Filed under: Architecture, Art, Emergency, Italy, Mark Twain, Predictions, Preparedness, Religion, Science, Survival, Travel | Tags: art, blogging, ghosts, Herculaneum, Innocents Abroad, Italy, jim downey, Mark Twain, Mount Vesuvius, Naples, photography, Pompeii, predictions, pyroclastic flow, Roman, science, travel, volcano
“Finally we stood in a level, narrow valley (a valley that had been created by the terrific march of some old time irruption) and on either hand towered the two steep peaks of Vesuvius. The one we had to climb – the one that contains the active volcano – seemed about eight hundred or one thousand feet high, and looked almost too straight-up-and-down for any man to climb, and certainly no mule could climb it with a man on his back. Four of these native pirates will carry you to the top in a sedan chair, if you wish it, but suppose they were to slip and let you fall, – is it likely that you would ever stop rolling? Not this side of eternity, perhaps. We left the mules, sharpened our finger-nails, and began the ascent I have been writing about so long, at twenty minutes to six in the morning. The path led straight up a rugged sweep of loose chunks of pumice-stone, and for about every two steps forward we took, we slid back one. It was so excessively steep that we had to stop, every fifty or sixty steps, and rest a moment. To see our comrades, we had to look very nearly straight up at those above us, and very nearly straight down at those below. We stood on the summit at last – it had taken an hour and fifteen minutes to make the trip.”
Mark Twain, Chapter 30 of The Innocents Abroad.
* * * * * * *
Yeah, it isn’t quite that bad climbing Mount Vesuvius today. There’s now a very good path which switchbacks a couple of times, then winds around the mountain a fair amount, making for a longer walk but one which is still fairly steep, climbing the final 200 meters of elevation from the parking lot. Take a look:
Then once you’re to the top, you can walk about a third of the way around the lip of the crater. On one side, you look down into the crater, on the other out over the volcanic plains to the Bay of Naples:
Looking towards Naples.
There’s a dark patch of green surrounded by buildings directly above the corner post: that’s Pompeii.
At the top – at the very end of the public trail – there’s a little hut selling refreshments and souvenirs. And the prices are more reasonable than you might expect. But I decided that I didn’t really need either an ashtray or a skull carved out of black pumice.
Standing there on what’s left of Vesuvius, looking out over the plains below, I felt a bit melancholy. It could have just been the exertion to climb to the top. Or that I knew the trip was coming to a close. But looking out over the misty cities, it was easy to picture another eruption. There are millions of people within potential reach of the volcano. Naples – a city of some 4 million – is conceivably at risk. In the immediate area around the volcano some 600,000 people are subject to possible pyroclastic flows. Current scientific models indicate that there would probably be two to three weeks of warning before a serious eruption, but no one is entirely confident of that. And at best, it would take 5 -7 days to evacuate those most at risk.
* * * * * * *
We came down off the mountain, but in some sense didn’t leave it. It lurked there on the skyline as we went to Herculaneum.
I said that visiting Pompeii was “sobering,” but the primary thing that going there did for me was to help me envision what a Roman city was like.
Herculaneum was different. It was even more immediate – more “real.” That’s because of the way the city was destroyed.
When Vesuvius erupted in 79 AD, Herculaneum was mostly out of the immediate ash cloud. In Pompeii, the city was largely buried by ash and small rock debris to a depth of several meters in the first few hours. This caused roofs to collapse, and entombed people in ash after they suffocated or died from blunt trauma.
Not so in Herculaneum. They only got a few inches of ash initially. This meant that they had a lot more time for the city to be evacuated. But when the blow came to Herculaneum, it came very swiftly – in the form of a pyroclastic flow of molten rock and debris moving at 100 mph and at a temperature of over 900 degrees Fahrenheit.
Those who were in the city died almost instantaneously, their flesh vaporized in the heat. All that was left was bone.
Likewise, structures were encased in the molten mass, and it happened so quickly that wood didn’t burn – it was carbonized, turned to charcoal, sealed in super-heated rock. Roofs didn’t collapse, as the structures were filled inside as well as covered over on the outside. Eventually, the entire city was covered to a depth of more than 20 meters. The result was a city which was even better preserved than Pompeii. Better preserved, and because of that more tangible. You couldn’t help but walk the streets, enter the houses, and feel like you were in a living city, one which had just misplaced its populace. The ghosts were still close here:
Vesuvius waits.
