The View from a Drawbridge

This first section is a brief explanation of my Italy blog posts, which were inspired by my 2-week trip to Italy in May, 2025. Feel free to skip this section if you’ve read it before.

Dear Reader, If you read my Italy posts in the order in which they’ve come out, it may seem as though we hopped back and forth all over the country, but I have decided not to write these posts sequentially. I want to write about the things that interest me most, as the spirit moves me. For some topics, I may even combine cities. I hope that by doing so, you’ll find it a lot more interesting than if I just give you a tedious day by day description of our itinerary, as if I were your Aunt Mabel forcing you to sit down and watch all her Super 8 films of the family road trip to Niagara Falls from 1966.

If you have any questions, comments or suggestions about how I’m approaching this travelogue-within-a-blog, please let me know in the comments below!

On or about Sunday, 24 October AD 79*, at 1 pm, Mount Vesuvius erupted, spewing ash, pumice and gasses 21 miles into the air, and releasing 100,000 times the thermal energy of the atomic bombings of Hiroshima and Nagasaki combined.  Most people know about what this did to the city of Pompeii, but fewer are aware of the fate of its neighbor to the Northwest, Herculaneum.

Oddly enough, that initial explosion did not directly impact Herculaneum overmuch. The wind was blowing the ash the other way, toward Pompeii. Yes, they had been experiencing light tremors for 4 days, but the citizens were used to such tremors. They were just grateful that these tremors weren’t as devastating as the earthquake of AD 62, which had done so much damage that they were still trying to rebuild the city.

Naturally, they heard, felt and saw the explosion, even though they didn’t get the ash and the 1-inch balls of superheated pumice that rained down for hours on the Pompeiians. At this point, all the Herculaneans got was a day full of uncertainty mixed with denial that rose closer to the level of sheer terror with each passing hour. It is hoped that many of them were able to escape during that time. Boats, including those from the Roman naval fleet, were rushing in to evacuate as many people as they could while it was safe to do so. And indeed, their port had been full of boats at the time of the explosion. The beach had been crowded with fishermen and people carrying goods into the city.

Unfortunately, even though Pompeii suffered the brunt of this catastrophic event, and even though Herculaneum had a several hour grace period, it was Herculaneum that was the first to be completely destroyed. The first of the six pyroclastic flows that Vesuvius visited upon the region during this eruption rushed straight toward Herculaneum, blasting into town sometime between 11 pm and 1 am with temperatures between 360 and 430 °F, killing everyone instantly.

When all was said and done, the wrath of Vesuvius had buried the city in 75 feet of pyroclastic deposits, including superheated 4-inch chunks of pumice, multiple layers of hot volcanic debris, volcanic mud, and lava. To date, the bodies of 332 of its 5,000 residents have been found by archeologists. Only about 25% of the city has been excavated so far, and since the rest of it is beneath the modern city of Erculano, there are no current plans to go further. If the decision is ever made to expand the excavation, it is anticipated that more bodies will be found.

It is a shame that when people speak of Herculaneum, all they talk about is the death and destruction that occurred on that fateful day. In fact, it had been a thriving city for nearly 800 years up to that point. It had a perfect port location. Even though it was much smaller than Pompeii, in the end it was a wealthier place, considered to be a seaside retreat for the Roman elite. Opulent houses abounded.

The myth is that the town was created by Hercules (who, ironically, was also said to have consecrated Vesuvius, or, alternatively, to have appeased the volcano with his superhuman powers and prevented it from destroying the region). The cult of Hercules thrived in town. The citizens performed public rituals and left him personal offerings in the many public and private spaces dedicated to him. Since Hercules represented valor and strength, the people felt that if they worshipped him, he would provide them with divine protection and prosperity. (You have to wonder if his worshipers had time to feel betrayed in their last moments, or if they wondered what they had done to deserve such punishment.)

But if you venture outside the myth, it’s believed that the first permanent settlement in this location was actually founded by the Oscan people. It was then coopted by the Etruscans, then the Greeks, and then the Samnites. Finally, albeit with strong and violent resistance, it fell under the auspices of Rome in BC 89. I’ll tell you more about their lives below. For now, let’s see what became of the area after the catastrophe.

75 feet of increasingly hardening pyroclastic deposits tend to ruin a town’s plans for functioning infrastructure and opulence. The site was abandoned for so long that people essentially forgot that it ever existed. We are not certain when, exactly, civilization took root in this location again. There is evidence of sarcophagi from the 2^nd century AD, but the whole area was ravaged by wars for centuries, so the first written records of a permanent village post-catastrophe are from the 10^th century. The town that was built over the top of Herculaneum was named Resina.

