When I first discovered the writings and the later TV works of Professor Mary Beard OBE etc, Chair of Classical History at Cambridge and truly awful hair, I had already made a visit to Pompeii.

During that brief visit (with a Spanish speaking tour guide) I believed everything he said and came away wanting to know more and to spend longer on the site. Dottoressa Mary has removed the shutters from my eyes and in some way made the second visit less memorable. Armed with her book and after months of research I had plotted a route to visit seven sites of most interest to me.  We were denied access to all but one of them. Closed for preservation works was the most common reason. The Insular Occidental, house of Fabio Ruffus had been a spectacular three level building which, according to Pliny who died nearby during the eruption,  “held a wide expanse of marble terrace facing across the to the sea…… “ .  Of course it is now 6km inland and looks over the railway station, still I would like to have trod, where he had so Ilze and I sat on the steps outside and ate our pannini.

Much of what is accessible to the modern tourist is a disappointment.  The Victorian era archaeologists, devoid of funding, recreated a pastiche of buildings to attract paying visitors and upon closer inspection this is clearly apparent.  Modern conservationists  now clearly identify any necessary repair or reconstruction and I don’t think this detracts from visiting ancient sites. The truth is, much of what you now see in Pompeii is not strictly ancient. There was one site we could access in via Consulare near to the Ercolano Gate.  The tour guides and brochures direct you to a site marked Casa del Chirugo, the house of the Surgeon, due to the discovery of medical instruments including the gruesome specula featured in the Dottoressa’s TV series and on display in the Naples Museum.  Ilze and I had done our research and stood two doors to the north “where I once held a fine residence in which to spend the last days of summer” Cicero.  My unremarkable and unmarked ruin made the hair stand up.

Cicero had passed this spot.

So have Peter and Ilze.

The crowds drifted past without thought to the fact that one of the Roman world’s greatest documentary writers had been here. Forced to suicide by an oppressive Emperor and now seemingly ignored by the i-phone clutching masses. It seems you have to have been a Vestal virgin, or have left an unremarkable but still legible piece of graffito such as is found in the House of the Tragic Poet, to be worthy of a visit. Protected by almost opaque perspex it can no longer be easily read.  Still the world’s first recorded “Beware of the Dog” sign, a skilfully crafted mosaic on the floor of the entry into the peristile , can still be seen.

Herculaneum, Ercolano to the locals, is less spectacular to look at and more easily accessible and remains a more truthful archaeological site.  Buried by more than 15 metres of ash and mud it was never revisited by the survivors, because there were none.  Many people fled Pompeii in the days after the eruption began and survived to return and dig for their possessions only some few metres down.  Evidence of their tunneling survives and some remains were recently discovered in a collapsed tunnel, whether returning owners or looters is not apparent.

The photos include the famous series of storage buildings on the then beachfront of Ercolano in which the last of the residents took shelter, hoping to be rescued from the beach. The pyroclastic flow trapped them forever. I stood a few moments, uncertain as to whether these poor souls needed a more dignified final resting place.  Many clutching hands or with children on their laps perhaps it is best to leave them all together. I told them I was so sorry that no help had come for them and moved quietly away.

For these, alone, you should visit Ercolano before Pompeii.

PETE.