchester. Maybe that’s why we’re leaving the EU; we don’t belong and we know it. Well that and the shithouse skullduggery of the Tory party, of course. What else stands out about Naples is its poverty. Not everywhere but distinctly in some sections, noticeable in the abandoned, decaying buildings and general lack of care in surroundings. It’s noticeable in passers-by too jars somewhat with the steady stream of tourists making their way to Piazza del Plebiscito and elsewhere. That’s part of Naples’ story of course, the bastion of southern Italy left to rot by the northern establishment but which, for a short time in the late 80s/early 90s, rose above the rest thanks to the genius of a certain Argentinian. It’s why someone painted a 9ft mural of El Diego on the wall of a high-rise block in the San Giovanni Teduccio neighbourhood and also why his face could be seen on at least two of the flags waved among the home fans at the San Paolo on Wednesday evening.
Ah, the match. Shit wasn’t it? Seriously, I haven’t seen Liverpool play that badly for a long time, perhaps never under Jurgen Klopp. The boys in reds were rattled from the off by Napoli’s front-foot, intense approach and never found their way. The passing was appalling and, Joe Gomez aside, I can’t think of a single visiting player who came close to having a good game. Their goal was agonisingly late but didn’t sting as much as it should’ve done given how clearly we deserved to lose, and it only came as the smallest of consolations that I was witnessing this horror show in such splendid surroundings. The San Paolo is as you’d imagine it from watching Napoli on the telly. A sprawling bowl of a ground that is unfurnished and unvarnished as most stadiums in Italy are. It was renovated ahead of Italia ‘90 but appears to have had sod-all work done to it since. The concourses are tired and ever-so-slightly crumbling while the seating area is sparse and a little unforgiving.
But boy, does it sing. The crowd may be far from the action given the running track that separates the stands from the pitch but they still manage to make a noise, belting out their (original) version of the Allez, Allez, Allez song while chucking v-signs and, at one stage, a flare into the away end. Seriously boys, we don’t want to fight you. We’re lovers, not ultras. The singing allied to the smoking, epic nature of the San Paolo makes it a great place to watch football, just a shame the football, from Liverpool specifically, was so dire. On top of that was my personal experience – getting into the ground three hours early having caught an early away supporters coach from the docks on the back of grave warnings of potential trouble and delays from Napoli and Liverpool officials alike. Fine, but once inside we had fuck all to do except stare at the green Neapolitan grass for absolutely ages, oh and also queue for what felt like two and a half months for a large cup of Pepsi and some sub-standard crips. At least that killed time and got us away from an area that was being hit by cold winds, which is not good when you’ve turned up in a thin jumper and no jacket (in my defence, it was properly hot in town during the day). Savva and I had to then sit alongside our fellow Reds and watch Liverpool stink the place out. Cold, hungry and, frankly, a little bit weary from having been here for so long. The malaise was collective, leading to one of the flattest away atmospheres I’ve experienced for some time. At least we got away with a point. Oh, wait … Insigne’s just scored. Marvellous.After the final whistle came the traditional lock in followed by a rush for the buses back to the port. Savva and I were back at our hotel around 1.30am and, all in all, agreed it had been a shite night out.It always is after witnessing us lose but, overall, this has been another generally enjoyable and, just as importantly, enriching experience. Being a Liverpool fan gave me a chance to see Naples and I took it. No regrets and no lingering resentment. It’s been fun and we go again in Belgrade. Up the Travelling Reds.Article by Sachin Nakrani @SachinNakrani 
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