During the Middle Ages, all the towns in the area were part of the fiefdom of the Kingdom of Naples, and remained so for about 300 years. Resina’s main industries were agriculture, fishing, collecting corals, and cutting and carving volcanic stone. In the 16^th century, it also became a pilgrimage site for those wishing to venerate the Madonna di Pugliano in Resina’s parish church, and the stepping off point for those who wished to ascend to the crater of Mount Vesuvius. In 1699, Resina and 3 neighboring towns paid a ransom to the crown in order to free themselves from their status as baronial subjects. This is still considered a significant turning point in the history of the area.

After that, things sort of moved merrily along. The archaeological site of Herculaneum was finally rediscovered (sort of) in 1709, 39 years before that of Pompeii. (Actually, residents of Resina had been finding artifacts as they dug wells for ages.) But in 1709 Prince d’Elbeuf was constructing a villa nearby, and he heard about these artifacts. Wanting to fill his villa with pretty things, he decided to investigate further and commenced digging in earnest. He found many beautiful sculptures and artworks which are now scattered throughout Europe, primarily in museums. From then on, excavations (and lootings) started and stopped, started and stopped, until Pompeii was rediscovered. Since it was easier to excavate (having been covered in softer ash as opposed to hard lava), all attention was diverted there.

But again, by being rediscovered first, Herculaneum, not Pompeii, led the way. And its discovery gave impetus to the Western cultural movement known as the Grand Tour. Soon, in an odd reflection of Herculaneum when it had been part of ancient Rome, the European upper classes began building opulent villas in the area.  In 1969, upon request by the town counsel, Resina’s name was changed to Erculano, the Italian version of Herculaneum, in honor of the ancient city.

In 1995 Mount Vesuvius National Park was created, and in 1997 the Archeological sites of Herculaneum and Pompeii were listed as UNESCO World Heritage sites. And these sites really are world treasures. They are ancient Rome, frozen in time. While that eruption was a tragedy, we know much more about the day-to-day life of the people of that era because of it than we ever would have otherwise.

Despite being quite a bit harder to excavate, Herculaneum has more preserved artefacts than Pompeii does. The pyroclastic flow carbonized and preserved more wooden objects, such as such as roofs, beams, furniture, and doors, as well as other organic materials such as fruit, vegetables, bread, seeds, rope and papyrus. And volcanic mud flows then sealed off those carbonized artefacts so that we have the privilege of seeing them today.

Now, let’s fast forward to Friday, 16 May 2025. I was finding it hard to believe that I was standing there on the walkway that overlooks the site and allows you to gaze down into the ruins of what was once Herculaneum. Well not just me. Dear Husband was there too, of course.

Naturally, we didn’t expect to have the place to ourselves. And sure enough, we were treated to about 400 chattering elementary school students, each class wearing baseball caps of a different neon color, in the hopes that the children on this massive field trip would not get separated from their assigned group. (Yeah. Good luck with that. Herculaneum is a veritable warren of hidey holes.)  

It’s funny though, on my irritation meter, these kids only rose to the level of “mildly annoying”, instead of the usual “totally intolerable” that most children achieve simply by breathing the same air that I do. Maybe the cute hats helped. Maybe the fact that all their chattering was in Italian, and therefore, while I heard it, I didn’t have to waste my time listening. Maybe it was that I’ve wanted to be standing in this very spot for at least 50 years, and nothing was going to get in the way of that, not even a seething horde of sticky little ankle-biters.

Equally funny was this feeling I was getting that ought to have its very own word. It’s that moment when you actually see something for the first time that you’ve wanted to see for decades. You’ve seen it in pictures and in documentaries, and you know it’s not going to be the same as you’ve imagined, but you’re still a little surprised that it’s not the same.

It had already happened to me several times in Italy (and in other parts of the world as well), and it would happen to me several times more before we flew back home. The primary thought is… “Wait. I thought it would be bigger!” (Spoiler alert: The Mona Lisa is smaller than your average desktop screen. I may never get over that shock from my trip to Paris.) But that tiny bit of disappointment is bathed in such a tsunami of “Oh my God, I can’t believe I’m here,” that it barely flavors the emotion. Then, throw in a cup of awe, and a dash of admiration for the ingenuity of Man or the power of Nature (depending on what you’re looking at), a spoonful of feeling weak in the knees with the enormity of the occasion, and about a gallon of trying not to jump up and down in giddy extasy so as to avoid being thrown out of the venue before you get to experience it, and that, that, Dear Reader, is what I was feeling while standing on that overlook.

