The City on the Edge of Forever

Modern day Ercolano hugs the remains of its more illustrious predecessor. A myriad of boutique shops and eateries are commonplace. Nonetheless, successful trade is seasonal. In the main. foreign tourists frequent the area in June and July. With the summer of 2014 banished as a distant memory, tourists were few and far between. Even the Virtual Museum of Ercolano was virtually abandoned. In fairness, however, it would not have appealed to every palette. The term museum was a misnomer. Within the interior lay an auditorium which projected a multimedia re-enactment of that fateful day in 79 AD. I consciously declined the efforts of the admissions office.

The streets of modern Ercolano

The Virtual Museum of Ercolano

Eventually I made it to the much promised gates. Whilst it had been a long time coming, this portal into a microcosmos of antiquity availed little of what lay beyond:

Entrance to the Archaeological site

Although spartan in substance and design, the gateway beckoned me in. My first glimpse of Herculaneum was a panoramic statement of intent:

Panorama

Although some structural damage was evident, many of the city's buildings had remained intact. 20 metres of mud had provided a formidable preservative.Timber and tiled roofs, so often confined to artistic reconstruction, were all here in abundance.

As it reached midday, I became cognisant of the oppressive heat. Whilst the UK suffered 75 mph winds courtesy of Gonzales, Southern Italy was basking in 75 degrees of heat. As is typical of my constitution, I began to sweat profusely. Thankfully there was a brief reprieve. I reached the ticketing office where the air conditioning was worth its weight in gold. I stood momentarily and cooled off. After parting with the entrance fee, I scanned an adjacent desk for some literature in English. Maps and guides were all available. However, my mother tongue was conspicuous by its absence. Slightly irritated by this revelation, I then had a turn of good fortune. A resident professor was about to give a guided tour in English. I didn't think twice. Parting with yet more money, I joined a half dozen fellow travellers.

Public thoroughfare on to site

From the outset, it was clear that our guide had left her bedside manner at home. She never introduced herself and had conducted this tour ad nauseum. It showed. Her voice very rarely gravitated from a monotone. Her preamble of the site was rushed, truncated and lifeless. In the hope that matters could only improve, we trundled down into the city.

Garden blessed with Lemon trees

In some respects Herculaneum's struggle did not end in 79 CE. Although a veritable mix of academics and artists marvelled at this monument to antiquity, property developers were transfixed by an entirely different mandate. The battle that ensued meant that by the 1920's Herculaneum's exposure was being supplanted by a modern city. Nevertheless, purported "progress" was soon arrested by the machinations of the Fascists. A tenet of their beliefs was that longevity is legitimacy. In order to legitimise their right to rule, Benito Mussolini's government enthusiastically preserved every Roman structure and edifice they could cast their gaze on. According to their dogma, Fascist Italy was the natural successor to Imperial Rome. The net result is that one quarter of Herculaneum has thus far been excavated.

In its heyday, Herculaneum boasted a population of 4000 people. They were by and large aristocratic- the gliterrati of their age.And it follows that they lived in sumptuous luxury where they would want for nothing. The housing was the finest money could buy, designed to entertain guests. Dining rooms accommodated social butterflies. Gardens, although compact by modern standards, were aesthetically appealing. Apart from a kaleidoscope of Mediterranean flowers, the soil nourished a collection of fruit trees. 

I was led to believe that the streets were so quiet that you could hear the proverbial pin drop. The city was devoid of domestic animals, beasts of burden and carts. However, as our dour guide made this revelation I found the exception to the rule. Standing by the one time laundrette, my foot buckled in a crevice. The indentation was the tell tale sign of a cart, which had once negotiated the streets. Two thousand years ago, the adage of " airing your dirty washing in public " was never more apposite. I for one am glad though that in the 20th century we have more palatable detergents. To remove stains, the Romans relied on either human or camel urine! Makes you smell like roses, I'm sure.

The Local laundrette

To the not unrelated topic of sanitation, I turn next. The Romans are famed for their use of teracotta pipes, drains, fountains and baths. Unsurprisingly, all of these amenities are found here. I should however add that even by the Roman period, these supposed technological advances were in fact quite ancient. 1,600 years earlier they were commonplace on the Minoan island of Crete.

Antique drainage

Admiring the view!?!

The citizens of Herculaneum were both highly superstitious and god fearing. A pantheon of deities have been found emblazoned on houses, baths and temples. Archaeologists are also of the opinion that both Judaism and Christianity were in vogue by the 1st Century.

Neptune- as depicted in the Men's baths

The gods Neptune and Amphitrite

When Vesuvius erupted, the majority of inhabitants scurried away for cover. A few more "spiritual" souls put their stock in beseeching a higher order. At the temple of Augustus, a sentry guard succumbed to the elements. Ever faithful to protecting the shrine in life, it became a fitting mausoleum in death.

