Naples Part Three – Walls That Speak – By Zoe

The heart of Naples beats in the Quartieri Spagnoli and its soul is painted on the walls. For our final tour in the city, we joined Stefano on a guided walk through this tightly woven maze of alleyways, not just to admire the street art, but to uncover the stories etched into the plaster and paint.

If ever we were in any doubt that Naples likes to celebrate its icons, it was dispelled as soon as we set foot in our B&B, our room’s design a huge mural of Massimo Troisi, from the film ‘Ricomincio da Tre’. Next door, Sophia Loren, naturally.

This tour wasn’t simply a stroll past colourful murals. It was a dive into the neighbourhood’s lived experience, its struggles, legends, resilience, and pride, both past and present. Our guide Stefano brought the streets to life, decoding the layers of history on crumbling walls, pointing out wartime scars, religious shrines, and bold artistic statements tucked into quiet corners.

Naples: an Open-Air Gallery

Naples is a city that wears its heart and its heroes on display. Fiercely proud of the people who have shaped its identity, it celebrates them openly: not just footballing icons, but cultural greats from theatre, film, literature, and everyday life. From Totò to Sofia Loren, Eduardo De Filippo (actor, writer/ director) to Luciano De Crescenzo (author/ actor), their faces appear in over 200 murals scattered throughout the Quartieri Spagnoli. This dense and vibrant neighbourhood has become an open-air gallery, a living love letter to the people who made Naples, and who still make it proud.

At the centre of it all stands one figure larger than life — Diego Maradona — still worshipped here not only as a footballer, but as a god. More on him later.

Rebellious Sirens and Street Protests

First, Vicoletto Berio — and Naples’ famous Sirens Mermaids painted on an unassuming corner near a busy bar, almost hidden in plain sight. This is the work of Trallallà, an artist whose life is as layered as the city’s walls. Born during the Autunno Caldo of 1968 — a season of strikes and unrest — he was, in his own words, “imprinted” with a sympathy for protest, especially the kind that brings fantasy to power.

Trallallà’s art is all about connection to the streets, stories, and spirit of Naples. It’s spontaneous, raw, and deeply local. Inspired by the myth of Parthenope (see Naples part 2), his sirens appear as bold, curvaceous figures with playful eyes and a rebellious streak. These aren’t fragile muses, they’re defiant, sensual icons of Neapolitan street art, challenging conventional beauty and claiming their place in the heart of the city. Sometimes, he paints them by the sea, bringing them symbolically “home.”

Faith and Illumination

Nearby, walking to our next stop, we linger to admire a well-tended votive shrine, or ‘edicole votive’, and Stefano shares a story that seems to fit perfectly with what we’d recently learned about Neopoltans and their problem-solving abilities.

Naples is home to hundreds of small street shrines, particularly in its oldest neighbourhoods. Tucked into the outer walls of buildings, hidden in stairwells or courtyards, these shrines are everywhere — a living tradition woven into the city’s fabric. Most feature religious icons — the Madonna, a crucifix, or San Gennaro, the city’s patron (Saint Januarius in English) — often adorned with flowers, candles, and inscriptions giving thanks. Some date back centuries, others are recent, but all speak to the enduring faith and daily rituals of Neapolitan life.

A Lightbulb Moment

One man behind the glowing shrines was Gregorio Maria Rocco, an 18th-century Dominican friar with a knack for practical problem-solving — and a working relationship with the king. Faced with rising street crime in the alleys of Naples (including the charming local habit of tripping passers-by with ankle-height rope), Rocco first convinced the king to install standard government oil lamps. Predictably, they were quickly smashed by the very thieves they were meant to deter. So Rocco leaned into local strengths: faith, resourcefulness, and a deep reverence for the saints. He encouraged residents to install illuminated shrines instead — and Neapolitans, never ones to miss a chance to combine piety with practicality, obliged. And not wanting to be outshone by a neighbour, one candle was not going to be enough.

Soon, saints and Madonnas lit up the city’s darkest corners. And it worked. Whether it was the warm candlelight or the holy gaze of the Virgin Mary discouraging would-be sinners, crime went down. Even the thieves, it’s said, thought twice about breaking the Tenth Commandment with a saint watching.

Eleonora in Blue: The Soul of a Revolutionary

On the façade of the former Sant’Anna di Palazzo market, now long disused, a striking mural watches over the Spanish Quarters. Her face is serene, her gaze steady. Painted in deep, expressive blue — the artist’s signature colour — this is Eleonora Pimentel Fonseca, a Neapolitan heroine, poet, and revolutionary. The mural is the work of Leticia Mandragora, an Italian-Spanish street artist who blends political reflection with soulful portraiture. Blue, for her, isn’t just a hue, it’s a window into the inner life of her subjects. “It expresses interiority, the soul, spirituality, femininity,” she explains. And for Fonseca Pimentel, a woman whose courage cost her everything, it feels exactly right.