Hercu-freakin-laneum!

Getting an overview before heading into the site was quite wonderful, because it gives you a sense of scale, a sense of the town as a whole. You could imagine people going about their lives, running errands, going to the theater, working, and doing all the things one does in your average town. In Pompeii you see little bits of overviews here and there, but never the whole site. Pompeii makes you swallow it street by street, phallic symbol by phallic symbol. (Cough.)

I also loved that in Herculaneum, in the places where lawns and gardens still grow, they’re neatly groomed as if people are still there, and still house-proud. That was a nice touch. I could imagine people tending their gardens, and I tried not to think too much about the fact that those garden-tenders would most likely have been slaves.

It was kind of odd seeing the modern city coming right up to the very edge of the site. Many residents of Erculano must look out their windows and into the windows of neighbors who are long gone. Does it seem like ghosts roam the site at night? And I’m sad to say that some of the contemporary homes, at least on the outside, look just as run down as the ruins. It often took me a second to figure out where Herculaneum ended and Erculano began. (The laundry drying on the balconies was a good clue, though.)

Going to Pompeii first (I know, I know. I haven’t blogged about that yet. I told you I wasn’t going to be going in order.) allowed me to appreciate Herculaneum’s setup even more. It was really well thought out, and was kept in better shape.

I think, if I lived in Ancient Rome and by some miracle, I was well-to-do enough to have choices, I’d have chosen to live in Herculaneum over Pompeii. It just has a much more laid-back vibe. And the art was spectacular.  But maybe I am reading too much into the fact that the site’s curator seems to be vastly superior.

The museum for the site is right by the entrance, and I suggest that you visit it first, even if the site seems like it’s calling your name. Some of the best sculptures and bas reliefs that you see exposed to the elements onsite are, for the sake of preservation, replicas. The originals, in all their glory, can often be found in the museum. You also get to see a lot of the minutiae that could never be displayed in situ for fear of being lost. The museum has everything from delicate surgical instruments to stacks of coins that were found behind shop counters to tiny, delicate, filigree jewelry.

I also appreciated their display of miniaturized versions of the furnished rooms the archeologists unearthed, arranged exactly as they had been. It really gave you the sense that people had lived there. They warmed their feet at braziers, worshiped at house shrines, cradled their babies, and sat down to a good meal, day after day.

As you leave, you’re treated to rows upon rows of amphorae found scattered across the site. Romans drank a lot of wine, used a lot of olive oil, and put quite a bit of garum (fermented fish sauce) on their food. (As to that last, there’s no accounting for taste.)

Now that you’ve experienced the museum, you’ll have an easier time imagining what the place must have been like in its heyday. Off you go. (Mind, don’t trip over the rug rats.)

If the museum did nothing else, it surely gave you a sense of how much the Herculaneans valued art. And they seemed to have had excellent taste, too, within somewhat narrow range of styles. The sculptures and bas reliefs you find all over town are an indicator that they were very obsessed with the human form. Granted, the artworks often depicted Gods in human form, but still, while their knowledge of the inner workings of the body were elementary at best, they definitely knew what the hip bone was connected to, and beautifully so.

And the frescoes were absolutely breathtaking, even if they did all seem to adhere to the same color palette. Ancient Romans loved their ochre. But the intricacy, the fine detail… it’s a talent that isn’t often seen being employed on the average modern-day household wall, I’ll tell you that. And it’s a pity, too. It adds a certain something.

I was obsessed with the mosaics. The fact that they’ve managed to hold together for centuries, after all they’ve been through, is remarkable. And they used such a variety of materials that came from the far reaches of the empire. Often, dark hallways or alcoves would have white bits of tile here and there, to reflect what little light there was, in order to make it easier for you to roam about in your roman sandals without stubbing your toe on the nearest pillar. It’s quite obvious that they put a great deal of thought into their designs.

And take a look at this one, below. The waves in it aren’t an optical illusion. There have been so many earthquakes over the years that this particular floor has settled unevenly, into peaks and valleys, and the mosaics moved with it. And yet the design, and the tiles themselves, remained intact. That tells you a lot about the craftsmanship. These mosaics were made to last. And I’m quite sure the artisans had no idea the amount of wear and tear they would experience. How often do you see that level of pride in one’s work, and attention to detail, today?

I can’t stop singing the praises of the site design. Unlike Pompeii, it offered plenty of opportunities to sit down and take a breather. My aching back appreciated that. But they took it a step further. There are three spots designated for nothing but that type of break. I’ll describe my favorite. About 2/3rds of the way through the site, you’ll see a sign that points you toward the Garden of Idleness and Leisure. Do not miss it.

