The Bowcotts and the Stamms bonded by carbs, chaos, and a shared commitment to making every meal count.
Bowcotts Said:
If you ever want to test the strength of a friendship, take two families, put them on a plane to southern Italy, and make food and drink the central mission.
That’s how our first proper adventure with the Stamm family began.
Destination: Naples.
Objective: Eat absolutely everything.
Now, if you know the Bowcotts, you’ll understand this wasn’t just a holiday. This was a full-blown pizza pilgrimage. Not a casual “let’s grab a slice” situation. No, no. This was strategic. Research had been done. Loose pants were packed, Tabasco was packed, which is to be expected when you travel with Vip. Expectations were… unreasonably high.
Thankfully, Naples delivered.
From the moment we arrived, it was chaos in the best possible way. We’d been to Italy several times before, but Naples was different. Gorgeous, gritty, and full of soul like a proper big city should be. It was manic, scooters flying past, locals shouting across balconies, buckets being lowered from windows to collect groceries, and the smell of fried pizza drifting through every street. And everywhere you looked, the city still worshipped Diego Maradona like a patron saint.
It felt like we’d landed inside a carb-fuelled dream.
Luckily, the Stamms were equally committed to the cause, so there was zero judgment when meals started blending into one long, glorious feast.
We tackled narrow laneways and hills that genuinely give Lisbon a run for its money, all unfolding beneath the shadow of Mount Vesuvius, quietly reminding everyone who’s really in charge around here.
Of course, it wasn’t all pizza.
There was incredible sfogliatella, baba, fried pasta, eggplant and even a brave attempt at trippa. Some dishes were repeat orders. Others were more of a one time life experience.
There was also Pompeii, fascinating, surreal, and slightly eerie. But the standout cultural moment was, unexpectedly, the famous Pompeii brothel.
Yes, that one.
Complete with illustrated menus on the walls depicting services in a way that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Equal parts historical education and awkward laughter, no one was quite prepared.
Nothing bonds two families faster.
We leaned into the experience properly. One of the highlights was a backstreet food tour, wandering through parts of the city we’d never have found ourselves, jumping on the funicular, discovering the charm of Vomero, and loving every second.
We even branched out beyond pizza and pasta. Briefly.
Sfogliatella was put to the test, with the crunchy version taking a clear win, while baba was unanimously declared best left to Chad. When it arrived, Chad proudly declared he loved the juice oozing out of the baba. It wasn’t juice, it was pure rum at ten in the morning.
Then came Ischia, one of those unexpected highlights you can’t plan. Beautiful, relaxed, and exactly the right pace after the madness of Naples. We had a glorious sunset meal there, and the walk up to Aragonese Castle was a genuine highlight.
Although an innocent “quick stop” at a mini mart somehow became a full snack expedition. At one point, dropping a water bottle nearly caused an emergency dash to the loo and tears of laughter.
Our accommodation had… character.
What we thought was a simple pool setup slowly revealed itself into something resembling a 1970s retirement health retreat. Robes were encouraged. Lunchtimes were scheduled. Naps felt compulsory. It had the energy of a nudist camp where everyone leaves their keys in a bowl.
Still, it had charm. And we embraced it fully, with pool time and tanning quickly becoming the domain of Mia and Seb.
Somewhere in between all of this came a non-negotiable fixture: Arsenal F.C. vs Sporting CP. Both clubs close to our hearts, so naturally we found an English pub in Naples, because apparently we’re cultured like that. We even told the poor waiter we needed a break from Italian food before promptly ordering more Italian food.
Better still, Arsenal won. Worse for Chad, who had lost a bet to Mia. This somehow ended with a grown man dressed as a leprechaun loudly singing that S.L. Benfica were a better team than Sporting, something we now have firmly on record.
Then there were the evenings.
Good food, good wine, copious amounts of Negronis for Chad, Amaretto Sours for the rest, and conversations that became progressively less coherent.
The Stamms picked up important Aussie phrases such as bits n bobs and onya mate, whilst learning that Chad travels with thongs, sunnies and speedos.
