Broam K's Italian Saga: Day VIII

Surprisingly enough, I woke up early and was showered, dressed, and ready to roll by the time the wake-up call sounded.

Good thing, too - shortly thereafter the Hotel's fire alarm began screeching throughout the hallways.

I went out into the hallway, where room doors began opening up and startled, frazzled high schoolers began poking their heads out.  After awhile the alarm shut off, and I verified with the front desk that it was only an accident (apparently there had been something on fire in the kitchen but it had since been successfully extinguished.)

Hooray.

Following the standard breakfast of usual fares, we boarded the bus and set off on a 3 1/2 hour bus ride to the lost Roman city of Pompeii - buried beneath layers of volcanic ash and pumice after Mt. Vesuvius' eruption in 79 AD and not discovered until 1748.

For the first time on this whole EF tour, the weather was amazing.  Not just tolerable - amazing.  Mid/high-70s, sunny and no wind to speak of.  This was welcome indeed, as Pompeii - unlike the cathedral/temple-filled cities we conquered earlier in the week - is all outdoors under the open sky.

On the bus ride there, Rebecca decided to play Gladiator, which, although extremely historically inaccurate, is somehow way better of a movie than Under a Tuscan Sun.  After two hours on the bus, we stopped off at an AutoGrill - a major Italian gas station chain, I guess - and got to use the restroom for snacks, drinks, and the like.

I picked up a package of three espresso-filled chocolates and an espresso energy drink (I needed a pick-up before a day's worth of walking around ruins.)

Mt. Vesuvius - one of nature's biggest assholes

As we came closer to the site of Pompeii, the dreaded Mt. Vesuvius -  the only active volcano in continental Europe - loomed ahead of us on the horizon.  Evidently that thing can blow its top at any time, which is more than a little disconcerting.  The city of Naples - the Bay of Naples is gorgeous, by the way - lies practically at the mountain's feet.

Bay of Naples

. . .who knows what the hell these Italians are thinking.


We arrived in Pompeii late in the morning, and while Rebecca sallied off to secure our tickets, the rest of us tourists got to hit up the rows of souvenir stalls that lined the street.  I had asked Rebecca the previous day whether or not Pompeii was a major 'souvenir stop,' and she had protested it wasn't. . . but holy shit was she ever wrong.  Of all the places we had traveled to in our trek across Italy, Pompeii by far had the most to offer.

Of course, you had your usual wares on hand - magnets, jewelry, knick-knacks, postcards, glasses, shirts, etc. - but their variety was much better.  Plus, since Pompeii had somewhat of a seedy past (as a major  Roman port center, it had more than it's fair share of prostitutes and whore houses), its souvenir inventory was much more - how should I say - colorful.

 Lots of naked people, lots of penises, lots of sex. Phallic figurines, playing cards, calendars, books, jewelry, etc.  Anything you could think of, featuring lots of dicks and breasts.  Rest assured, lots of stuff you definitely couldn't find in the Vatican Gift Shop.

As I was perusing one of the stalls, browsing through cameo necklaces, pumice rocks, and little penis statues - while at the same time fending off a persistent, old battle axe of a shopkeep and her inability to let "No thanks, lady - I'm just looking" stop her from shoving crap in my face - I came across an item that did catch my eye.

A bronze dagger.

Overall this thing is about 16 inches long, and feels like its made of wrought iron

As you can probably tell, I ended up getting it.

While not Greek or Roman in design, it was certainly of high quality craftsmanship.  As I admired the weapon, the vendor running the stall came over and offered the dagger to me for fifty euros (about $75 - $80)  - a little too high for my taste.  After a couple minutes of intense haggling, I had the guy down to forty euros (about $60.)

I was hesitant to pay this much for one item without knowing how much it should cost.  I mean, it was probably worth the forty euros, but I wanted to double-check with Rebecca first.  Much to the vendor's dismay, I promised to return to reconsider the knife.

Roman ruins cut directly into the side of the hilltop

While I was haggling over the dagger, our group was assembling at the far end of the souvenir market, at the entrance to the path that led up to the ruins of Pompeii.  The ruins themselves loomed over us, sprawling across a hill that overlooked the restaurants and shops below.  Rebecca distributed our Whispernets as our tour guide - a young woman who looked like some of the stuck-up, art-school bitches I knew in college - started her shpeel.