You walk down a long narrow path, away from the crowds, to an area with an increasingly calm and quiet vibe, and toward the end of the path you start seeing quotes.

“Only those who devote their time to wisdom know idleness; only they live.” -Seneca

“To do nothing at all is the most difficult thing in the world, the most difficult and the most intellectual.” -Oscar Wilde

“Idleness is the beginning of all sins and the crowning glory of all virtues.” -Franz Kafka

After those quotes relieve you of all anticipated guilt, you hang a sharp right, into the garden of what used to be one of Herculaneum’s nicer homes. It’s surrounded by low walls, and is full of pomegranate trees. Upon entering, you see a sign that says, “Entrust your thoughts to the pomegranate tree.”

There’s a rack full of folding chairs, and you can take one, as long as you put it back when you’re done. There’s also a Little Free Library of sorts. It looks like a glass phone booth, and it’s lined with shelves. The books and magazines are about archeology or architecture or the flora and fauna of Italy. There are also many children’s books. Check out our brief video of the space if you want to get the general vibe:

We sat in the shade, and DH instantly fell asleep. I gazed up at the sunlight dancing through the leaves, which were rustling in the breeze, and enjoyed the birdsong. It also gave me a chance to muse about some of the more interesting things we had encountered that day.

For example, we saw a lot of the charred wood caused by the pyroclastic flow which had then been preserved for centuries by the mud.

But when we came upon this display, enclosed in glass, at first I didn’t know quite what to make of it. It looked like a gigantic brain, or a mass of worms, or something. What was so special about it?

 I’m so glad I got close enough to find out, because it had to do with a subject that is very near and dear to my heart: libraries. It turns out that what I was looking at was charred papyrus scrolls, and it was part of the collection that was found in what is now called the Villa of the Papyri in Herculaneum. This, Dear Reader, is the only surviving library from antiquity that exists in its entirety.

I know what you’re thinking. Look at the state of it. But according to Wikipedia, there have been ongoing efforts to read these scrolls, often with disastrous results, but as technology increases, scientists are meeting with ever increasing success. The whole library appears to consist of Greek philosophical texts. There are more than 1800 of them, so far, and it is suspected that there’s a whole lower level that has yet to be excavated.

This is an exciting discovery, because other ancient texts that have been found elsewhere often cite sources that we’ve been unable to find, so it would greatly add to our knowledge base if copies of some of these original sources existed in this library. Some of these sources were written by authors from Herculaneum, so this library would be the perfect place to find their work. One important piece of information already learned from these scrolls was the location of Plato’s burial place. That’s amazing.

Also, I don’t know what I find so comforting about Roman architecture, but I’ll take pillars any time you want to give them to me. They’re so grounding, so supportive, so solid. And I love how the city had artistic touches everywhere you looked. They even hung discs with various symbols in their courtyards. I had never seen that before in an archeological site, so it never occurred to me, but of course, why wouldn’t they suspend things, just like we do?

We got to walk inside what was once a gigantic swimming pool. In the middle of the pool was a serpent-like, five-headed hydra statue, formerly painted red, that would shoot water out of its many mouths, that you’d have no choice but to swim past. I, personally, would find that unsettling. And there were tunnels to other chambers.

This pool was probably quite spectacular in its heyday, if you try not to think of the fact that they didn’t exactly use chlorine in the water, and everyone, regardless of their health, bathed in those waters frequently, and they did not use soap. Rather, they used olive oil which they applied and then scraped off. So, eeeew, on so many levels.

And we talk about capitalism as if it is an evil that has cropped up in recent centuries. In fact, it was alive and well in Herculaneum. There was a market, and there were shops everywhere. Bakeries, even corner fast food places with counters that had containers that must have held various types of food and drink that you could step up and order to go. Often, archeologists would find piles of coins behind these counters. Herculaneum had a thriving economy. They even advertised their products on the walls.

But all this talk about what life was like in Herculaneum is all well and good, and as much as I probably would have enjoyed living there (if I had no other era to compare it with in terms of health and hygiene), in the end, you can’t escape the fact that it is a place of death. And I mean that literally. Because the last thing you see before you leave the site is the shoreline.

Needless to say, the waterline has receded quite a bit over the centuries, so now, instead of water, what you see is the 75 foot wall of Vesuvius detritus instead, but still, this is the shoreline. The shoreline is what made Herculaneum so appealing as a resort town. It was lined with alcoves where the fishermen could store their boats. On the city’s last day, this would have been a chaotic scene. Boats coming and going, people fighting to be one of the next to be rescued.