The Bowcotts, meanwhile, learned they needed to schlepp, find the eyeglasses, use the trash cans, and understand the art of schvitzing whilst wearing a schmata, often while being kindly offered a lens wipe at the same time.
Looking back, it wasn’t really about Naples or even the pizza, though let’s be honest, that played a major role. It was about travelling with people who match your energy. People just as happy chasing down amazing meals as they are laughing through missed turns, strange hotels, and learning a thing or two about the culture and history.
The Bowcotts and the Stamms: bonded by carbs, chaos, and a shared commitment to making every meal count. This was the birth of the StammCotts!
Would we do it again? Too right. We’d happily schlepp ourselves back there together, thongs packed.
She Said:
The last time I spent time in Naples was 1999, and what stuck with me wasn’t exactly charming. I remember it as gritty, chaotic, and on the edge of feeling unsafe. My most vivid memory? Sitting at an outdoor table with my sister, eating pizza, when a stray dog casually lifted his leg right next to us. That was Naples, in my mind.
So, coming back all these years later, this time with the Bowcotts for our first trip traveling together, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. Turns out, Naples got the “clean it up” memo. It’s still got that edge and energy, but it was cleaner, more vibrant, and a much cooler city than I remembered.
Our Airbnb was well-located, in theory. Close enough to the action and great views from the rooftop balcony… except for one small detail we somehow missed while booking, it was waaaaaay up on top of a hill. A very steep, very relentless, quad-burning hill that we climbed multiple times a day. By the end of the trip, we had strong opinions about that hill.
We arrived the day before Easter Sunday, which ended up not quite as festive as I expected for a Catholic city. What it did kick off, however, was an eating marathon that might actually top any I’ve ever documented before. And that’s saying something.
Naples is, of course, synonymous with pizza. And yes, it’s incredible. But it’s also… different. My heart will always belong to a crispy-crusted, foldable, cheese-forward New York slice. Naples forces you to slow down, use a fork and knife, and embrace a softer, more delicate center. So, ok, there’s room for both. Between traditional pizza, fried pizza, and what felt like an endless stream of mozzarella, it’s safe to say we leaned all the way into the local cuisine. Like further than Pisa.
We wandered the city, as we usually do, loosely following a self-guided route, taking in the neighborhoods, the vibe, the views from rooftops, and, of course, finding our way from one taste to the next. But, since Naples seems to have approximately one million hills, infinite stairs, and steep winding streets, I figure we earned at least some of the calories back!
Pompeii was our “field trip” day, as one of the kids lovingly put it. We left with plenty of time, navigated the funicular to the metro to the train station, and despite four adults and three AI-assisted devices, we still managed to miss our train. While this is pretty on brand for the Stamms, the Bowcotts are much more punctual people. This was one of many moments on the trip when we realized the “Stammcottis” (our Italian travel handle) were simpatico traveling families. No one panicked or stressed, we simply showed up when transport allowed, requested to book a later tour, and enjoyed a gorgeous few hours at a shady outdoor café with drinks and slushies to kill time until the next tour.
The tour itself was… fine. I’ve now been to Pompeii three times, and I can confidently say the guide makes or breaks the experience. Our guide gets a very solid “ok.” Not terrible, not amazing. And honestly, he lost most of his points skipping the brothel (and not finding the icons carved into the street pointing people in that direction). I mean… who skips the brothel? We corrected that oversight ourselves afterward, of course.
As if we needed help eating, the next day we had a multi-stop Culinary Backstreets tour planned. We’ve done these tours in other cities and love them, and this one didn’t disappoint either. We walked through neighborhoods we wouldn’t have necessarily found on our own, with stops for cheeses, fried specialties, and yes, more pizza, with a finale of gelato. And, because it was a walking tour, we figured that the walking between stops justified the next round of tastes
On our final night in Naples, we enjoyed aperitivos, watching the sunset over Mount Vesuvius. It’s one of those views that feels both beautiful but also a little disconcerting when you remember what it’s capable of. Stunning, with a side of perspective.