Born in Rome to a Portuguese noble family, Eleonora was a woman far ahead of her time. Fluent in Latin, Greek, and several European languages, she was a court poet, royal librarian, and editor of Il Monitore Napoletano, the newspaper of the short-lived Neapolitan Republic. A passionate believer in liberty, equality and education, she played a leading role in the 1799 revolution that briefly overthrew the Bourbon monarchy and welcomed in the ideals of the French Republic. But when the monarchy returned just months later, she was arrested, tried and sentenced to death. Denied a noblewoman’s request for beheading, she was hanged in Piazza Mercato — the last of eight patriots to die that day. Her final words, a line from Virgil’s Aeneid, still echo: “For perhaps it will please people one day to remember these things.”

Mandragora’s mural brings Eleonora back to the very streets she once walked — and fought for. It’s part of Mandragora’s wider mission to paint stories that ask difficult questions. Her work doesn’t shy away from controversy. One of her most talked-about murals, dedicated to Ugo Russo, a teenager killed during an attempted robbery, has even been taken to court. “They say it glorifies crime,” she says, “but it’s not a eulogy. It’s a reflection on justice, on how we weigh a life.” 

Like Eleonora’s portrait, it’s not about simplifying a life into hero or villain, but inviting us to look closer at the choices we make, the stories we tell, and what they cost.

Dios: Maradona and the Heart of Naples

If Eleonora represents the revolutionary mind of Naples — bold, articulate, unafraid to challenge power — then Diego Maradona is its heart: raw, passionate, adored beyond measure.

In the Spanish Quarters, murals of Maradona appear with the same frequency and reverence as religious icons. But there’s one that draws more pilgrims than any other — the towering portrait on Via Emanuele De Deo. Painted in 1990 by 23-year-old local artist Mario Filardi, just after Napoli’s second Serie A title, this mural has taken on near-mythical status. Over time, it’s become more than a painting — it’s a shrine. A kind of open-air altar where fans and tourists gather daily, snapping photos beneath the watchful gaze of their icon, surrounded by scarves, flowers, candles, and stalls selling all manner of Maradona memorabilia.

The mural’s journey hasn’t been without drama. In the late ’90s, a window was unexpectedly added to the building, slicing right through Maradona’s face and partially erasing the mural. It wasn’t until 2016 that local artist Salvatore Iodice stepped in to restore the original work in a conservative fashion. With the blessing (and heartfelt promise) of the flat’s current occupant — a lifelong Napoli supporter — the window was never reopened.

Then, in 2017, as if to give Maradona’s face an extra touch of magic, Argentine street artist Francisco Bosoletti, who happened to be staying in the Quartieri Spagnoli, was invited to further embellish the mural. His work added depth and detail, gently modernising the image while preserving its original power.

More Than a Footballer

Diego wasn’t just a player. He was a mirror for the city’s soul — fierce, flawed, and unforgettable.

To outsiders, it might seem strange — the way Naples worships Maradona. But to walk these streets is to understand that his face on a wall isn’t just graffiti. It’s gratitude. Reverence. Love. Before Maradona arrived, Napoli was a struggling club in a league dominated by the wealth and power of northern Italian teams. Turin had Juventus. Milan had… well, Milan. Naples, by contrast, had passion but little silverware.

Then came 1987. And again in 1990. With Maradona at the helm, Napoli won its first two Serie A titles, shattering the northern monopoly and putting the south — and its soul — on the map. For a city often sidelined, his victories were about more than football. They were about pride. Identity. Defiance.

He didn’t just play for Naples; he belonged to it. The working-class communities saw themselves in him — fierce, flawed, full of fire. He became a symbol of hope in a city grappling with hardship, a patron saint of the underdog. His image is everywhere: on T-shirts, keyrings, candles, shop windows, and, of course, on walls — from fading tributes to fresh shrines adorned with scarves and offerings.

Eternal devotion

Even after his death, the devotion hasn’t dimmed. The city renamed its stadium Stadio Diego Armando Maradona — not just in memory of his talent, but in honour of the bond he shared with the people. He gave them joy, belief, and something no one can ever take away: glory.

In a city so often misunderstood or maligned, Maradona became proof that greatness could come from the margins — and that Naples, in all its chaos and brilliance, was never second best. Because here, the past still echoes. Locals remember that when Italy was unified in the 19th century, Naples didn’t gain a country — it lost a kingdom. The wealth flowed north, the opportunities followed, and the south was left to scrape back its pride. Even today, many young Neapolitans feel they must leave their home to find work, that a Milanese surname opens more doors than a Neapolitan one.

So when a boy from Argentina came to Naples and led them to victory — not once, but twice — he wasn’t just winning matches. He was restoring dignity. For once, the underdog triumphed. And Naples has never forgotten it.

Totò: The Prince of Laughter

While Maradona’s image looms large, powerful, defiant, and ever-present, another face appears more quietly across Naples’ walls: Totò. Born Antonio de Curtis, but known to generations simply as Totò, he was one of Italy’s most beloved comic actors, a master of slapstick and satire whose heart, like his humour, belonged to Naples.

