Guest Blog from Deb Graham author of Tips From the Cruise Addicts Wife.
This was Day 8 of our Grand Mediterranean cruise. Our private tour started in Naples, and moved
to Pompeii, then on to Herculaneum . Both cities were destroyed by the eruption
of Mount Vesuvius in 79AD, but destroyed very differently. Herculaneum was buried under deep volcanic ash,
not the pyroclastic flow that took out Pompeii. This caused the damage to be
very different. The searing heat
preserved thick wooden beams and houses, which are still there and still
visible, but they were instantly turned into carbon-based charcoal by the
volcano. Pompeii was barren; Herculaneum had a more lifelike atmosphere.
Just months before our
visit, the most emotional part of our entire trip was uncovered by
archaeologists, and a puzzle that had gone on for all those centuries was at
last answered.
I was startled when I saw Herculaneum for the first time. It’s
an obviously ancient city, right smack dab in the middle of the modern city!
Blocky apartment buildings with laundry flapping out their windows, perched on
the very edge of Herculaneum, which sits in a wide pit, mere feet from the
modern traffic above. Startling contrast!
It was apparent that the modern buildings were constructed before the
ancient ruins were found, and equally obvious that the ancient city extends
much farther than excavated parts.
Imagine living on top of 2800-year-old ruins!
Our driver shrugged, and said it’s very common to find
evidence of ancient people. Just last
month, Vincente explained, where a new train station construction began down by
the port, an ancient Roman cemetery was uncovered, along with two beautifully
preserved wooden boats, over 1500 years
old. Roman coins are very common and can
be found almost anywhere one digs deep enough in Italy; only last week a big crate
of gold coins was found, buried by some gladiator who never made it back to
reclaim them. They had not been valued
yet, but Vincente’s eyes were round as he told about the find.
As we explored the ruins of Herculaneum, I felt overwhelmed. I
am an American; America is very young country. We simply do not have any
ancient sites in America to compare with these ruins.
We had hired a walking guide in Pompeii earlier in the day,
but we decided to wander on our own this time. We explored Herculaneum for well
over three hours, marveling over the baths, the art, the architecture, the
amazing preservation
.
I walked the streets. I
stepped into buildings, through doorways
that had endured down the years. I ran my hand over ancient carved stone
walls. I could feel the stories in the
history under my hand. I thought of about the residents of this busy city 2300
years ago. They walked these streets, rested
under those arches. They parked their
chariots, laid mosaic tiles, painted
those frescoes. Real people shared bread, and shopped in the stores, ate in the restaurants, ground flour at the bakery, and talked about
their days, just as we do. They chased their children and fed their
families. They worked and lived and laughed
and worried and watched the sun rise and set.
They played games and told stories.
They lived there, and 2300 years later, there I stood. I felt like part of
a larger circle as I touched the walls, saw Roman chariot tracks worn into the
stones, peeked into the public ovens.
Husband made his way down to look at the ancient swimming
pool. I was tired by now from all the walking and I decided to wait at the top
of a very steep walkway. I was content to just sit in the shade and absorb
the feeling of Herculaneum. I watched
Husband walk down a treacherous path and wander around the bottom, admiring a
statue. He disappeared around the corner
and then he came back into view, frantically motioning me to come down to where
he was. I shook my head; no, I’m not coming, I’m happy right here. He waved
more urgently.
Oh, well. Very
carefully, I made my way down, hanging onto the wobbly railing as I traversed
the steep marble stones, thinking about how inconvenient a twisted ankle would
be just now. I admired the statues, the
mosaics in the flooring, the swimming pool, and then Husband led me around the
corner, turned me back to face the arch I had just walked over ---and tears filled
my eyes instantly.
A puzzling thing about Herculaneum is that there were no
victims found as they were at Pompeii. Historians thought that all the residents had
made it out, taken to the sea, or fled inland at the volcano’s first
rumblings. Suddenly, just a few feet in
front of me, there was the answer.
Skeletons! Over
three hundred, I read later, in groups, large groups, with two smaller groups a
few paces from the others, tangled together as they died. These terrified people desperately tried to
out run the fiery hell that rained down from the volcano, fleeing to the only
place of safety they could find. They
did not die alone. They died with family
and neighbors, arms clearly around one another.
As we stood there, I could clearly envision these people,
terrified residents of Herculaneum, fleeing to the port. When they realized that the boats would not
get them far enough, or perhaps there were no boats, or maybe the water was on
fire, they retreated, taking refuge in the arched brick boat houses right there
on the docks. They huddled together with
their arms around one another as their world ended.
The skeletons were plainly visible, crouched together, heaped
as they lay, protected only by a low chain fence. They boat houses were so
newly excavated, the skeletons had not yet been examined. To be able to see them so clearly, so near,
to think of those panicked people so long ago, fleeing for their lives, really
touched me. I won’t soon forget them.
Four of the eighteen boat
houses had been opened for the first time since the volcano erupted. The coastline was moved over a mile by the
eruption of Vesuvius; this was no small event. And again, I looked at it from
an American viewpoint.
In America, had such a find been found, the area would’ve been
promptly blocked off from view. The
skeletons would have been marked, counted, categorized, numbered, secured,
gathered, labeled, and packed up in crates to be hauled away to the back
recesses of some obscure museum, not where ordinary humans could see them.
After study and reassembly, if people were ever to see them again, the bones
would be displayed under glass, not left out in the elements. To have these
authentic skeletons just a few feet from me was the most moving part of our
adventure in Europe.