The boathouses where the final refugees died.
Courtyard of the baths.
Temple paintings.
Temple paintings.
Temple paintings.
Carbonized rafters.
Street scene.
At the wine merchant’s.
Wood on the outside of the wine shop.
A local snack bar.
Another street scene.
Wooden screw press, now carbonized and behind glass. This was probably used in the making or cleaning of cloth.
City above, city below. (Ercolano – the modern city, and Herculaneum).
* * * * * * *
It was our last night at the villa. Usually this is something of a party night for everyone, and for much of the group this was true. But somehow I just wasn’t really in the mood.
Jim Downey
PS: there’s an excellent collection of additional images from this trip, taken by Angie Bohon, another member of the group. They can be seen here, here, and here.
Filed under: Architecture, Art, Connections, Italy, Music, Religion, Travel | Tags: Arc of a Diver, art, blogging, Greeks, Italy, jim downey, music, Paestum, photography, Roman, Steve Winwood, Temple of Athena, Temple of Hera, Tomb of the Diver, tomb paintings, Tony Wright, travel
It’s funny the connections that your mind makes.
More on that later.
* * * * * * *
Saturday, July 21, was an all-day outing. This in large part due to the fact that to get to the site we were visiting required a couple hours on the bus.
So we had breakfast, gathered our things, picked up a picnic lunch prepared for us by the villa staff, and headed to Paestum, about 50 miles the other side of Naples. But to get there isn’t simple and involved dealing with a huge amount of “beach traffic.”
I don’t have a great deal to say about Paestum itself. Which is surprising, because I found it to be a pretty damned impressive site. The Wikipedia article linked above covers everything better than I could off the top of my head, and the simple facts of the place are pretty basic: settled by the Greeks sometime around 550 BC, with a strong Oscan influence/component. The Romans took the city over about two hundred years later, and made it their own (mostly by leveling the extant city and starting over – but doing so by covering over the older city, and leaving the three major temples). The city survived until the early Middle Ages, then was lost for about a thousand years.
What’s impressive – striking, even – is that those three temples are so damned BIG. Seriously, you look at something like this:
The Second Temple of Hera.
and it’s hard to get a handle on the scale of the thing. But here’s the same structure with people in front of it:
And it’s the same with the other temples. Which were all built from 550 BC to 450 BC. That’s 2,500 years ago.
Damn.
I also just didn’t know that Paestum existed. I thought I would have to go to Greece to see such temples. That also impressed the hell out of me.
So, without further ado, here are some images to share from the site:
Temple of Athena.
Temple of Athena.
Second Temple of Hera – side view.
Another view of the Second Temple of Hera.
Temple of Hera.
Temple of Hera – another view.
Steve lecturing as we sit on the Roman ruins.
The Roman amphitheater.
* * * * * * *
We finished up on the archeological site of Paestum, and then went across the street to the museum. There’s a lot in there to see, but we were primarily there to see an incredible collection of tomb paintings dating back to about 470 BC. These are notable for several reasons, including being some of the earliest renderings depicting gladiatorial games. One painted tomb in particular stands out: the Tomb of the Diver.
Here are a series of images from the collection, starting with my pictures of the Tomb of the Diver paintings:
* * * * * * *
After spending a nice long while sweating in the museum (this is Italy, remember, and the place was without any real climate control. Hell, most of the galleries only had one or two working lights on the track lighting systems, with another 20 – 30 bulbs burned out. Given that this included the tomb paintings, which have to be somewhat light-sensitive, I wasn’t too upset.) We were free to do a bit of souvenir shopping, and this was a good place for it. Near the museum/across from the archeological site there were a whole series of shops offering all manner of stuff ranging from the worst kind of kitsch to better kinds of kitsch to some actually halfway decent items. I completed some small purchases, then went off in quest of a beer.
Several other members of the group had the same idea. And before long we had a nice chat & drink session going across the parking lot from where the bus was to pick us up.
There was a lot of snoozing on the way back to the villa.
Jim Downey
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Addendum: So, odd connections.
When I first saw the images of the Tomb of the Diver, it rattled something deep in my memory. It took me a while, but in poking around online after I got back, I sorted out what it was. This:
Now, Winwood’s Arc of a Diver came out in 1980. The album cover was the work of Tony Wright.