The path leading up to what's left of Pompeii

Leaving the market below, we ascended up the path towards Pompeii (what's left of it, anyway.)  It's weird to think that at one point in time, thousands of years ago, this land-locked, hilltop city used to sit along the coast, serving as one of the Roman Empire's most lucrative seaports.

Volcanoes are motherf***ers.

Mr. Motherf***er himself

As we entered through the old gates of the city, Mt. Vesuvius itself could be seen in the distance, looming over the ruins of Pompeii like a menacing bully standing over a sniveling nerd, just waiting to bury the city in ash again when it least expected it.

I didn't really enjoy being so close to such a time bomb. . . not after witnessing firsthand what Vesuvius did the last time it got pissed.

I don't know what it is about this place, but there were dogs sleeping everywhere.  Seriously.  Not paying roaming packs of tourist any mind, they'd just sprawl out on the ground under the hot sun and catch themselves a nap.  Very weird.

Ramp leading into the ruins on the top of the hill

At the bottom, you can still make out original murals and artwork across the crumbling walls

A lot of the city is still underneath the topsoil, where it was smothered by Vesuvius nearly 2000 years ago.

Another dog catching some Z's

Through the gates of the city's walls, we came onto one of the roads that spans across the ruins, straight as an arrow.  From above, Pompeii - like most planned cities in Ancient Rome - is laid out on a grid.  Streets intersect each other at perfect 90 angles, and are of extraordinary construction (Roman engineers, some of the best in human history, were master road-builders.)

The stones you see here make up the original road's foundation.  On top of this layer would've been a foot-deep layer of gravel, sand, and small rocks tightly packed together.  Over this layer would've been a perfectly-cut layer of paver stones to give the road a smooth, concave surface (allowing water to drain out along the sides of the road - we totally copied this from them.)

Listening to our boring tour guide, packed around like a bunch of idiots.

Entering the Forum

As our guide began to lecture her way through the ancient city, I once again took it upon myself to seize my own little piece of history.  I pocketed a small, fist-sized piece of stone from one of the crumbling buildings we stopped at, ever-so-discreetly tucking it away in the side pocket of my backpack while everyone else was preoccupied (as I had done in the Roman Forum and Colosseum.)

Much more valuable - and historically significant - than any of the wares they were selling in the souvenir stalls below.

We worked our way through the city until we finally came to the center of Pompeii - the town forum.  Here, large columns still stood as erie testaments to the once-great temples and palaces that Vesuvius brought down.

The Forum of Pompeii

Oh, look - a handsome gentleman.

Another sleeping dog

Under a bright - and pleasantly warm - sun, our group wandered around the plaza as the tour guide pointed out the remains of long-gone buildings.  As usual, I orbited around the group, not paying attention and taking shit-loads of pictures.

After ten - twenty minutes, the group followed the guide as we set off back through another area of the city (in a different direction than we had come).  As we walked, I was distracted by one cluster of ruins in particular and wandered off to investigate.  I could still hear the guide in my Whispernet earpiece, so I wasn't too worried about being left behind.

However, as I made my way back to towards the spot where I had last seen the group, I found them gone, and assumed they had disappeared down a side street.  I double-backed to the intersection where we had last parted ways, chose another direction, and went after them again, but still couldn't find them.

As more and more minutes went by - as I frantically tried street after street in pursuit - the tour guide's voice in my earpiece began to cut in and out.  The signal was getting weaker as the distance between us spread.  In vain, I attempted to track the party down, but as I did so, suddenly the signal cut out completely, and the tour guide's voice was silenced.

I had lost my tour group.  In a labyrinth of intersecting roads and ruins.

Setting off after my lost tour group. . .

Not awesome.

Realizing that I was stranded in a foriegn country, in the depths of a sprawling Roman city (well, what was left of it, anyway) I power-walked up and down the streets, looking down each and every intersecting road I crossed.  While not too terrified, I wanted to catch up with the rest of the group before lunch (which was to be provided gratis, and was supposed to be really, really good.)

Sign for a wine merchant's warehouse

An early Roman Pizzeria and Cafeteria (the Romans were fond of their glass doors and air conditioning)

After awhile, all these Roman streets begin to look the same. . .