For decades, archeologists were baffled by the fact that they had only found 32 bodies in Herculaneum. Why weren’t there more bodies? Yes, as I said, they had a “grace period” to escape, but surely not everyone managed to do so. So where are all the bodies?

In 1980, quite abruptly, archeologists found out where the bodies were. 300 more were discovered all at once. They had run down to the shoreline, hoping for rescue. As they waited for the salvation that would never come, they huddled together, along with their most prized possessions, in the boat alcoves. They crammed in, sometimes 3 people per square meter. The boats stopped coming when the thick, black, ashen cloud of Vesuvius, streaked with lightning, descended down to the Bay of Naples.

How long were the people huddled there, feeling helpless and terrified? We will never know. But we do know that when death finally came, it was instantaneous, as thermal shock tends to be.

I suppose a quick death is a comfort, but as I walked from alcove to alcove, gazing at the exact replicas of all those skeletons who had once been desperate people, I couldn’t help but say, “I’m so sorry” in each one. Because no one should have to die like that. It had been an amazing day, but ending it like that made me walk away feeling thoughtful and undeserving of my superior fortune.

I didn’t expect to say this, but if you are ever in the area, and only have time to visit either Pompeii or Herculaneum, I’d recommend Herculaneum without hesitation. It feels more real, as if you expect to see a resident turning the corner and walking past you at any moment. And the site is smaller and has more places to rest, so it’s not a long, painful slog. And the frescoes and mosaics seem more vivid and intact.

When we drove back to nearby Torre del Greco, where our lodging was, it felt good to be “home”. It’s very much a working class neighborhood, and it is Erculano’s next-door neighbor. And yet, despite being so close to a major tourist draw, it was one of the few places in Italy where people did not speak English at all, and that made for some interesting exchanges. But they were pleasant and accommodating, despite clear signs of a Mafia presence.

After experiencing Herculaneum,  I looked at Torre del Greco, with its densely packed houses, with fresh eyes. I looked up to see Vesuvius, an active volcano, looming over it, and it gave me pause. There is nothing to stop Vesuvius from blowing its stack again.

In fact, Vesuvius has erupted at least 39 times since the catastrophic eruption that destroyed Herculaneum in AD 79. None of the subsequent eruptions were as destructive as that one, but the most recent eruption lasted for more than 30 years, and finally ended in 1944. Vesuvius is the most closely monitored volcano on earth, and extensive evacuation plans are in place, but a lot can change when everyone panics at once. There is only one major freeway in the area, and it skirts the volcano. And there’s always a hesitation about giving evacuation orders. Too soon, and you might face the backlash if you’re mistaken. Too late, and you might face the backlash if thousands of people are killed. Would you want to make that decision?

According to Wikipedia, “Vesuvius is the only volcano on Europe’s mainland to have erupted in the last hundred years. It is regarded as one of the most dangerous volcanoes in the world because 3,000,000 people live near enough to be affected by an eruption, with at least 600,000 in the danger zone. This is the most densely populated volcanic region in the world.”

I can see why people would want to live in this gorgeous, temperate area. It’s a lovely place, full of good food, close to both water and mountains, and has an abundance of things that enhance one’s quality of life. But then I look at that mountain, and I think… no. Not the most rational choice for a home base in the world. At least the ancient Romans had an excuse. They had no idea how powerful this mountain could be until it was too late.

But now? What about now?

*Until very recently, everyone believed that the eruption happened on 24 August AD 79. The only surviving testimonial from a witness, Pliny the Younger, seems to have said as much. But given the autumnal fruit and vegetable material being found at the two sites, and the fact that many of the corpses were wearing warm clothing, and that our current calendar is different than the one that existed at the time, it is now believed by most scholars that it actually occurred on or about 24 October, and that Pliny the Younger’s letters had been copied hundreds of times over the centuries and certain errors, such as that of the interpretation of the date, had crept in.

Sources:

• Wikipedia–Herculaneum
• Wikipedia–Herculaneum Papyri
• Wikipedia–Ercolano
• Wikipedia–Mount Vesuvius
• Wikipedia–Torre del Greco
• Wikipedia–Eruption of Mount Vesuvius in 79 AD
• Hercules in Pompeii The Hero Who Shaped Ancient Cities
• 7 fascinating facts about the Vesuvius volcano and its history
• Archeological Park of Herculaneum (FASCINATING site! Highly Recommended!)
• What is the World’s Most Closely Watched Volcano?