Did Wright see the main image from Tomb of the Diver, and so draw inspiration from it? No idea. But the discovery was made in 1968, and so it is certainly possible. And while the album cover is clearly in a different style, there are some similarities I find curious. Note the stylized human form. The depiction of the plant limbs. The general orientation of the diver.
It’d be fun to ask Wright, see if he remembers.
Filed under: Architecture, Art, Brave New World, Connections, Italy, Religion, Travel, Writing stuff | Tags: alphabet, blogging, Cumae, Greek, Italy, jim downey, mythology, Roman, Sibyl, travel, writing
I had mentioned previously that there “just happened” to be a major Roman coloseum behind our villa.
Well, no, actually, I said that the villa was built as the base for an archeological expedition to excavate and explore said coloseum.
“Our” coloseum.
But why was the coloseum there?
Friday afternoon, following a routine morning workshop and delicious lunch, we went to find out.
* * * * * * *
It started with a walk. Not a long walk. But one which came with a certain degree of excitement. Because we had to walk along about a half mile of heavily-used road. Which had no sidewalk. Which was only barely big enough for two cars to pass one another. And which was entirely on a long blind curve.
Yeah, fun.
Actually, we did it just fine, though on the way back later that afternoon two cars smashed side-view mirrors getting past us, sending bits of each flying. That was exciting.
Much too exciting. More than a few of us got a good set of scratches from stepping off the road into the blackberry bushes along the side when it happened.
* * * * * * *
Anyway.
We were going to Cumae.
Well, actually, we were *in* Cumae all along, from the villa to the actual archeological site. *That’s* why the coloseum was behind our villa: it was part of the whole settlement.
But we were going to see the oldest part – which was Greek, and dated back to about 800 BC. They came from here:
Ischia.
Recognize that? It’s the same island you can see in the first image in this travelogue. It’s Ischia. Which is where the Greeks first established a trading colony. Which they used as a base for establishing Cumae a short time later.
Here’s Ischia again – from on top of the Cumae settlement:
And here are some other images from the upper part of the settlement, which was first a Greek temple (to Apollo?), then a Roman temple to Zeus, then an early Christian basilica:
The larger blocks at the bottom of the structure are typical of Greek building techniques.
During the Christian era, graves for the clergy were dug within the basilica. Here are some images showing those:
Tight fit.
See?
* * * * * * *
Below the temples at Cumae was something quite special: the Cumaean Sibyl. Special because of the role that this Sibyl played in the early legends of Rome. The Sibyl was later employed by the Christians as having been a prophet of the birth of Christ. (And you thought that retconning was a modern idea…)
Here’s where the Cumaean Sibyl was supposed to have resided:
Looking in …
… and looking out.
* * * * * * *
As noted, the entire Roman settlement at Cumae was quite substantial. As we descended from the hill where the temples were, then past the Sibyl’s Cave, we came to the lower settlement area which contained plenty of evidence of a full set of Roman baths as well as a Forum and other structures. Here’s an overview of that area from the hill:
And here are some images from down among the ruins:
Note the terracotta pipes, used to draw steam through the walls and heat a sauna.
And here’s another shot of the coloseum, after we got back to the villa, to tie it all together.
* * * * * * *
One last thing, which explains why I titled this travelogue the way I did.
Cumae is important for one other reason, which I didn’t know until I started doing some research for writing this, and which has a very direct connection to my writing this.
Specifically, Cumae is the home of the Cumaean Alphabet. Which was a form of Greek used by those early colonists. It was adopted by the Etruscans, then by the Romans, and is the source of what we know now as the Latin Alphabet. Which became the alphabet we use today.
Jim Downey
Filed under: Architecture, Art, Connections, Italy, Predictions, Preparedness, Religion, Ridley Scott, Travel, Writing stuff | Tags: Baiae, blogging, Caligula, Campbell, Communion of Dreams, Italy, jim downey, literature, Marcus Aurelius, mythology, Naples, predictions, Prometheus, promotion, Roman, Science Fiction, St. Cybi's Well, travel, Wales, writing
Thursday morning (July 19) I spent time catching up on notes about the trip so far. At least that was the excuse I used to hide a while, spending time alone. Oh, the group was great, and everyone continued to be very easy to get along with and welcoming. But I had been spending much more time with people than I was used to, and my “extrovert batteries” were worn out. Furthermore, the rough & tumble of Naples just left me mildly depressed and feeling entirely unenthusiastic for the day’s outing.
