Naples

Exploring Pompeii is the archaeological equivalent of rummaging through someone else's attic-albeit one tragically preserved by volcanic ash rather than mothballs. Here you stroll among graffiti-covered walls from 79 AD, and realize humans haven't evolved much: ancient Romans liked bad jokes and rude drawings as much as anyone today. Beat the crowds by arriving absurdly early, ideally as the gates creak open in the morning, because by noon Pompeii becomes less a solemn historic site and more a sweaty gladiatorial match for selfie space. Book tickets ahead-weeks ahead, if you're a planner; months ahead if you'd prefer to avoid reenacting the chaotic flight from Mount Vesuvius itself. Budget around €20 for entry, and don't forget sunscreen, a wide-brimmed hat, and sturdy shoes-those charmingly uneven ancient cobblestones are ready-made ankle-breakers. Sure, you'll contend with hordes of tourists clutching guidebooks and selfie sticks-but walking through this eerily preserved slice of antiquity, with its haunting casts of unfortunate townspeople and strangely familiar taverns, is one of those rare moments that justify battling the madness. If nothing else, you'll leave Pompeii armed with enough offbeat trivia and irreverent observations to dominate dinner-party conversations until Vesuvius blows again.

Ah, Capri: the legendary island so stubbornly photogenic you'll find yourself pondering Instagram filters you didn't know existed. Ever since Emperor Tiberius deemed it suitable for his lavishly debaucherous parties two millennia ago, Capri has shamelessly attracted visitors seeking beauty, hedonism, and overpriced limoncello. Catch the earliest ferry-ideally just past dawn-to dodge the hordes of selfie-stick wielding tourists who flood the island by midday. Secure your spot for the ethereal Blue Grotto early, because nothing kills whimsical charm like two hours of bobbing seasick in line, trading awkward smiles with other escapists. Pack cash (around €100 per person for ferry tickets, grotto entry, pasta, and enough gelato to sustain emotional stability), sunscreen, and a pinch of skepticism. Capri may be a tourist trap, but it's a drop-dead gorgeous one, and if you're going to surrender to cliche at least let it be on an island once frequented by scandalous Roman emperors. In the end, visiting Capri is like dating that slightly high-maintenance lover: wildly impractical, occasionally infuriating-but absolutely worth it for the irresistible charm and the stories you'll smugly share forever after.

Hiking Mount Vesuvius is essentially the geological equivalent of poking an infamous sleeping dragon with a stick-you're tiptoeing blissfully atop the very volcano that once buried Pompeii, a city where everyone's final thoughts were probably, "Is it just me, or is it warm today?" Plan your trek in the early morning before the hordes of selfie-stick wielders descend, and aim to reserve your ticket online a day or two ahead, because even apocalyptic volcanoes enjoy bureaucratic order. For about 15 euros, you earn yourself the right to climb a trail that's short yet steep enough to remind you just how many gelatos you've recently consumed. Bring sturdy shoes, water, sunscreen, and curiosity-heck, maybe even pack a sandwich, because nothing says "carpe diem" like enjoying lunch atop Europe's most notoriously volatile natural disaster-in-waiting. Sure, the view from the crater rim-sweeping panoramas of Naples, the glittering Bay, and Capri in the tantalizing distance-is spectacular, but let's be honest: you're mostly doing this hike for the thrill of casually dropping into conversation later that you've wandered atop the fiery mouthpiece responsible for one of history's most dramatic mic-drops.

Wading into Naples' chaotic and confidently crumbly Forcella neighborhood for pizza is akin to navigating through a Fellini film set designed by anarchists-colorful, noisy, and entirely unpredictable. But braving the manic traffic and haphazardly parked Vespas to snag a seat at L'Antica Pizzeria da Michele is not only worthwhile-it's practically mandatory for anyone claiming any gastronomic courage. Simplicity rules here; pizzas arrive naked of pretension-just soft, charred crust, molten mozzarella, ripe tomatoes, and fragrant basil leaves, arranged in a tricolored salute to Queen Margherita herself (legend has it that pizzaiolo Raffaele Esposito whipped up this iconic beauty for the royal palate in 1889). Here's the pro move: go mid-afternoon, around 3 or 4 PM, when lines mercifully thin out and you're less likely to have elbows thrust in your face by hungry locals questioning your tourist credentials. Budget roughly €10 per person-absurdly affordable considering you're biting into edible history. And bring cash-those ancient ovens and equally crusty pizza maestros scoff at cards. This may strike you as overly hyped pizza pilgrimage, but believe me, once you've tasted the sainted simplicity of Naples' culinary crown jewel, you'll gladly retell your dining saga with all the swaggering bravado of a sailor recounting his first shipwreck.