Yet another dog sleeping

An hour passed by, and still no group.  I had been taking lots of pictures in my search, and had decided to make the most out of my predicament, stopping into several Roman villas - ruined shells of large estates once owned by the upper class and noble families of Pompeiian society:

Entering the villa of one of Pompeii's wealthy patricians (ruling class nobles)

Entrance hall

Mosaics and frescoes across the still-intact ceiling

These houses (as seen above) had large halls, spacious rooms and antechambers, private baths, open courtyards, and even dead bodies.

Yes, readers.  Dead bodies.

Chilling close-up

As the people of Pompeii scrambled for their lives two-thousand years ago, most of those that perished met their fates by suffocating on Vesuvius' highly-toxic fumes.  As the eruption continued, ash and pumice packed in around their bodies - kinda like when you pack a snowball in your hand - and eventually turned into volcanic rock.  As the bodies decayed over the next couple millennia, bones fell into piles at the bottom of small pockets within the pumice, formed in the shape of the body's initial death pose.

This pre-pubescent Scandinavian girl was all about dead bodies.

In the 18th century, when archaeologists first seriously began excavating Pompeii, they found tons of these mysterious pockets of air within the pumice, and at the bottom of each were piles of human remains and artifacts.  Curious, they poured plaster into the pockets and  - voila - they were left with shapes of two-thousand-year-old Pompeiians, forever preserved in the exact poses that they had died in.


Pretty macabre stuff, folks.

Some dead patrician's private bath & sauna.  Romans knew how to indulge.

Crumbling paint job

Back out into the villa courtyard

I continued on, past the villas, past the old market (where there were even more dead bodies to be seen.)  Suddenly, I heard a crackle in my Whispernet.  It was only for a second or two, but it was enough to tell me that I had somehow gotten closer to my group.

A lot of statues and pottery survived the eruption, and are now housed behind iron gates in what used to be Pompeii's central market.

. . . and, of course, more dead Romans.

Bizarro public well

The next forty-five minutes was spent triangulating the group's signal, playing a desperate game of 'hot or cold.'  After running up and down practically every street of Pompeii, I finally - at long last - came upon my tour group.

To raucous fanfare.

My accidental detour, in the long run, had ended up being a blessing in disguise - I had seen (and photographed) much more of the city than they had.  I guess they had stood around listening to the guide a lot, while i had wandered in and out of buildings blanketed the city's grid of roads, and seen my fair share of bodies.

Fortunately, my reunion with the group was well-timed:  we were about to enter into one of the areas of the city I hadn't made my way through yet. . .

Our thick-accented tour guide.  Going off about God knows what.

And the group sets off once more. . .

Outside a whorehouse

The Red Light District.

Or whatever Romans called it.  I don't know.

As I said earlier, for those of you paying attention, Pompeii used to be a port city before Vesuvius up and decided to wipe it off the map, and as such they had a lot of people coming and going from all corners of the Ancient World.  Not surprisingly, Pompeii - being a merchant center and out to make a quick buck whenever possible - had more than its fair share of taverns and brothels in order to accommodate all these travelers.

Follow the carved penis in the road - it points the way to Whoreville

What served as the foundation for beds in these prostitute dens. Straw and furs would then be throw over top of them. 

Since most people back in 79 AD couldn't read (and a lot of them couldn't speak the two main languages of the region - Latin and/or Greek), the buildings in the ol' Porno Subdivision of Pompeii were covered with carvings, murals, and signs (all graphic in nature) to inform randy illiterates of what hookin' they were offering inside.

Once inside, different rooms had different murals painted above the door, showing the potential customer what sexual act the prostitute inside specialized in.

. . . and now this blog is rated MA.  You're welcome.

More beds

Hence all the sex-oriented souvenirs to be purchased in the souvenir market stalls below.

After touring our way through Whoreville, our group zig-zagged back to the main forum at the center of town before descending back down to the modern ristorantes, souvenir stands, and parking lots in the valley below.

Passing back through the central part of the city

Vesuvius, once again looming in the distance

Coming down from the hilltop ruins

We had one more stop in our itinerary before sitting down for a much-needed lunch:  a demonstration in one of Pompeii's finer cameo workshops (cameos being something, I guess, Pompeii is sorta famous for.)  The workshop itself was pretty dull - talking about how cameos are made, what materials are used in making them, and why certain cameos are more expensive than others.

