The first time I landed in Naples, I was wrecked. You know that half-asleep, half-grumpy state after a flight? That was me—dragging a suitcase that suddenly felt twice as heavy, trying to look confident while having no idea where to go.
The airport doors slid open and, boom—the chaos hit. Warm, sticky air. The smell of pizza somewhere nearby (or maybe I just wanted it so badly my brain invented it). Scooters buzzing like hornets. People talking fast, hands flying everywhere. Naples doesn’t whisper a welcome—it shouts it at you.
And there I was, standing in the middle of it all, pretending not to panic.
I thought: “Okay, I’ll just take the bus.” Big mistake. The machine for tickets was a mystery. People were sighing behind me. When I finally sat down, suitcase wedged against my knees, sweat dripping down my back, I thought, “So this is how my Italian adventure begins? Brilliant.”
Second trip—different story. I’d learned my lesson. I booked a Naples airport transfer.
This time, instead of wandering around looking lost, I walked out of arrivals and spotted it: my name on a sign. A driver smiling like he’d been waiting just for me. He grabbed my bag before I could even groan about how heavy it was. Five minutes later, I was in the car, air conditioning humming, finally breathing.
And the best part? I had time to notice things.
Laundry strung between balconies like bunting. Old men arguing outside a café, one waving a cigarette around like a conductor. Kids chasing a ball, completely ignoring the traffic chaos. The city was alive, messy, perfect—and for once, I wasn’t too stressed to see it.
The price was already set, no awkward “how much?” moment, no guessing. I’d booked it online with Kiwitaxi before I flew, put in my flight number, and that was that. My plane was late (of course it was), but the driver didn’t care. He was just there, waiting. That small detail alone made me feel like I’d figured out some secret cheat code for traveling.
From Naples, the road leads everywhere you’ve ever seen on postcards. Sorrento, with its lemons the size of footballs. Positano, where the houses look glued to the cliffs in impossible colors. Amalfi, with its cathedral towering above the square. Pompeii, where you walk through streets frozen in time. Capri, where you roll off the ferry wondering if you’ve accidentally stepped into a movie set.
Now when people ask me about Naples, I always laugh. Because my first memory is sweaty, confused, suitcase cutting into my leg on a bus seat. And my second? Window down in a car, sea breeze mixing with the smell of pizza, thinking: “Yes. This is how you start a trip.”