Today's Italian adventure was extraordinary: We visited Herculaneum.
Most people are at least marginally familiar with the history of Herculaneum (if not, the Wikipedia article can summarize it for you), so I won't go into too many specifics about its background. Younger Daughter was wavering between visiting Pompeii or its lesser-known sister city, and I'm very glad she chose Herculaneum.
Here is Mount Somma on the left and Mount Vesuvius on the right, looming over what are still densely populated areas.
This is what the mountain(s) used to look like at the time of Herculaneum.
Since we got there early, we practically had the place to ourselves for the first couple of hours. And, unlike how I believe Pompeii works, we were permitted a lot more leeway to explore the ruins closer up.
Because of this relative freedom, we were vastly amused to see this public relations video playing on a loop as we were about to cross the bridge into the ruins. The video encouraged us not to be like Bob the Bad Tourist and do stoopid things to get selfies.
Armed with this advice, we set off to explore.
Contrary to popular belief, Herculaneum was not Pompeii's poor cousin. On the contrary, it was a wealthy resort community of about 5,000 people, with the usual luxury expectations of leisurely seaside living.
The violence of the pyroclastic flow that destroyed Herculaneum (as well as the subsequent two millennia of burial) had stripped much of the cladding from the walls of the town, revealing the intricate brick work that lay beneath.
In its day, however, both the inside and outside walls were covered with concrete cladding and stuccoed over to give it a creamy-smooth appearance. Frescoes were common both inside and out, in colors bright enough to be stunning.
But even stone meant to be covered by cladding was arranged with an artistic flare. There was no other reason to alternate the colors of these archway stones except for creative pride.
What has been excavated and preserved so far – and keep in mind, it's estimated that 70% of the city is still buried – reveals a surprisingly modern place with paved streets, sidewalks, addresses, drainage, ponds, kitchens, pantries, and other conveniences. The stone construction would have allowed the inhabitants to stay cool during the hot Italian summers.
Here's a drainage pipe emerging from a wall, for example.
More drainage infrastructure.
Here, modern PVC pipe meets ancient pottery tile gutters. Hey, if it ain't broke....
These are lead pipes, either for bringing water into a home or draining it out (or both). Presumably they were buried at the time the town was alive, rather than exposed.
Preservationists had planted trees in this spot, which did indeed look like it was designed for a small orchard...
...with irrigation all around the perimeter.
Everywhere we went – everywhere! – we saw stunning mosaic floors. It felt almost sacrilegious to walk on them.
Notice the swastika pattern, which of course had no evil overtones at the time.
Many of the floors – those that weren't mosaics – were marble inlaid with beautiful and colorful stones.
Intact frescoes were understandably rare. What was interesting, though, was how the sketches for the frescoes were actually etched into the walls before they were painted. We saw many of these etchings.
In one room that had an intact ceiling, we saw the remnants of frescoes there, too. (Man, job security in Herculaneum would have been a fresco artist.)
The streets were amazing. I couldn't believe we were walking on genuine Roman roads.
And there were street signs – marble street signs – that looked astoundingly modern.
Many homes had sunken water features called impluvium ("koi ponds," so to speak) in the center of the main room.
These were clearly fed by roof runoff, with drains built into the impluvium to allow overflow water to drain off without flooding the room. This roof hole was reconstructed with original "hardware," then covered to keep rain out.
Here's a detail of a roof drainage system.
In a couple of rooms, archeologists found the charred remains of bed frames, and preservationists recreated the missing parts to show what the furniture looked like.
Oh, and cats. Let's not forget the quasi-famous stray (and spayed/neutered) cats of Herculaneum. They were exceptionally friendly.
The structures were multi-story. Often we saw stairs leading up, as well as charred wood and holes in the stone walls where a second-story level used to stand.
These are some holes where upper-floor beams once fit.
And here's the charred remnant of one such beam.
This stone archway was built, presumably, merely as a support for the stairs built over it (and, as with modern homes, offering storage space below).
This, it has been speculated, was one of several restaurants. Note the smooth counters and massive pottery jugs.
This looked like it was meant to be either a public or private water feature, a cooling spot for wading and hanging out on a hot summer day.
Some of the frescoes in various rooms were visible, giving a hint as to how gorgeous and gaudy this town must once have been. In most areas, preservationists have installed pigeon guards on the tops of the remaining cladding to keep bird droppings from damaging the walls or artwork. (You can see the fine needle-like wires sticking up.)
This huge chamber was in comparatively excellent shape. Apparently it was a study hall and library for scholars and philosophers.
It was in this room (over which a modern roof had been built to protect the contents from weather) that the true beauty of the frescoes came through.
The colors were faded and the figures sometimes warped from being buried, but they were still stunning.
This marble plaque was affixed to one wall, and at first I ignored it because I genuinely thought it was as modern Italian sign. Nope. It was the original plaque outlining the room's dedication. Except for the cracked stone, it looked as if it was hung yesterday. That's how well marble holds up. (Also, is that Times New Roman font...?)
Possibly the most famous mosaics in Herculaneum can be found in House #22 (or rather, House XXII), the "House of Neptune and Amphitrite."
Look at that detail.
