Sunday, May 12, Mother’s Day in the Ruins - Herculaneum

A Herculaneum fresco of Io and that randy shape-shifter, Zeus

Herculaneum, mid-way between Naples and Sorrento (the ruins are on the edge of a town, Ercola) is fronted by a beautiful public park, a six-block walk downhill from the train station. I took the Circumvesuviana train from Sorrento—crowded and dirty, it’s still the fastest way to get there. It was my plan to spend an hour or two at Herculaneum, then return to Pompeii (between Ercola and Sorrento) for the rest of the day on the way back. 

A delicate fresco in a bedroom

Herculaneum—a wealthy town much smaller than Pompeii with walking paths instead of chariot-wide streets--was hit by the volcanic gas cloud, ash and debris some hours after Pompeii, when the wind changed. Equally unprepared for the sudden onslaught of the six-mile high eruption of Vesuvius (ultimately releasing a hundred thousand times the thermal energy unfettered by the nuclear bomb the US dropped on Hiroshima, Japan at the end of WWII), many of the town’s inhabitants rushed to the sea to try to escape in boats; more than 300 skeletons were found in the boathouses on the shore. 

The people on the beach were overcome by superhot gas that cooked their internal organs instantly—those in the boathouses were not so lucky; the cloud of gas and ash--the pyroclastic flow—suffocated them.  I got the audioguide, and it was so good I ended up staying for four hours, and was completely worn out by sun and throroughly delighted by the wonderfully preserved ruins, the barking frogs in the pond that marked the former seashore, and the incredible mosaics in the women’s baths.

How about a snack at the Tasmanian Devil Panioteca?

Originally, I had planned to stay in Ercola, at the hotel across the street from the ruins. I stopped there for a fruit salad and freddo, a delciously sweet iced coffee with a milkshake-like consistancy (it’s pulverized ice, like a smoothie). The young waiter (with a black eye!) played on my sympathies by saying he worked two jobs and had no time to sleep—yes, I left a nice tip. I’m such a sucker. I’m glad I didn’t stay in Ercola, a working-class town that would have provided little of the excitement (and amazing views) of Sorrento. 

Graffitti outside a Circumvesuviana train station

On the crowded train back, I was standing, holding on to a post when I saw a young Italian woman, seated in the compartment on my left. She was pulling on her eye in a most peculiar way—tugging it into a slit. She continued to do it every time I glanced her way. When the train came to a stop, I wandered over there, and found an empty seat next to her; thanking her, I sat down. I later learned (thanks, Rick Steves!) that the eye-tugging meant to “watch out” or “pay attention”. I returned to the Marina Grande village and had dinner at the Five DiLeva sisters again. We were getting to be pals.

See more images of Sorrento, Pompeii and Herculaneum on my website gallery page