Pompeii

I'd been before, but it was one of those many places in Italy that I was hoping to be able to show and share with Mum. I was always fully conscious of the fact that Mum would not be well enough on given days to do anything beyond being awake and so had in mind that on those days we would either simply travel and see the world through a window, or if the day was to much of a hard day, then we would decamp to a hotel to allow her the added comfort and rest that she would need. A good example of life through a window would be the Amalfi coast. As a spectacle in it's own right, in my mind it is as good, if not better sampled from the vantage of a slow travelling window as opposed to needing exploration by foot.

However, Pompeii is different. It has to be explored, lived and breathed on foot. I urge anyone who has never been not to take impressions of Frankie Howerd with them, genius of sorts though he was, and to go instead with an eager spirit to sample the unique museum that is Pompeii. Please don't pay for a guide to bore you to tears. Chasing around to follow the group whilst creating small fabrications of the truth in the hope they will ingratiate themselves into your pocket and a tip - "Yes sir, those names scribed above the entrance to the auditorium are of great Pompeiian politicians. With you being a politician sir, your name could of joined them" "Oh yes, these names above the arch leading into the auditorium are of the architects that were involved in its construction. Didn't you say you are an architect sir? That could be your name...." and so on and so forth. It always amuses me when you choose somewhere to sit and watch the world go by, the travesties you catch and hear in passing. The only saving grace being that such things were directed to Americans, who of course are well known for their shy and retiring natures and aversions to being told how great they are....

Please also don't be one of the many who choose audio guides. Attempting to sync them at the steps to the entrance, stopping and starting whilst staring at one another in silence wondering whether the facial expressions of the other are confirmation that they are hearing the same through their respective headphones. This is then normally followed by the not so subtle raised voices repeating word for word what they are hearing, again hoping for a nod, more often resulting in a "what?" Then cue repeat, and ahem, walk around them and move on.

By all means there are opportunities to read before you go, but the simple action of walking in and allowing your imagination, senses, and disbelief to run riot at the enormity of what is before you is all that is really needed. That and the basic knowledge that here, in front and all around you is living proof that life can change in an instant. You cannot help but set eyes on the perpetrator in the background. Vesuvius sat almost nonchalantly unperturbed by it's knowledge that it decimated this city below. Make no mistake, these are not some small random selection of stones as so often seen when you arrive at an archaeological site. This is a city in every essence that breathed and whose heart beat at every corner. Debates, debauchery, treachery, pots overflowing with drying herbs, freshly pressed oils, olives toppling over, ripening on the trees lining the streets, brightly dyed materials piled high on the carts whose wheels carved the grooves through the stones under your feet. Do try to ignore the philistines (read Americans) who complain at the polished surface of the streets stones being slippy, which of course is a direct result of the many tourist feet treading a path over the years, and announcing that the unevenness is a health risk and something should be done. Lose some weight and you might see your feet....

If you can, place yourself in the cooling shade of the walls of one of the many roofless homes. Sit and utilise the multitude of foreign tongues and footsteps passing by to recreate the original hum and bustle of Pompeii. The crowds heading to the Forum, the traders wares clattering in hands, sacks and carts, laughter and heated debate all recreated by rucksacks being dropped, tempers shortened by the heat leading to arguments between complaining family members who never really wanted to visit anyway. The marching tourists determined to beat the amblers, the guide groups jostling for a view between where they have been told to stop and listen.

Alternatively take refuge amongst the pillared inside gardens of the Pompeii rich. Enjoy the retreat from the maddening crowd chasing to see something to impress and wonder at the amusement of these inner sanctums hidden inside the houses before they were buried beneath the contents of the blackest of clouds. Sit inside the newly opened bath house and follow the shards of light that show you the paths of the rainwater that filled their marble baths and inhale the cool musty dense air circulating their thick walls. The oppressive outside heat a temporary memory.

Allow your eyes to indulge in the wall decorations before you. Tales painted in once vibrant natural hues of truths and fables. Decorative flowers, cherubs, charging animals, mimicked pillars and mosaics. So detailed from distance, yet belieing all the natural faults of symmetry that only come with the painting by hand and eye alone.

Walk down the longest of streets to discover the Anfiteatro. Stand in the centre and feel the mass raising from their stone seats to cheer the entrance of their champions, barracking the afflicted, a time when death was considered sport for the many, not persecution and pain for the few. Climb the highest points and once more take in the enormity of the city closed to time for centuries, destroyed and yet preserved by a single act of natures force.

The pictures do her no justice.

Away from the historical, there were some present day moments which really I feel have to be shared.

To the gentleman from Redditch who came over and in his pigeon Italian "Mi excusi" handed me his business card as pictured below and pointed at my t-shirt, gave me a thumbs up and then was shocked to saying no more and hurrying off when I laughed and said "thank you for that" in an English accent he clearly wasn't expecting. Thank you for doing something I found quite so funny and bizarre in the middle of Pompeii.

The American gentleman as follows -

"Hey man, thanks for taking our photo for us. See you've got a rock t shirt on. You play guitar?"

"Yes" said the long haired Spaniard.

"Yeah, my son here plays Guitar Hero, you know? Damn good he is to. You play that game?"

Unsurprisingly the rock Spaniard lost his English tongue and walked on.

To the lady pictured below. Congratulations on winning most inappropriate footwear for Pompeii which reminded me instantly of Mum and the likelihood that in days gone by, you would of most definitely of had a competitor/sister in footwear.

And finally to the American (I know, I know, again. I'm not picking on them, they just happen to be everywhere, and _ _ _ _ _ _ you choose) gentleman who on the way out announced to his companions returning to their cruise ship "There are probably loads of cities like this, they just haven't bothered looking for them" I could of pointed you in the direction of Herculaneum but how I wish i'd had a spade to give to you.

As Frankie Howerd said....... "Up Pompeii"

As a slight edit it was pointed out to me that it seems I am 'hating' Americans. I couldn't eat a whole one admittedly, but please, take the commentary in jest as it is meant. Or to place it in the context of when they want you to know animals weren't hurt in a film, "no Americans were hurt in the making of this post"