Shrine to the Emperor Augustus

Plaque identifies the eponymous temple

But what of this poor man's peers? Who were they? With the shadow of death hanging over them, what could they do?

To discover the answers and much, much more tune in to the next episode....

Metroland

This was my ante-penultimate day in Italy. Exiting the hotel revealed a crisp, cold morning - the first indications perhaps that winter's embrace was at hand. Turning immediately left, I ventured towards Naples Metro Station some 300 metres away. Hitherto, I was forced to negotiate a veritable street market. I passed a restaurant with the misleading eponym " Sharm el Sheikh. Despite the obviously Egyptian name, it served Indian cuisine. Although the day had barely begun, it was open for business. How successful it is, is anyone's guess. The thought of snacking on a Pyramid shaped samosa for Breakfast is probably the cause for some anxed. I avoided it like a biblical plague. Food poisoning is the scourge of every holiday maker.

I crossed at a sharp turn and approached my destination. At that juncture, I was accosted by a bedraggled gent offering a bootleg ipad and phone. I didn't dignify his approach with a response. Moments later I encountered a makeshift stool peddling AC Milan and Juventus football strips. Obviously a good seller in Southern Italy!

The metro station covers a wide berth. Fortunately the signage was accorded an English translation, so it was relatively easy to find the ticket office. This, alas was where my luck ended. Ironically, the ticket office relied on a ticketing service. I obtained docket A180 and waited patiently for my number to be called out. It would be a while yet. A155 was the most recent customer to approach the counter.

While I idled my time merely rolling my thumbs and anticipating my journey to Herculaneum, I began a dialogue with a fellow Brit. As I didn't catch his name, for the purposes of this blog I shall refer to him as John Bull - or John for short. John waxed lyrical about Naples and suggested I consider visiting some of the city's subterranean attractions. He had spent four months in the area as a crewman on a yacht. He was now returning to his home in Portugal. Whilst his pronounced Lancashire accent was clearly in evidence, he had not been to Blighty for almost twenty years. Such is the cosmopolitan nature of life in the EU!

Although the station employees are denuded of efficiency, they are perhaps the smartest dressed. Italy is a fashion capital and with good reason. When my number finally came up, I noticed that the clerk donned a cap and a finely pressed blazer. He looked more akin to a high ranking general! Whilst the thought placed a wry smile on my face, within moments my mood went south.When asking for a return ticket to Herculaneum, I was informed that I was inconveniently placed at the wrong ticket office. I needed to go to the one downstairs! Oh the joys of being a stranger in a strange land!

The lower tier of the station revealed a veritable rabbit's warren. Pathways led off in a multitude of directions. Suffice to say that I was still faced with the quandary of procuring a return ticket. Amongst the throng of Neapolitans, a sharp eye managed to spy a carefully concealed counter. For the equivalent of £2, I finally attained my return excursion. Grateful that this molehill come Mount Vesuvius was obviated, I made my way to the platform. In virtually no time at all, the train arrived.

At this point I again came unstuck. I was left scratching my head. My rudimentary Berlitz guide had provided a truncated map of the underground. There were two lines - L1 and L2 which seemed elementary enough. However, Berlitz in their infinite wisdom had failed to provide all the stations. Summoning up a modicum of courage and broken Italian, I asked a fellow passenger where Herculaneum was. 8 stops came the reply. It would be another forty minutes before I alighted. In the interim, I hoped to gaze upon scenic vistas. My hopes were somewhat dashed. Where I envisaged rolling hills and verdant lush valleys, the region had fallen victim to industrialisation. The factories and abandoned warehouses were unmistakeable. Again, graffiti was all pervasive.

Herculaneum station or as it is known in modern parlance - Ercolano was as dull as ditch water. In contrast to the more edifying Naples, it was as grey as John Major. As I ventured outside, I became aware of two things. Firstly, the street was awkward to negotiate. It had a nasty meandering slope. Secondly, I noted a group of English tourists who were as hopelessly lost as I was.

As I walked on a little further, a waitress from the local Cafe de Paris (don't ask) was encouraging people to partake of the menu. I sat down at a table and quenched my thirst with a glass of lemonade. I turned a blind eye to the fact that the table had a will of its own. The scourge of every budding restaurateur is the off balance table. Normally a piece of cardboard works miracles and keeps it in check. Only one problem. The offending article like the rest of the establishment was wrestling with the slope. I simply bit my lip.

With my glass empty, I asked the waitress the whereabouts of the ancient ruins. She motioned southwards and stated that within 15 minutes I would reach an archway, Without further or do, I left for my appointment with the past.