Which, of course, set the stage for something completely remarkable to happen …
* * * * * * *
Following the morning workshop, then lunch, we loaded into the bus and headed for Baiae.
First, up to the top of Baia Castle, to take in the sights and to see a collection of sculptural items at the Archaeological Museum of the Campi Flegrei (Phlegrean Fields).
Baia Castle is your fairly typical 15th century European castle. But it offers some great views of the Bay of Naples:
One small note: you may recall having heard that the Roman Emperor Caligula once commanded that a pontoon bridge be built spanning the Gulf of Baiae, supposedly so that he could ride a horse across it and fulfill some prophecy. Well, that evidently actually happened, and said bridge crossed that middle image – going from the shore below the castle across to the port area on the left side of that picture, a distance of more than 3 miles.
The upper portion of the museum is a collection of Greek-inspired sculptural and architectural elements. But it was downstairs that I experienced something of an epiphany.
* * * * * * *
An apology to those who are just reading these travelogues for a bit of info about this portion of Italy. Because I’m going to talk about my fiction writing for a moment. If you haven’t read my current novel and have no interest in it or the prequel I am currently working on, feel free to skip this section.
This will also contain possible “spoilers” for both novels, as well as a bit of a reveal of the smoke & mirrors behind writing a novel. You’ve been warned.
As those who have read Communion of Dreams know, there are a number of scenes which pertain to one character’s dream-visions. Which, it turns out, are drawn from the dream-visions of another character in the book.
Those scenes are choc-a-block full of imagery which references Campbell’s monomyth ideas. Having them play out, be transferred, from one character to another within a dream-vision was a little bit of meta-synecdoche on my part, and was obviously meant to reference both the title of the book as well as what happens in the course of the story.
OK, that’s easy enough. Now, the prequel I have been thinking about and working on (by fits and starts) for the last several years is titled St. Cybi’s Well, and the time of the novel is today (though on a slightly different timeline/reality than our own). And the main character for that book is one of the characters mentioned just above. He is, in fact, the character from whom the dream-visions are drawn. That has been my plan all along.
What has also been my plan, but which I hadn’t quite been able to sort out how to accomplish, was that in St. Cybi’s Well much of the story will revolve around *how* this character came to have those dream-visions in the first place. This is further complicated by the fact that I don’t necessarily want the character to realize the full import of what he experiences within the context of the story – the reader should be able to draw out conclusions which the character wouldn’t, especially if the reader had already read Communion of Dreams.
OK, got all that? So, here’s what I experienced at Baia Castle: the revelation that the classical sculptures of Greek and Roman mythology could themselves be the conduit for the dream-visions. I got this by walking through the collection – not just walking through it, but by seeing the juxtaposition of different sculptures within the somewhat under-lit and under-stated layout of the museum.
See, like in most of the museums we had visited, the climate control there was non-existent. And whether in order to keep down temps a bit, or just to save money on electricity, the only lighting throughout the space was from windows along one side of the building. And the layout of the building was a series of almost cave-like ‘bunkers’ – rooms which were kinda long & narrow with a relatively low ceiling, and done up in neutral grey tones.
It was perfect. And in a moment my mind made the leap to imagery for St. Cybi’s Well. Because, like many of the different ‘holy wells’ in Wales, it dates back to the middle of the 6th century – not that long after the fall of Rome. And, in fact, the spread of Christianity to the Celtic lands was part of the cultural transference which took place. It’d be easy to tweak the history just a bit to include ‘lost’ sculpture & myth.
I felt in that moment the same way I feel now: like laughing maniacally.
* * * * * * *
We now return you to your regularly-scheduled travelogue.
The sculptural collection at Baia Castle was pretty remarkable in several regards. Here are a few of the more striking images:
Stick your favorite deity in the slot…
Prometheus. Not Ridley Scott’s version. The original.
Marble cinerary urn.
Bone box.
Marcus Aurelius
* * * * * * *
Our next stop was the huge Roman bath/resort complex at Baiae.
