Picture a Neapolitan who frequently moves between Posillipo and the Baretti in Chiaia, from Marechiaro to the Vomero, and then carries on towards the Amalfi Coast and Cilento, yet doesn't know the Sanità at all.
Before the boom of the Concettina - de Cham pizzeria, and before the veil was lifted on its Ipogei and Museums, nurturing a fresh wave of artistic and cultural ferment, the Sanità had always lived on the margins, despite history telling a completely different story.
The grand noble entrances of the palazzi, alternating with bassi (tiny one- or two-room street-level homes) and social housing, are there to remind us of this.
The boundary between domestic and public space is incredibly blurred here. Houses intertwine, overlap, chase and stack on top of each other, spilling onto pavements and taking up every inch of space they can, creating a living, breathing presepe urbano—a city nativity scene.
This coexistence is a chaos that clashes at opposite extremes: grandeur and hardship. And while it is true that nothing is simply black or white, it is equally true that the wealth of the past eventually gave way to poverty. The Sanità has all too often made headlines for youth micro-crime and organised crime.
Wounds this deep do not heal overnight. Yet tourism, which draws countless visitors to Naples like a siren song, is enriching, reclaiming, and breathing life into entire alleys and neighbourhoods, even those that, until recently, few would ever venture into.
Many argue that this, too, is just a lucrative business, a way to launder money, where quantity does not always mean quality. But it is also true that it is bringing jobs and opportunities to many honest young people and families who previously had very few alternatives here in the South.
It takes a little imagination now, but once upon a time, the Sanità was immersed in nature, far from the chaos of the ancient city centre.
It was the exceptionally wholesome air of this valley - the sanità (healthiness) of the air - that gave the district its name, also known as the Borgo dei Vergini.
And since everything here has a reason, I must tell you the ancient Greek legend recorded by Plutarch: the tragic fate of Eonosto, a youth of breathtaking beauty. Wrongfully killed over a spurned love, his death inspired a group of men—the eostidi or vergini (virgins)—to take a vow of chastity to honour him, binding their name to the borough forever.
In the eighteenth century, everyone wanted to be here.
The Sanità was a highly sought-after destination for the nobility who wished to live in the countryside.
Palazzo Sanfelice (1728), with its baroque mascheroni (grotesque masks) above the windows, placed there to ward off the evil eye and flaunt the family’s power, and Palazzo dello Spagnolo (1738), with soaring staircases that mimic the wingspan of a bird of prey and which once "hid" a beautiful garden, are now backdrops for photoshoots, films, and curious visitors. But once, ah once... imagine the magic!
Historical documents show that King Charles of Bourbon would frequently stop in the courtyard of Palazzo dello Spagnolo to switch his horses for oxen—slower animals, but far more resilient. At the time, the Sanità was the only unpaved road leading up to the Capodimonte hill, where the king had built the Reggia (Royal Palace) to go hunting and to house the vast art collection he had inherited from his mother, Elisabeth Farnese.
The arrival of the French in the nineteenth century marked a turning point, changing the fate of the entire neighbourhood forever. Joachim Murat ordered the construction of a bridge to link the city centre directly to the Reggia of Capodimonte. This bypassed the valley entirely, cutting it off and leading to the progressive marginalisation of the Sanità, transforming it from a noble enclave into a working-class district, until the rebirth we are witnessing today.
Padre Antonio Loffredo, who arrived here in the 2000s, has done wonders for the local youth.
You might be surprised to learn that until not long ago, there was a boxing ring right inside the Basilica's sacristy, run by the Police for the local kids.
Over the years, various cultural initiatives and organisations have flourished, such as the Cooperativa della Paranza, which directly involves young people in running cultural tours and managing iconic sites like the Cimitero delle Fontanelle, which I will tell you about shortly.
It goes without saying that the Basilica di Santa Maria della Sanità - a prime example of Neapolitan Baroque - is far more than just the religious heart of the neighbourhood.
Known locally as the Church of the Monacone due to the deep devotion to Saint Vincent Ferrer, inside you will find major works by Luca Giordano. The painter was famously nicknamed Luca Fapresto (Luca-does-it-fast) for his extraordinary speed of execution, a signature he sometimes included as "Giordanus F.".
If you keep walking down the main street from the Basilica, you will reach a tufa quarry: a 3,000-square-metre space used as an ossuary for the victims of plagues, cholera, and for the poor who could not afford a proper burial.
The Cimitero delle Fontanelle (which, after being closed for years, finally reopened in 2026) reminds us that in Naples, the sacred and the profane live side by side, and that the cult of the anime pezzentelle (the souls of the forgotten dead) is deeply rooted not just in the culture, but in the Neapolitan language itself.
In fact, one of the oldest and still widely used curses, "Puozze sculà" ("May you liquefy"), harks back to the ancient funerary ritual of scolatura, where corpses were left to drain and dry to purify them.
Before the Cardinal of Naples, Corrado Ursi, officially banned the cult of the anime pezzentelle in 1969 to curb practices deemed fetishistic and too close to superstition, the women of the neighbourhood would affectionately adopt the capuzzelle, anonymous skulls believed to belong to souls in Purgatory. They would clean them and pray to them in exchange for a blessing or a grace.
If the prayer was answered, the capuzzella would be moved into a scarabattola (a glass display case). "Il Capitano" (The Captain) and "Donna Concetta" are among the most famous.
The Sanità has so many reasons to be remembered.
If you need another, let me tell you about Totò (Antonio Vincenzo Stefano Clemente), the prince of laughter (principe della risata) and an icon of Italian comedy.
Totò lived a thousand lives: he was an actor, a comic, a playwright, a poet, a lyricist, a screenwriter, and a generous philanthropist.
He was born at number 107 Via Santa Maria Antesaecula, later moving just a few doors down to 109, but both properties have always remained closed to the public. Inside one of the two buildings, you might come across a street vendor offering small souvenirs. It saddens me, because the artistry, fame, and sheer genius of this man should be celebrated with a proper Museum, rather than through sporadic or marginal initiatives.
Now do you see why coming to the Sanità is so much more than just a guided tour or a fleeting visit?
If you want to spend a day in the Sanità, here are some of the special places I visit most often.