The Cream Always Rises To The Top

As we continued our traverse of Naple's grand metropolis, it became ever more evident that austerity was giving way to affluence. In the city's lower tier, the signs of poverty were prevalent. The aforementioned refuse was plain for the eye to see. A trail of rudimentary graffiti emblazoned almost every office and shop. The narrow winding streets also betrayed a medieval origin. There was little sign that the modern age had brought modern amenities.

Our bus began to climb a steep, spiralling elevation. Suddenly the dreary and fetid landscape was replaced by something far more utopian. The waste completely disappeared. No doubt the higher eschaleons of society included the mafia, who as previously mentioned  were charged with waste disposal. Whilst they did the bare minimum and pocketed the monies allocated for the duty, they were loathe to have any rubbish in their own backyard. Double standards are alive and well in Italy.

One particularly noteworthy location was a residence of the dowager queen Margerita. The eponymous pizza was dedicated to her and is a composite of Italy's tricolour - red (tomatoes), green (basil), white (mozzarella). A little distance away, we encountered the Castel dell'Ovo - the castle of the egg - another tangible manifestation of Italy's preoccupation with food. Legend has it that the Roman poet Virgil buried an egg on the site of the castle. If the egg is ever broken, then both the castle and Naples will fall. Where do they concoct such ideas? Strange but true.

Eventually, we reached our intended goal the summit. Once again, Luisa's machinations did not disappoint us. Yet another breathtaking panorama lay in store:

And let us not forget the millionaire's playground:

Unsurprisingly, Naples' plateau has emerged as the perfect locale for suitors to get down on a bended knee. On surrounding paving stones, betrothed couples have left testimony to their eternal love. One par amour writes boldly albeit concisely: " John + Cindy - 12/04/96". Etched in indelible ink, tourists of past and present can review this parade of romance.

Although it was October, the weather was unseasonally warm. The sun (sol invictus) ruled supreme in the skies; its rays easily penetrated the grey wafer thin clouds. Under such circumstances, the groups occidental dispensation took root. We began to thirst. Fortunately, a kiosk was a mere stones through away. The elderly Italian purveyor was soon parading a smile as we procured beverages at over inflated clip-joint prices.

As we returned to our bus, we spied a plethora of private roads. They boasted immaculate asphalt and ran adjacent to palatial mansions. This was how the other half lived. The cream literally does rise to the top. I made a mental note of the aesthetics. The propensity of verdant acreage contrasted markedly with the lower city. Fountains were commonplace and frivolously expelled water. Although a towering edifice was testimony to the vainglorious housing , one could imagine the opulent interiors -  a five level abode entailing 15 bedrooms, 20 bathrooms and a swimming pool or two. Of course the house was vacant. The proprietor was abroad having flown south for the winter, or applying himself/herself in a business venture. In the case of the latter, the enterprise might represent a tax loss. Any potential setbacks would be rectified through gains in stocks, shares and interest. Money, for some at least, works while you sleep.

Having gone off at a tangent, I've now lost my train of thought. Ah, yes, what next in Naples. Our final destination was the Church of gesu nouvo (new jesus). The exterior facade was quite unusual:

Luisa informed us that the unusual design was due to a guild of masons in the employ of the Jesuits. What I thought was embossed stone was in fact a pyramid. Each individual brick was designed in this fashion and has a unique symbol. The task of constructing the church must have been an extremely laborious task. One can only imagine.

The interior consisted of a whole panoply of icons, sculptures and artwork:

Forgive the poor image. Flash photography was strictly forbidden in the church. Whilst ambling inside I encountered an embarrassing problem. As I tread the marble floor, my recently purchased Marks and Sparks shoes began to emit a rasping squeak. It was as though Alvin and the chipmunks had come to Naples! People viewing the various exhibits or confiding in the priests probably found it difficult to focus. I tried to move as gingerly as possible. I had decided that if anyone confronted me on the issue, I would simply claim that these were not my footwear but the voices of heavenly angels brought courtesy of Hanna Barbera!

In the immediate aftermath of my incursion on the church floor, we removed our selves to the square outside:

This is the spire of the immaculate virgin. It was constructed between 1747-50. While this was the most prominent article in the square, something else had caught my attention. Italian soldiers together with an armoured car were apparently on sentry duty. I asked Luisa why this was necessary. She explained that it was simply a programme to make civilians feel safe. Personally I felt that a more nefarious reason was at play. Naples is a seaport on the mediterranean and sits not too far from North Africa. In this day and age, it is unfortunate that terrorist elements are using southern Europe for transit. Let us not forget the fatal shooting at the Jewish Museum in Belgium a few months ago.

For the next quarter of an hour, I sat once more in a cafe, reviewing the days events. It had been a fascinating, albeit tiring experience. I had packed virtually the whole of Naples into an afternoon. Tomorrow I hoped to visit Herculaneum, the very basis for my trip.