Prior to the eruption of Mount Vesuvius, this had been one of the premier places for the rich and powerful to gather and relax. Because of the hydro-thermal springs, Roman engineers were able to construct an elaborate complex which offered naturally hot mineral waters. Avoiding the need to run furnaces meant that the whole thing was cleaner and could be scaled *way*up from what was typical. As a result, at the height of the complex it was some 6 stories high along the hillside, and spanned 3 or 4 modern city blocks. Here are some images to give a sense of the size and luxuriousness of the complex:
Along the entrance.
Further along.
Floor mosaic. The floors are covered with a layer of dirt/dust – splashing water on the surface gives a sense of how it would have looked originally.
Another portion of the floor mosaic.
Another floor mosaic.
A sense of the size of the complex.
Note the dome in the middle distance – just one of several in the complex, used as one of the sauna rooms.
* * * * * * *
Following our visit to the Roman baths, we ventured to see how more modern Italians enjoy the seaside: we went to the beach.
Now, beaches in Italy are different than most of the beaches I’ve been to here in the U.S. Not that I’ve spent much time at beaches in the U.S. in the last twenty years.
Anyway, modern Italian beaches are highly commoditized. You pay for entrance. You pay for a reserved parcel of beach, which comes with an umbrella. You pay for a chair or chaise lounge. It is less like going to a beach than it is like going to Disneyland.
You can see this from a pic I took from Baia Castle, looking down:
Beach complex.
And here’s what it looks like from ground level (at a different beach):
Welcome to Disneyland.
Doesn’t that look fun?
But what the hell. A few hours at the beach was something a lot of people enjoy, and the bulk of the group was happy with the arrangement. Most of them donned swimming suits and even got a bit wet.
Me? No thanks. I burst into flame when exposed to direct sun. And I’m not exactly in what you might call “beach condition”. I was perfectly happy to park at the bar with a couple other people and enjoy some cold beer.
Besides, I wanted to mull over the revelation I’d had earlier. Such moments are rare, and not to be wasted.
Jim Downey
Filed under: 2nd Amendment, Politics, Predictions, Preparedness, Reason, Religion, Society, Survival, Terrorism, Violence, Writing stuff | Tags: jim downey, NPR, politics, predictions
“Did you hear about the fire in Joplin?” asked my wife, as she walked into my office. We had just gotten back from a nice lunch with old friends who were in town on business.
“Fire?”
“Yeah, this morning. A mosque burned to the ground. They had a smaller fire last month which was determined to be arson.”
* * * * * * *
Early yesterday morning I chided a friend on Facebook. She had posted that the shooting at the Sikh temple in Wisconsin was another example of hatred and ignorance. This is what I said: “Don’t jump to conclusions. This could have been some kind of domestic dispute or something completely unrelated to the appearance of the people at the temple. Wait until some actual news comes out.”
Well, when actual news *did* come out, it was clear that the perp had in the past embraced the White Supremacist / Neo-Nazi movement.
* * * * * * *
From the end of Chapter 9:
Jon thought he should clarify. “Jackie’s got the gist of it, but let me try and explain a little more completely. Sometime during the chaos of the post-flu, there were two marginal groups that got together. One was the heir of something called The Order, a reactionary offshoot of the old Aryan Nation.”
“Ah, neo-Nazis. Yes, I know them.”
“Thought so. The other group was a splinter of the radical environmental organization Earthfirst!, sort of like the far-left fringe of the Greens. They managed to create a hybrid belief system: that true adherence to God’s natural law would bring man back to a state of grace, suitable to be readmitted to the Garden of Eden. To promote this belief, they want to see a complete restoration of the Earth’s biosphere to a natural state, with humans having almost no environmental impact.”
As I’ve said before, the prequel I’m working on, St. Cybi’s Well, is set right at the time of the onset of the fire-flu.
Guess what groups are going to play a part in that story. Right.
* * * * * * *
“Yeah, this morning. A mosque burned to the ground. They had a smaller fire last month which was determined to be arson.”
I clicked open a news article on my computer, glanced through it. I shook my head.
My wife read the article over my shoulder, asked: “First the shooting in Wisconsin, now this. Why do people have to pull crap like this?”
“They’re afraid.”
“Afraid?”
“Yeah. Of change. Of not being in control. Of things which are different. You know, the usual.”
