Pompeii Trip Part 4

Pompeii was great. Mt. Vesuvius was wonderful. Herculaneum was my favorite. The train from Pompeii stopped at the small town of Herculaneum around 2pm. I hopped off the train ready to follow the crowds of people to the archeological site but, to my surprise there was no sign pointing to the scavi. I had to ask people on the street for directions to the site and when I finally found it there was no grand entrance; a stone wall, almost completely covered with trees, read ‘Ercolano.’ Unlike Pompeii, kiosks did not line the streets selling souvenirs or audio guides; instead, the city was quite, barley a car or person in sight. At first this obscurity surprised me, but then I recalled that only one page of my tour guide book was dedicated to Herculaneum and most people I had talked to had never heard of the city. But as Moby-Dick’s narrator Ishmael says, “It [Kokovok] is not down on any map; true places never are”.

Herculaneum is a true place. It is much more preserved than Pompeii, about a tenth of the size, and instead of sitting in Naples Archeological Museum the art and statues remain in their true places. One of my favorite parts about Herculaneum is the entrance. I walked through the obscure stone archway and found myself looking down on the city. It was breathtaking. I could see the buildings, the streets, from above. I don’t know why, but it was magical for me. That aerial like view. I loved it. I had to drag myself away from the scene and was slightly saddened when I walked the ramp down into the city.

It look like an abandoned town instead of a buried town. The paint and each of the pictures were still so vibrant. The baths were huge and impressive. Unlike Pompeii were the common people lived, Herculaneum was the town for the wealthy. It was much smaller than Pompeii and not as commercially active. This difference in residents truly shown in the city. Pompeii was the average life with many things looking the same. In Pompeii it was easy to forget which road I was on, but in Herculaneum is was drastically clear. Herculaneum was detailed, each house completely different from the others. The styles, the color, the paintings were different.

Herculaneum struck me as homey. A quaint town where the people knew each other. A place where they prided themselves with the design of their homes. A town where families got together for a large dinner. A haven outside of the boisterous Pompeii.

I was in love with the city. I took so many pictures. I wanted to call one of the houses mine. If I had lived in Campania in 70AD I would have lived in Herculaneum.

Because of daylight savings it became dark early so I left the site and took a train to the Napoli train station. After some complications with my ticket I finally got on a train headed to Rome. My feet hurt and I was so happy when the train started moving. Before I knew it, we came to an abrupt stop in at Termini (the main transportation station in Rome). I stepped out of the train and smiled seeing the familiar station. “I’m home” I whispered to myself. Who would have thought I would feel at home in Rome?

Below are more pictures than the average person wants to see, but I couldn't help myself.

A sad a shocking thing about Herculaneum is that the city blends right in with the ruined site. It is difficult to tell where the scavi ends and the city starts. The laundry hanging from the windows is the only major clue.

The Baths:

Splendid details:

My favorite house:

Mt. Vesuvius looming over the desolate city:

Pompeii Trip Part 3

I pulled out my cell phone (can you believe I have a cell phone and that I know how to text?) and checked the time. Again. Now it was 11:00am. The bus that was supposed to take me to the top of Mt. Vesuvius was half an hour late. I was beginning to worry that I might now have time to see Herculaneum that afternoon. I turned to the two girls sitting next to me and said something about it being so late. They turned to me and said, “Get used to it, this is Napoli.”
I asked the man who was guiding the tours when the bus was going to arrive. His reply? ‘The bus is stuck in traffic.’ Yeah right. In Pompeii?

It was my first taste of southern Italy where nothing is one time. No one keeps schedules. And no one worries about it. This kind of attitude is extremely hard for tourists. I just about went crazy trying to calculate how much time I would have in Herculaneum. The two girls who were sitting with me, waiting to go on the tour, were from Switzerland. They were studying Italian in Sorrento which is just a bit south of Napoli. They recalled how the change from Switzerland, where everything is punctual and perfect, to Sorrento was mind boggling. It drove them crazy for the first few months. One of the girls almost went home but was persuaded by her friend to stay.

I had seen this kind of attitude in Rome. Our fridge has been broken for some time and the mechanics have no showed us three time. When Meirav showed them the receipt for the insurance on the fridge they said they couldn’t recognize it. She told me next time she is just going to buy a cheap fridge and then throw is out when it stops working. Our gardeners rarely show, and the construction workers for the new gazebo are always late. These glitches have never affected me personally. And now that I was beginning to experience it firsthand I was struggling.

Finally at 11:30 the bus showed. The girls and I climbed in and our journey actually began. The drive up the mountain was beautiful. I was constantly looking out the window down at Napoli and Capri. The huge bustling city on the edge of the Mediterranean. It was cloudy outside and instead of sparkling the sea looked slightly gray, but it was still beautiful.


On the side of the mountain you would still see where the lava had flowed down the sides in the eruption of 1944. Our tour guide parked the van and we were able to get out. Touch the lava. Walk on the side of Mt. Vesuvius.