Above the hunting-scene mosaic were some sculptures. According to this website, these are "three theater masks: a tragic one in the center and a comic mask on both sides. Above this on the wall was a mask of Silenus, a Roman god of woods who was closely associated with wine, revelry, and Bacchus."
Another room in this house had the remnants of some bas-relief carvings, shielded under plexiglass.
Imagine seeing these in their glory days.
Some more huge clay pots – another restaurant?
And another?
Outside, we saw some salvaged statuary, including these two pieces featuring deer being taken down by dogs. The subject was bloody but the detail was amazing.
Aaaaand there was this playful statue. Hey, when it came to bodily functions, apparently the Romans had no modesty ... especially if they took the time to make a statue of some dude answering nature's call.
Some more bas-relief sculptures.
Within this impressive room (with paint still visible on the columns)...
...archeologists had found some carved stone bas-relief disks, which they suspended between the columns.
This netted-off chamber gives an idea of what archeologists have to work with to uncover a room. Essentially they're carefully removing solid rock many feet deep, no easy task.
In fact, this photo shows just how deep the town was buried – under dozens of feet of volcanic mud.
For this reason, it's understandable that steel braces and clamps are sometimes used to support crumbling infrastructure.
The thing is, Herculaneum is nowhere near fully excavated, as sample tunnels have proved. It's speculated that only 30 percent of the town has been uncovered.
However the buried parts all reside underneath the modern-day suburb of Ercolano, so a full excavation will likely never happen.
We saved the most sobering and poignant sight for last: The boat houses. These vaulted stone chambers were once at beach level and used to shelter fishing boats.
We had glimpsed them from above at the beginning of our excursion...
...and noticed something grim and disturbing inside: Skeletons. Many, many skeletons
When we descended to that boat house level, it became even more poignant, because a huge number of these bones belonged to young children. We also saw one skull belonging to a dog, doubtless a beloved pet.
Later, we saw an interpretive sign in the nearby museum that indicated these skeletons were, in fact, resin replicas (probably a good thing, lest macabre souvenir-hunters start chipping them out). The genuine skeletons were excavated and taken away for study.
But that doesn't negate the sad fate of these people. Evidently they took shelter in the stone boat houses to seek protection from the ash, but the stone couldn't protect them from the heat. Pyroclastic flows can produce temperatures anywhere from 500F to 1500F, so nothing or no one had a chance. Over 300 people of various ages were found in this beach area alone, not quite 10 percent of the population. Apparently the discovery of these remains was a huge shock to the archeologists, who up until this point had found no bodies at all.
Sobered by this last look at the town, we walked back up the pathway overlooking the city. And what do you know, we saw some yahoo behaving like "Bob the Bad Tourist" and getting selfies in front of the piles of (resin) bones. We all agreed this was jerk behavior.
We made our way to the museum where the artifacts were on display. Here was a shred of one of the frescoes in all its glorious colors.
Some of the unearthed treasures had surprisingly modern looks. Here is an iron pot and pan:
And hey, even the Romans got splinters and needed a good pair of tweezers.
What I found most interesting were a number of rings that bore a startling resemblance to my wedding ring, such as #3 below.
My ring is on the left; the Herculaneum ring is on the right.
I like to think my taste in jewelry is "classic." I guess this proves it.
We took a quick tour through the gift shop, where I wasn't altogether surprised to see colorful replicas for sale of the statue I'd photographed earlier. I guess I wasn't the only one who found it amusing.
Otherwise, this is a 10/10 on a scale of unbelievable marvels to see.
After we left Herculaneum, we were all starving, so we stopped at a small restaurant (actually, we were aggressively flagged down by a mother and her teenage son and shepherded to a balcony table at their family restaurant – such is the way of Italians) for lunch. The menu was generous, and we each choose an item. I chose "Tortellini panna prosciutto e funghi" (tortellini with cream, mushrooms, and ham), which sounded delicious.
After 20 minutes of waiting, the teenage boy came back up to the balcony and told me, "Tortellini finish. Finish." In other words, they were out of tortellini. So I chose another menu item: "Lasagna penne al pesto" ("Type of pasta with pesto"), which also sounded delicious.
We waited another 15 minutes. The teenage boy brought up both Older and Younger Daughters' meals, but informed me, "Lasagna finish. Finish." I don't know why he couldn't have told me that earlier, but whatever. I waived the opportunity to order something else only to be told half an hour later that it was "finish," and instead the girls kindly shared their meals with me.
Honestly, I wasn't even annoyed, I was amused. It was just another "slice of life" thing in Italy.
Then we got back in the car, and Younger Daughter dove into another Italian slice of life, namely the insane Neapolitan traffic. She was following GPS directions to return to the main highway, but one of the critical turns she needed to take had been blocked by road construction, so instead she got sucked into a vortex of staggeringly narrow streets, often with two-way traffic, with pedestrians casually walking down the middle of the street and displays full of merchandise for sale spilling off the sidewalks. It was mobile mayhem.
At last we emerged into wider avenues and found our way to the highway. She has nerves of steel, does Younger Daughter.
We rested for a couple of hours, and then joined about nine of YD's Navy friends for an all-you-can-eat sushi dinner (where I had other things to eat, since I hate sushi). Yes, they were eating sushi in Naples. Go figure.
And that was our third day in Italy, dear readers.
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