“Yeah, but it’s so stupid,” she said almost to herself.
“True. And just because they’re afraid doesn’t mean we have to give in to them, give in to their fear.” I sighed. “But it may mean that we have to defend ourselves from that fear.”
Jim Downey
(The travelog I intended on posting today will be delayed. Sorry.)
Filed under: Architecture, Art, Italy, Religion, Society, Travel | Tags: art, blogging, colosseum, Italy, jim downey, Pompeii, Roman, travel, volcano
I am not an archeologist. I was not trained as an archeologist. I do not think like an archeologist (as was pointed out in this review of Communion of Dreams). As a result, it is difficult for me to look at fragmentary building foundations, or bit & pieces of walls, and envision a complete building. Extrapolating from that, it is even more difficult for me to envision a complete Forum, let alone an entire city. Particularly in Rome, all the subsequent over-building of the last 2,000 years made it all but impossible for me to really picture what a Classical-era city would look like.
Pompeii changed that.
* * * * * * *
First, a brief refresher of what happened to the city of Pompeii in August of 79 AD is probably in order. (Yes, there are plenty of books and documentaries which cover this ground. And for an excellent and fairly short synopsis, I highly recommend Ann Pizzorusso’s new 4-part series, which can be found here: Pompeii – The Last Days. Seriously, Ann explains some fairly complex science in terms anyone can understand – a real skill I respect greatly.)
See this?
Mount Vesuvius as seen from the Forum of Pompeii.
That’s Mount Vesuvius, as seen from the Forum at Pompeii. It is currently 4,203 feet (1,281 meters) tall.
Take a look at that picture again. There’s a peak off to the left side of the overall mountain. That is the current cone of the volcano, and the height today measures to that point.
But if you extend the slope from the right, and the slope from the left, up until they would meet, that would be some 3,000 feet higher. That’s where the volcano used to be, before the eruption of 79 AD. It is estimated that during the course of the eruption the volcano lost something on the order of 1.5 cubic miles of material.
*That* is what happened to Pompeii (and Herculaneum as well as a number of smaller towns in the area). That material was deposited over the surrounding area as a combination of ash, rock, and pyroclastic flows.
Pompeii was first subject to heavy ash and debris falling from the sky. Some of this material was incendiary. All of it was heavy (well, when you get a couple meters of such material, it adds up). Roofs caved in, buildings collapsed. Toxic gases settled into lower areas, suffocating people. This was the first phase of the destruction, and lasted some 12 to 18 hours, tapering off towards the end enough that many of the survivors in the city were able to seek their escape.
Then a series of pyroclastic surges hit the city. The first couple seem to have been unable to break through the city’s walls on the north side. Subsequent ones flowed over the walls, blasting through the city of 20,000 in a minute or two. Anyone who hadn’t escaped died very quickly and very violently, basically being vaporized. Buildings which still protruded above the massive ash & pumice blanket were blasted away. People who had died and were buried by the ash were now sealed in by the molten rock of the pyroclastic surge. Hence the existence of the ‘body casts’ created by pouring plaster into voids discovered during excavations. Like this one, in storage amongst a bunch of amphora:
* * * * * * *
I said that visiting Pompeii allowed me to envision what a Classical-era city looked like. In part that is because the way the city was buried meant that there is much more of it left. The buildings aren’t just foundations and fragments (though they’re hardly complete). More importantly, the city hasn’t been over-built by generations of people who were re-inventing it. You get to see exactly how the city looked as a working city.
And, curiously, adding in thousands of tourists (the city get some 2.5 million visitors annually) actually made it easier for me to think of it as a living, working city, not just ruins. You’ll see what I mean in the following selection of pictures. Rather than try to give a tour of the city, I’m just going to select a good sample of the images I took, add some brief captions, and go from there.
* * * * * * *
Avenue of private tombs, outside the city walls.
Gate into the city. Part of Vesuvius is visible in the background.
Exterior of the colosseum at Pompeii.
Another portion of the exterior.
Interior of the coloseum. This would hold some 20,000 people.
Entry space of a small townhouse/villa. Partial plaster and pigment on the walls.
Painting under the portico of a small townhouse/villa.
Another portion of the portico of that townhouse/villa.
Small decorative image painted directly on the wall of this townhouse/villa. Not unlike how we put up framed images in our homes and offices.