At the top the girls and I got out of the car and began the 20 minute hike to the top. It was bitter cold and very windy, but I didn’t mind one bit because I couldn’t believe I was standing on an active volcano. The one I had read about in my history books. I can still remember the sound of the tail rocks crunching under my feet. You know that sound? It is even more beautiful when you know it is Mt. Vesuvius you're hiking. I felt giddy the whole time. I couldn't stop smiling.

My mind kept flashing back to a memory in our Elizabeth Street house. We were sitting on the green couch: Mom, Bryce, and I. The timeline was behind us on the wall. We were reading a book about Pompeii. Mom was telling us about the erruption in vivid and excited deatil. As that elementary school girl, I remember thinking 'I wish I could see that.' Who'd a thunk that ten years later I would?



At the top I was able to peek over the edge and see the crater, deep in the middle. It was astounding. The girls and I walked around the rim as far as the trail would let us. I was thrilled. Pinching myself the whole time.



Check out the trail I walked on:

Me trying to smile as the wind is hitting my face and tears are streaming down my cheeks. I really was happy.

It was a glorious morning.

Pompeii Trip Part 2

My night at the hotel was wonderful. I was proud to find my way to the hotel asking all questions and understanding all directions in Italian (then again it’s not that hard to understand left, right, and straight). A sweet elderly couple, who surprising spoke no English, (in a tourist city??) were very kind to me. I dropped off my bags in my small hotel room and headed to town for some dinner. Still in my soaking wet clothes and dripping hair, I bought a pizza to go and then headed back to the hotel. I let my clothes while I took a shower and then I crept under the toasty covers and ate my divine pizza while memorizing irregular Italian verbs. It was a beautiful night.

I woke up the next morning at 7am so I could be to breakfast which started at 7:30. I got ready for the day, pack my bags, and donned my now dry clothes, the whole time surprised I didn’t hear others waking. I got downstairs at 7:30 and found myself alone. The sweet women came out of the kitchen with a confused look on her face and asked if I was ready for breakfast. I said yes. And with another confused look on her face, she proceeded to prepare me a croissant and some hot chocolate. She watched me for a while and then as if gathering enough courage came to my table and proceeded to tell me, (with many hand gestures, it was 6:30am. Capisci? I had missed daylight savings.

In the end, the extra hour worked beautifully. I decided to discover the modern city of Pompei. The city’s main Piazza was beautiful. An enormous Catholic church (for the small town of Pompei) loomed over a reflecting pool which was surrounded by benches and beautiful green grass. I walked inside and admired the art. The decorations. The gold. A while later I ventured outside again. The town was not yet stirring so I was able to sit next to the reflecting pool and just think. The sun was gleaming and the warm rays were welcoming. It was beautiful.



I was standing outside the gate to Pompei Scavi (the archaeological sight) 10 minutes before opening time at 8:30. When the gates opened I was the first one into the sight because I had bought a three day pass and the other tourists needed to wait until the ticket booth opened. (why they didn’t open the ticket booth before the opened the site is a mystery to me).

So I found myself alone in Pompeii. The first person to enter the gates. I wandered on some now familiar paths and found myself at the Garden of the Fugitives. I had wanted to see this garden so badly, only because it was the picture that everyone sees about Pompeii. There are thirteen people, of all ages, absolutely frozen in time. They ran to the garden for shelter but instead their lives were ended there. I couldn’t go home without seeing this famous scene. But what I saw and what I felt surprised me.

The garden is on the edge of the town in its own quaint corner. I curved around many vacant streets until I saw the garden. I walked town stone steps into a small yet beautiful garden. Birds were chirping. Sun was shining. Plants were growing. I was alone. Here in this tranquil garden this frozen scene of terror. Of shock. Of pleading. Children burying their heads. Mothers feeling helpless as their little ones perished. And here I was, standing 2000 years later. Watching their expressions. Their last moments. I could feel their emotions. panic. alarm. horror. pleading. The scene was unbelievably touching. The scene was so sacred I could bear to take pictures. Tears began rolling down my cheeks as I gazed at the children. The sweet innocent souls. After a while I tried to pull myself away, telling myself I had more things to see. I only made it to the stairs. Then I came rushing back. Leaning against the glass I let the tears flow.

Later, I found my way to the theater. Besides the garden, this was my favorite place. I walked into the small theater which was made completely of stone. It was small and intimate. I am sure the actors on this stage interacted with their audience and loved each night they preformed. I would have loved to sit on those stone steps and watched the actors. So close to me.

Unfortunately, the large theater was closed off because I think they were reconstructing the wooden stage. But, my curiosity got the most of me and I knew I had to see it. I found a super thin opening in the gate blocking the entrance. I pushed my bag through the slit and slipped myself in. It was well worth it. The large theater was astounding. I walked around just imagining the seats being filled with people. Oh how I wish I had been able to live then and walk down the street to the theater. Sit on the brick steps and watch a comedy, or tragedy play before my eyes. With people full of emotion. Dancing around on the wooden stage. How beautiful that would be.

I slipped between the gate again on my way out but to my embarrassment ran straight into a touring group who was peering through the gate as I was leaving. The tour guide looked at me with bewilderment as I managed to say scusa me. I wasn’t too sneaky of a culprit.

