A Neapolitan presepe, with a bagpiper, Mary and Joseph, and the manger still empty before Christmas Eve. Photo: Madzia71/iStock
At Christmas, Neapolitans build their own streets into the Nativity.
This week's Dispatch argued that the year-end holidays are a good time to arrive somewhere new. Naples may be one of the clearest examples.
In recent years, Naples has become one of Italy's most visited cities. It drew about 15 million visits in 2025, and last Christmas season, from December 19 to January 6, a record 1.8 million people came. Despite the crowds, the traditions make it a compelling draw. At Christmas, Neapolitans build their own city around the Nativity, and anyone can walk in and watch.
The Presepe
Presepe is the Italian word for a nativity scene. In most places that means Mary, Joseph, the baby, and a few animals. In Naples it means a whole town. There's a tavern full of customers, there are stalls of food, and there's a shepherd named Benino asleep on a hillside. Everyone is dressed like Neapolitans in the 1700s.
Many families set theirs up on December 8. The manger stays empty until Christmas Eve, when someone puts the baby in overnight.
Goethe came through in 1787 and wrote about presepi set up on the flat roofs, with Vesuvius behind them. If you want to see one of the great old ones, go up the hill to the Certosa di San Martino, a former monastery. The Cuciniello presepe there has about 800 pieces.
The Street of the Shepherds
When Neapolitans want new figures, they go to Via San Gregorio Armeno, a narrow street in the old center packed with workshops. The Ferrigno family has been at number 8 since 1836, and they still make the figures by hand, with terracotta faces, glass eyes and silk clothing.
New faces show up every year. When Diego Maradona died in 2020, you could buy a Maradona on the street within weeks.
Giovanni Giudice, a third-generation artisan at the Ferrigno workshop, told EWTN News last December: "Here, just walking these streets you return to being a child."
The Night Before Christmas Eve
On the night of December 23, the fish market at Porta Nolana stays open late, because Christmas Eve dinner in Naples is about fish. Capitone, a big eel, is the traditional choice. Vendors sing, and plenty of people come just to be there.
After dinner, many families play tombola. It's a lot like bingo, with the numbers 1 to 90, except that in Naples each number means something. The meanings come from the smorfia, an old dream book, and whoever calls the numbers is expected to tell a story to go with them. You'll also hear bagpipers, often down from the mountains of Abruzzo, playing outside the shops, and you'll see struffoli in the bakery windows. They're little balls of fried dough covered in honey.
Beyond the Manger
Stay a few extra days, because there's plenty more. The pizza is as good as you've heard (UNESCO even lists the craft of the Neapolitan pizza maker as part of the world's cultural heritage). Some cafés still do caffè sospeso, where you pay for a second espresso and leave it for someone who can't afford one.
The National Archaeological Museum has much of what was found at Pompeii. In the old center, the Cappella Sansevero has the Veiled Christ, a marble sculpture from 1753. The veil looks like cloth, but it was carved out of the same block as the rest of the figure. If you're in town on December 16, go by the cathedral. It's one of three days a year when people crowd in to see whether the blood of San Gennaro, the city's patron saint, turns to liquid.
Getting There
Naples is about 70 minutes from Rome by high-speed train, and the season runs from December 8 to Epiphany on January 6. San Gregorio Armeno gets so crowded in December that the city sometimes makes it one-way for pedestrians, so go early on a weekday. The tourism boom has also strained the city, which now has more than 10,000 Airbnb listings.
Before you go, look up Natale in casa Cupiello, a 1931 play by Eduardo De Filippo that Neapolitans still love at Christmas. Luca Cupiello spends the holiday fussing over his presepe while his family falls apart. He keeps asking his son if he likes it, and his son keeps saying no, until the last scene, when Luca is dying, and the son finally says yes.