Another small image.
A typical major street.
Another city street, this one with wagon wheel ruts from heavy use.
Interior of a temple courtyard.
Large temple near the Forum.
Large temple near the Forum.
Large temple near the Forum.
Major buildings along/adjacent the Forum.
Major buildings along/adjacent the Forum.
Major buildings along/adjacent the Forum.
A bakery. The small free-standing stones in the background is a grain mill. The serving counter with embedded pots – which probably contained fast-food munchies of some variety.
Another bakery (these were all over – about one per block). Note the larger grain mill and oven in the background.
Looking down on the Villa of the Mysteries. The roof is modern, but the support columns are original.
Villa of the Mysteries columns from ground level.
Inside the Villa of the Mysteries.
Entryway to the root cellar at the Villa of the Mysteries.
Oven at the Villa of the Mysteries.
One of the mosaics at Pompeii.
Another of the mosaics still there.
* * * * * * *
We spent the whole day there, with a break for a picnic lunch sitting on the steps of a large temple, feeding the local pigeons and stray cats along with ourselves.
It was a good day. A sobering day. Walking in the ruins of an empty city – and I did come to think of Pompeii as a real city – was enlightening. Henceforth it was much easier to “see” the fragmentary Classical ruins as complete buildings.
But perhaps just as importantly, it was also easier to start to envision complete buildings as future ruins. More on that, later.
Jim Downey
Filed under: Architecture, Italy, Religion, Society, Travel | Tags: blogging, colosseum, Hades, Hell, Italy, jim downey, Lake Avernus, Pozzuoli, Roman, Sibyl, Solfatara, travel, volcano
Monday morning, most of the group was in class after we took our communal breakfast in the villa. I decided to explore a bit around the villa, spend some time catching up on notes from the trip. From those, the following:
“The countryside is all I’ve expected; a riot of color & aroma. Roosters crowing, dogs barking. The villa where we’re staying is classic – overlooking the Tyrrhenian Sea and the north end of the Bay of Naples. The beach is maybe 1k distant, and can be seen from the villa. On the grounds is a fair-sized colosseum (amphitheater) which is slowly being excavated.
“There are layers upon layers of fruit trees, grapes, tomato & other common garden plants. Everything is a jumble which is almost but not quite out of control. In this it seems to be a perfect reflection of the local people and culture.
“I’m sitting at a quite suitable old concrete ping-pong table. It is under a metal-roof shed/shelter which has a concrete pad floor. In one corner sits an old grape/olive press which would probably be serviceable with a little work. In another corner is a masonry wood-fired oven which is probably at least as old as the villa, but which is clearly used regularly. Around the edges of the slab potted plants seem to almost be an afterthought. Two small motorcycles and a rickety wood-slat bench complete the scene.”
* * * * * * *
Also from my notes:
“A note on lunch: a ball of fresh Mozzarella di bufala campana the size of a small person’s fist. Nice, thick, tomato slices with basil leaves, fresh corn cut from the cob, four green olives, lettuce. Simple, all local, delicious and a nice counterpoint to all the pasta we’ve been eating.”
* * * * * * *
After lunch, we headed out for our first series of site visits in the country.
The first thing I noticed is that the geography was decidedly that of a volcanic region. In this, it reminded me a lot of New Zealand. But where New Zealand still has a lot of rawness to it, this is an area which has been settled and worked for thousands of years.
In the course book put together for the teachers (Steve gave me a copy) there was an interesting article by Ann Pizzorusso on the geology of the area. I had the pleasure of meeting Ann a few days later. She’s an interesting person – a geologist who has also become a scholar of the Italian Renaissance. While I couldn’t find the specific article I read, she has done a very nice series about the geography of the area which is available online. Here’s a brief excerpt from the second one, which tied in to the site visits of the day:
Volcanoes and volcanic lakes, such as Lake Averno, Bolsena and those around Rome were all sacred places for the Greeks, Etruscans and other early settlers. Ancient man called volcanoes omphalos, after the Greek word, umbilical. They believed that volcanoes provided an entrance to the underworld; a way to connect the heavens with the world of the afterlife below. Remnants of altars and votive offerings have been found in many volcanic areas. Interestingly, volcanoes have been sacred in places and cultures that have had no contact with one another. It seems that the mystique of a volcano fascinated man from the dawn of time.