I walked through Pompeii’s streets one last time and then exited the Scavi not knowing that I would get a real taste of Napoli real soon.

Pompeii Trip Part 1

One year ago I thought that in the fall of 2009 I would be at BYU. Never did I dream that I would be walking down an Italian driveway to catch the bus to Pompeii.

For the first time in my life I was going on a trip by myself. I was excited. I wanted to prove my independence and gain more confidence in being completely alone.

At 8:15 am I took a train from Termini to Napoli. Last year one of my dreams was to go on a real train ride. I would have been so surprised to have looked forward a year and see that taking the train had become a normal occurrence for me…even a monotonous one.

I had brought a book to read with me, but I was captivated by the landscape that was passing. This was the first time I was leaving the city of Rome. The green rolling hills spotted with homes captured my attention. I was so enthralled with the quaint Italian life flying by me that I was startled to find I was already in Napoli.

From Napoli I took another train to the city of Pompei (yes, only one i) which was absolutely bombarded by tourists. I walked down a long cobblestone road to the historical Pompeii. For the past two weeks I have been intensely studying about the history of Pompeii, Herculaneum, and Mt. Vesuvius. I read Pliny the Younger’s account of the eruption, about Mt. Vesuvius’ eruption of 1944, and the history of Campania dating back to some of the first peoples. I had a book (which I had read twice) that outlined every sight in Pompeii and described the features seen there. I felt very prepared for this experience. I walked into the sight and began to analyze everything, recalling facts and accounts.

But as I began walking around I just wanted to soak in the feeling. I reached a point where I no longer wanted to know what every stone was used for but instead I just wanted to be in awe. I just wanted to walk around touch the colorful countertops. To admire the vibrant painted walls. To feel the rough rocks under my hands. To use the stepping stones to cross the road. To imagine this city bustling. To imagine the people who lived in these homes. To imagine their horror when they saw a “pine tree of smoke” exploding from the top. To study the rocks under my feet.

I spent the second part of my afternoon in awe. I stopped analyzing. I stopped worrying about understanding the use of every object and the history of every home. Instead I imagined what life would have been like. I pictured the people who like me had dreams, desires, and sorrows. What kind of men, women, and children called this place home? Did they sit in these rooms as a family and laugh? What kind of games did they play together?

I had spent a total of five hours in Pompeii when the sun disappeared and rain came pouring out of the dark clouds. When the first raindrops hit my face I was disappointed. I had organized this trip very carefully, even to the point of checking the weather to make sure it would be sunny. I rolled my eyes realizing that my only pair of clothes would get wet. (I had to pack light and so in the end I chose to bring my books instead of an extra pair of clothes :-)

But after recognizing the inevitability of getting wet I just enjoyed myself. I walked along the ancient streets with rain pouring down my face smiling. I imagined the people of 70AD running down the wet streets to their home and maybe lighting a toasty fire to sit around. The wet city was magical. The wet stones were filled with life and the city seemed to go back to the time when its people walked the roads. I can’t adequately describe the feelings I had or the way the city beamed. I can only repeat that the wet city was magical.

I left the city at 7pm but not content because I still hadn’t seen the Theaters or the Garden of the Fugitives. I resolved to come back at 8:30 the next morning in order to see what I had missed. For the mean time I dragged my aching feet and soaked body to my hotel.

All of Pompeii was remarkable, but here are a few of my favorite things:

In order to keep the streets clean, Pompeiians periodically flooded the streets with water. The stepping stone in the middle of the road let the pedestrians cross the street without getting their feet wet. The stones were strategically placed so the chariots could straddle them and their agenda would not be hindered.

Me standing on the stepping stones, preparing to take a giant step onto the tall curb.

Rome has made me love the cobblestone roads. Each stone is so different. So much character. Each stone so perfect in its own way. It's just beautiful how they all fit together.

What if you worked in Pompeii?I wonder what the people of 70AD would think about two old men sitting on their sidewalks doing crossword puzzles and reading the newspaper.

Me filling up my water bottle from an anciet fountain.

Mom, you will be suprised to find that there really aren't that many 'frozen people' in Pompeii. Most have been moved to Museums and the people left in the city are all in glass cases.

This counter top capitaved me. The rocks are so vibrant. I can just imagine the woman who told her husband exactly what kind of design she wanted. I love to imagine her drawing out her kitchen and filling it with color.

I absolutley love these ancient resturants. The holes in the counter acted like a thermos, holding pots of soups and other various foods. It's like an ancient Hometown Buffet.

This writing on wall is actually ancient electoral propaganda. Written are the names of canidadte's, their promises for office, as well as praise for their honesty or virtue. There are around three thousand of these electoral inscriptions in Pompeii.

The walls of Pompeii's homes are filled with color. Blues, red, and yellows. Each painting is so different and absolutley stunning. I loved the walls.

Pots. I saw so many pots. Broken pots, large pots, and small pots. They gave this town (and Herculanium) a homey feeling. These pots were used by the people of 70AD. Made with their hands. Just imagine.