From Naples, we headed to Ischia, an island Chad and I have wanted to visit ever since watching My Brilliant Friend. And honestly, it was the perfect contrast to Naples. Quiet, low-key, not touristy, and very local-feeling.
Our hotel, much like the Airbnb in Naples, didn’t quite match expectations, but we made it work. What we definitely didn’t expect was to be the only people under 65 in what felt like an all-Italian retirement retreat. We were, quite literally, the only tourists. Amenities were… minimal. As in, we had to walk into town just to buy a bottle of water, which somehow turned into one of the more unexpected, funny memories of the trip at the local market with water bottles flying and tears rolling from laughter.
But again, you roll with it. The kids claimed the pool, and the adults explored the “spa,” which consisted of a sauna, steam room, and a hot pool filled with a group of very relaxed Italians who reminded me a little too much of the movie Cocoon. And while I wouldn’t normally pass up an opportunity to be made younger, I opted out but still appreciated the scene.
Dinner that night was probably the best meal of the trip. And somehow, there was no pizza involved. Just incredible seafood, wine, sunset views, and lots of laughter with good friends. One of those dinners where you pause halfway through and realize how lucky you are to be where you are with the people you’re with.
Before leaving Ischia, the adults abandoned the teens at the pool and hiked up to the castle, which, like many castles we’ve visited in Europe, left me unable to tell you exactly who lived there or when. But that almost never matters to me as much as just walking through spaces that old and trying to imagine life there centuries ago. This one also happened to have a room full of historical torture devices, which was both horrifying and fascinating. The views over the sea never disappoint and were absolutely worth the climb.
We headed back to Naples for one final night before flying home the next morning. Jack had arranged for us to stay at a hostel owned by one of his clients so the kids could experience the classic backpacker style of travel many of us knew in our younger years. While we lucked out with the better room with bathroom ensuite, the Bowcotts’ four-bunkbed, shared-bathroom situation made for a pretty classic finale. And in true hostel fashion, we all left with T-shirts.
Overall, it was just a really fun trip. Great friends, gorgeous weather, lots of laughs, and honestly an absurd amount of food.
And I think it’s safe to say… I’m good on pizza for a while.
Ciao!
He Said:
Some places don’t change, and in many ways, that's the appeal of Pompeii. It's a city stopped mid-sentence two thousand years ago and kept that way ever since, frozen in the moment when the mountain dictated it. Yet, despite nothing having changed over the last 20 years since my last visit, much less the 2,000 years since it was preserved, something did clearly change.
The first time I walked through those gates, I was barely thirty and newly married, backpacking across Europe with Alli for as long as the money would hold out. We toured the ruins with a friend from New York, the three of us traced Rick Steves’s self-guided walk from the dog-eared pages of a book, the only narration being the one in our hands. This time, we had a human guide, someone who could tell us the same stories and also answer our questions, but that's not all that changed.
This time, we came in through the same city entrance — I’m sure of it — though reflection often brings refraction to those same memories. The bread ovens are in the same locations. The streets run in the exact same direction. The brothel still displays frescoes outside the rooms depicting exactly what goes on inside them. The only physical difference I noticed was the forum. Rather than the manicured grass I remembered from 2006, today it is carpeted with gravel.
But despite all the similarities, the picture in my head and the picture in front of me didn't line up, and the strange part is that it wasn't in the picture at all. It was the interpretation. The perception. The reconciliation of what I was seeing. Pompeii hasn't changed in 2,000 years. Aside from minor landscaping, it hasn't really changed in 20 years, either. The bending? That came from me. The ruins keep their shape. Memory doesn't, nor does how you process them.
This persisted in a slow build as we walked through the site. Minute by minute, the distance in time started to close. At first, time seems so distant, so ancient. But with each step, that distance begins to feel shorter, making the life in Pompeii seem much more accessible to the imagination and closer to reality than it had before. Early on, Pompeii was a ruin you could look at. By afternoon, it was a place people had lived, close enough to touch, close enough that you could picture bakers pulling bread out of the ovens. Two thousand years got shorter as the sun got higher.
