The streets of the dead

The streets of Pompeii
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When I decided I was going to Europe I was a little overwhelmed by the decision on where exactly to land. A child of history I was almost hyperventilating with the choices on offer. And as any traveler knows (as illustrated by my little jaunt through Guatemala), as soon as you start feeling overwhelmed by what you are going to miss out on your decision making processes get somewhat paralyzed and your holiday turns into a nightmare. So, I reduced my 'where in Europe to land' to a simple question, 'what do you most want to see right now?'... and my answer? Pompeii.

Pompeii
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Much like the Colosseum, I have been wanting to visit Pompeii since I was old enough to read about it. A little town, built at the base of a volcano, buried by a devastating force of nature... forgotten by everything, including time. It is the story of the frailty of humans and the strength of the Earth. It is almost religious in its experience.

A little town, built at the base of a volcano, buried by a devastating force of nature

Mt Vesuvius
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I went to Pompeii alone. A train from Roma to Naples and then from Naples to the ruins of Pompeii. As I walked from the train station to the entrance of Pompeii Sacri a decidedly dodgey character approached me, his wears in his hand. 'Buy a map Miss?' he asked, 'you don't want to get lost, you do know there's a whole city of ruins in there...' A whole city of ruins. An ancient ghost town, full of empty streets and hidden alcoves... the voices of the past, a shiver of excitement traveled down my spine as I looked from him to the walls that hid the city from view. Why wouldn't I want to get lost?

Amidst the ruins
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And get lost I did, for hours I walked down empty streets, finding hidden grotto's with re-established gardens (somewhat disconcerting as you can imagine... walking through ruins into a well maintained garden), vibrant fresco's and empty earthen jars, shop fronts, water fountains and silence. It felt as if I were truly alone, walking these streets, from one house to the next, searching for that piece of history. Off to one side I stared through an open doorway into a strangers house. The ceiling had long ago collapsed and his entrance room was bathed in sunlight. In the center stood a single table made from stone. Around it only rubble and decay. As I stepped back from the doorway to the center of the cobblestone street I felt the urge to turn. And there, standing in the midst of the dead city, I saw that which had killed it, Vesuvius. Its steep slopes drawing your eyes up onto its crater, stark against the blue of the sky.