I really wasn't paying attention - I was too tired and sweaty from running around the streets of Pompeii all Goddamn morning - so I suggest looking up 'Cameos' on Wikipedia and researching the craft yourself if you're that interested in how the shit's made.

The Hotel Vittoria, where we ate

After the presentation, we found ourselves in yet another gift shop.  Surprise, surprise.  Like the glass blowers of Venice, the leather makers of Florence, and the ceramic sculptors of Assisi, the wares in the cameo store were much too expensive.  It would surprise no one that I ventured back up to the souvenir stands above without buying a thing.

Creepy bronze kid.  Holding a crab for whatever reason.

Rebecca had told me earlier not to pay more than thirty-five euros for the bronze dagger I had my eye on prior to our Pompeiian excursion, but I wanted to try out my tried-and-true Ghanaian haggling skills and see if I could get it for less.  I approached the vender, who was obviously happy to see me return, and kicked off my bidding at twenty euros.

We haggled amiably - for the most part - for about ten minutes.  It truly is a lost art here in the States.  Eventually we settled upon the middle ground price of thirty euros.  Rebecca was impressed, and I ended up with a bronze dagger to add to my burgeoning sword collection back home.

One of my students taking some liberties with my camera

No cars, no fat chicks.

Having reaped the spoils of my hard-won victory, I rejoined my group in a nearby hotel ristorante where we finally got to sit down in some air conditioning.   We were served individual cheese pizzas (that were huge), ice cream, and a beverage of our choice (I had a new beer called Wuhrer that went down incredibly well.)

Yes, I ate this entire thing.  And it was some of the best pizza I've ever had (still not as good as Buccelli's, though.)

Throughout our meal, this old Italian musician moved about the tables, flamenco-picking a guitar and serenading diners, scrounging for tips.  At the end of such a fruitful morning, with a full belly of good pizza and a cold beer in my hand, I was more than happy to oblige.

Following our meal, Rebecca gave us one hour to prowl the stalls before we were to get back onto the bus.  The venders were highly aggressive to tourists nosing about their stalls without buying anything, and several members of our group got into heated exchanges with a few of the merchants (one, bitchy chain-smoking woman in particular.)

Heading out of Pompeii

My years in Africa prepared me for such open-price markets, so I was well-accustomed to this.  Keeping sunglasses on so venders can't see what you're looking at, only stopping when they're pre-occupied with some other poor bastard, being overly courteous and friendly, not handling everything, etc.  As such, I was able to browse the stalls without incident.

I picked up a deck of Roman Whorehouse playing cards - featuring art from the wall murals of Pompeiian brothels - and a flying penis statue as joke gifts for Kris, as well as a shot glass half-buried in authentic Vesuvius pumice stone.  All for fifteen euros.  Not a great price, but a fair one.  I was happy with it anyway, seeing how i had a lot of euros left and I had to burn through them before flying out of Europe in the morning.

I don't know what it is, but I want one.

No, I'm not taking pictures of trees.  That, readers, is an off-shoot of the infamous Appian Way - Rome's primary road system running throughout the Italian peninsula

Dogs!

More dogs!

Our shopping done, we got back on the bus and set off for Rome.  Along the way we finished Gladiator, napped and enjoyed most last look at creepy-as-hell Vesuvius as we retreated from under its threatening reach.

Farewell, Vesuvius

When we got back to the Hotel L'Ovva, we said our farewells to our faithful driver, Andrea.  I had to sprint up four flights of stairs to my room in order to retrieve his tip money envelope, but was fortunate enough to hand that to him before he drove off.  That order of business out of the way, the rest of the evening was wide open.

Dinner was relatively early tonight - about five - since everyone had to get up at 4am to head to the airport in the morning.  I hate fast, then grabbed a few cans of Von Wunster beer to take up to my room (as the bar was closing early, and we had cleaned them out of bottles.)

I repacked my suitcase - wrapping the fragile items like my Florentine decanter, glasses, and knick-knacks in dirty clothes - and prepared my carry-on luggage for nearly twenty hours of air travel.  I took a long, hot shower (there'd be no time in the morning, and then - all ready to roll out at 4am - I enjoyed a few beers, watched some movies on my laptop, and Skype'd with the Fam.

A pretty solid end to one badass week in Italy.

- Fín -

- Brian