But what really changed? Why was I feeling different this time versus last? What made this so much more visceral than before? I started to dig into those feelings, and maybe there's a part of me I didn't bring to my first visit because it hadn't yet existed.
At thirty, Pompeii was incredible. It was a spectacle, a marvel, a very old and very famous place you learn about in school and watch on The History Channel. But maybe I hadn’t lived enough yet to feel it.
In the 20 years since, I’ve watched a son be born and grow most of the way up. I’ve been married through the joys and the harder stretches. I’ve felt my own body change, felt time do its work quite literally. I’ve seen the passing of all of our grandparents, and now even a parent. It turns out it might take learning what life actually is before you can comprehend what losing it means.
How are you supposed to feel the weight of two thousand lives out of a city, some say held twenty thousand, when you don’t yet know what a single life fully weighs? Then again, do you ever?
Near the end, after the tour let out, we climbed to the concession house perched on a hilltop in the middle of the site — restaurants, shops, bathrooms, and what felt like every tourist in Italy crowded around the counters. The line for a glass of crisp Campanian white wine was too long to deal with, but the view was still something to behold. Out past the haze on what locals call the Milky Mountains, where the water buffalo roam and pour out the mozzarella milk, it made me realize just how beautiful life here must have been, even two millennia ago, without all the creature comforts of modern technology.
At the edge of that windswept overlook, long blades of grass leaning and dancing in the breeze, framing the whole of Pompeii at once, it hit me. From up there, you can finally see how big it is, how the city spreads in every direction, three hundred and sixty degrees of what was once a thriving city, now just ruins sitting patiently and uncovered, some still uncovered, actually. And to the north, over all of it, Vesuvius. Still standing. Still taller than everything. A reminder of what did happen here, and of what still could. It’s always in sight. Like death itself, you never know how far off it is. You never know when the top will blow. It should make you feel small and temporary, and it does.
And then it does something else. Because the same eruption that ended this city is the only reason I was standing in it. The ash that buried Pompeii is what kept Pompeii — the ovens, the frescoes, the shape of how people lived, and even the shapes they were in when they died — held under the ground for two thousand years until we were ready to dig it back up. Destruction and preservation turned out to be the same event.
I stood up there thinking about that, and about where we seem to be headed as a species. A decade from now, maybe sooner, we’ll stretch our lifespans out and learn to capture the essence of a person, the voice and the face and the way they think, so that some version of them carries on after the person is gone. It's preservation at the individual level. Pompeii is just an older draft of the same wish on a bigger yet unintended scale. Don’t let it disappear. Keep it. Let someone find it later.
Yes, there are the famous plaster casts here, bodies caught in their final burning breaths, and you'd expect those are the things that stick with you, and maybe the first time I was here, they did. But this time it was different. From that overlook, I wasn’t thinking about any one of them. I was thinking about all of them at once, the whole society, how many had lived here, how much they’d built, how far a two-thousand-year-old civilization had progressed at the hard yet ordinary work of living together. And how quickly all of it can come apart. A volcano can do it in an afternoon. For a disease, it might take longer. And we certainly have the capability to do it to ourselves at any time. But what stopped me at that overlook was what they had all built together, what that mountain took away in an instant, how my perspective on it had changed over the last 20 years, and, certainly, how my views have changed over the last three as a European resident. They have certainly shaped me like a plaster cast from the inside out.
We flew home from Naples with the Bowcotts, likely the last time for the foreseeable future that I will return to Lisbon as my home airport to a life we're about to leave, not to a volcano but to choice, to a slow unburying of one life to pack it up for another. It won't vanish in an afternoon, but rather the long way. One last time doing this thing or going to this place, one goodbye at a time.
But my second time in Pompeii left me with one more change, the notion that Lisbon or even life for that matter won't stop when we do. It will keep going. New names will appear on shop awnings, someone else will move their life into our apartment and enjoy summer evenings on the back patio, and this city will carry on without us.
The only place it will hold is within. All of these memories will freeze the day we leave, and then slowly, they'll start to refract and bend. Because that's what memories do. When you return to them, they're almost never the same.
It's up to us to be the ash that preserves them.
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