Herculaneum

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

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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.

Tips From the Cruise Addicts Wife