Dubbed ‘Il Principe della Risata’, the Prince of Laughter, Totò came from nobility but spoke the language of the people. His films, often set in post-war Naples, poked fun at the absurdities of daily life, the struggles of the poor, and the pretensions of the powerful. He made people laugh, but never at the expense of compassion. His wit was sharp, but always human.

Unlike the towering tributes to Maradona, the murals of Totò are more discreet, often tucked into corners or painted in softer tones, as if inviting you to pause rather than proclaim. You might find him smirking beside a café, or gazing out wistfully from a peeling wall, somewhere between a memory and a sigh.

Totò doesn’t need to shout for attention. His presence in Naples is quieter but no less loved, a reminder that while this city knows how to shout and sing and weep, it also knows how to laugh at itself. And Totò, with his expressive face and twinkling eyes, still makes the city smile.

As we left Stefano and the group behind and headed into the city, we moved from one comic moment to another. After a morning spent in the company of Naples’ greatest icons, saints, rebels, footballers and fools, we rounded off our street art safari with a fitting tribute to Totò himself: a glass of the city’s famously explosive limonata con le gambe aperte. A final reminder that in Naples, even a drink comes with drama — and a splash of laughter.

One Last Splash: Street Art to Street Snacks

Literally “legs open lemonade,” limonata a cosce aperte is one of those offbeat street food rites of passage for adventurous foodies in Naples. Made with fresh lemon juice, sugar, and a dramatic last-second spoonful of baking soda, this explosive concoction is mixed before your eyes by a local vendor and handed over just as it starts to fizz. And not just a gentle fizz, we’re talking full-on citrus eruption. 

The reaction is so wild that lemonade begins foaming up and spilling over the sides of the cup almost instantly. Hence the iconic stance: feet planted wide, arms outstretched, trying to down the drink before it soaks your shoes, your shirt, or the stranger next to you. It’s zesty, chaotic, theatrical — and completely, unmistakably Naples. Andy somehow managed to drink his without splashing himself… a minor miracle, and arguably his finest travel achievement to date.

View the video of Andy here.

A Royal Farewell

Before our final dinner, we took a last wander through Naples’ regal heart. We passed beneath the soaring glass dome of Galleria Umberto I — a spectacular 19th-century arcade that feels less like a shopping gallery and more like a palace for the people. 

Built as part of a grand plan to modernise Naples after a series of devastating cholera outbreaks, this architectural gem was designed to lift the city’s spirits — and it certainly succeeds. Its cross-shaped layout leads to a central octagonal space crowned by a magnificent dome of iron and glass that rises nearly 57 metres high, flooding the interior with natural light. 

The sunlight dances across intricate mosaic floors, where zodiac signs and swirling patterns shimmer underfoot, while the elegant façades above, with arched windows, classical pilasters, and ornate cornices, seem to whisper tales of old grandeur. Inspired by Milan’s Galleria Vittorio Emanuele II but with its own unmistakable Neapolitan flair, this was once the city’s go-to hub for cafés, theatres, and stylish rendezvous and even today, it still radiates that faded belle époque charm. Everything here feels just a little more refined, a little more regal, the perfect prelude, in fact, to our final dinner… fit for a king.

Echoes of Grandeur

Stepping outside, we crossed into Piazza del Plebiscito — the city’s monumental square flanked by the Royal Palace on one side and the sweeping colonnades of the San Francesco di Paola church on the other. It’s the kind of place that makes you slow down, soaking in the scale and symmetry. The royal district still echoes with grandeur, even if the cobbles now carry tourists instead of carriages. And with the shadows lengthening and our stomachs rumbling, we made our way to dinner with the stately air of two people who had most definitely earned it after 30,000 steps.

Tucked down a tiny alley in the historic centre, Monsu is an authentic restaurant serving traditional food with vegan and vegetarian alternatives, a rarity in this part of the world. Stepping down into the cave-like interior, we were immediately a world away from the bustling streets above.

We tucked into slow-cooked ragù, tender meatballs, and a Neapolitan favourite — sausage and friarelli. Washed down with local red, it was the perfect close to our chaotic, colourful chapter in Naples.

Grazie, Napoli

We came to Naples not quite knowing what to expect, you never really do. And we left knowing we’d never forget it. It’s a city that defies neat descriptions: loud and lyrical, crumbling and resilient, chaotic and full of soul. It gets under your skin in the best way, not with polish, but with passion.

What we found here wasn’t just history painted on walls or stories told in tours. It was a city that lives and breathes through its people. The artists, the chefs, the guides, the everyday Neapolitans who laugh loudly, drive wildly, and speak with their hands and hearts.

Naples doesn’t try to be perfect. That’s its power. It dares you to look closer, to see beauty in the mess, poetry in the noise, and pride in every sun-bleached mural and shrine-lit alleyway. It’s not for everyone, but for us, it was everything.

Grazie, Napoli. You were unforgettable.

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