The first place we stopped was just the side of the road, not too far from the villa, in order to be able to look down into Lake Avernus (Averno in Italian). Here’s what you see:
Pretty clearly a volcanic caldera, isn’t it? You can tell by the well-defined, steep sides, the nearly perfect circle.
Look at those pictures again. See, in the second one, the way a part of the side is missing, allowing access out to the sea?
The Romans did that.
No, really. The Romans did that. Specifically, it was done at the behest of Marcus Agrippa in 37 BC. Agrippa needed a protected naval base for a little civil war he was conducting, so he turned Lake Avernus into one. And cut a canal/road through the side of the caldera for access to the sea. Here’s that canal/road from ground level:
And here, looking towards the Lake:
Yeah, once again, the simple scale of the things that the Romans did is mind-boggling.
* * * * * * *
This is the entrance to Hell:
Or, more accurately, this is what the Romans thought was the entrance to Hades, which they placed at Lake Avernus.
We went in.
And here’s looking back, a few hundred meters in:
Why did we go in? Well, because this is also supposed to be one of the locations of the Sibyl, as discussed by Vergil in the Aeneid.
And going in was a bit of a hoot, to be honest. Why? Well, the property where this ancient Roman tunnel exists is owned by an old guy who is just a real character.
OK, the tunnel itself is about 10′ high, maybe twice that wide. The floor is fairly smooth. We gathered inside the entrance as the owner handed out a wide assortment of large candles, kerosene lamps, and burning torches. We tried not to step on his dog.
Dog?
Yeah, if you own the entrance to Hades, you have to have a Cerberus, right? Right. His was a medium-sized yellow mongrel with a sweet disposition. She mostly stayed over by the tunnel wall, out of the way.
The old fellow really enjoys the sound of his own voice. He doesn’t speak English at all. But he also wouldn’t wait for any of our group who have decent Italian language skills to translate. Steve tried several times, as did others, but the old guy would just roll right over them, talking constantly. Oh, and he loved to flirt with the women in the group.
We walked in, and in those rare instances when the old guy wasn’t talking, the sound of his cane striking the floor thrummed and echoed. Drums – drums in the deep. After maybe 500 meters we came to a series of stairs/ramps which led down to small rooms which were partially flooded. This was supposedly where the Sibyl was.
I managed to step into the water with my right foot, thanks to the changing light and confusion over where the stairs ended. That must mean it’s now invincible, right?
* * * * * * *
We went into Pozzuli.
Back in Rome, there had been a chance for me to go see The Colosseum. Other members of our group did. But Steve had told me that we would be visiting the colosseum here, that it would probably not have any other tourists at it, and that we’d be able to get into the undercroft area of the amphitheater (which you can’t do at the big one in Rome). I decided to just wait and avoid the crowds.
I’m glad I did. This is what we saw:
On the floor of the colosseum.
The undercroft.
The central drain.
* * * * * * *
Then it was time to pay a visit to Vulcan.
Or, more accurately, to Solfatara, the semi-dormant volcanic crater in Pozzuoli. Fun stuff. Stinky stuff.
Solfatara is a largish area, with an adjacent camp/park for people who come to “take the air” (i.e.: subject their nasal cavities to intense sulphurous fumes). When you emerge from the campground, you walk into a white flat not unlike an alkaline desert.
Well, make that an alkaline desert which has pools of steaming, bubbling mud:
And steam vents:
And the ever-popular solfatara (fumaroles venting sulphurous gas):
Two things here amused me. One was that there are places where you can tap the ground with your foot or a cane, and listen to the hollow echo underneath your feet. Yeah – you’re walking on a fairly thin crust. And two, the warning sign about all the dangers is on the *far side* of the crater from the entrance. No, really. Take a look at that first image of the crater up above. There, in the distance, in the center-right of the image, you can see a small white square. That’s this sign:
I, and several others, collected sulphur-infused rocks to take home with us.
* * * * * * *
We left the crater, and popped into a nice little gift shop/bar across the street from the entrance. Steve recommend the place for decent prices on souvenirs. I recommend it for good cold beer.
We went back to the villa. Dinner was excellent.
Jim Downey
Filed under: Architecture, Art, Italy, Religion, Society, Travel | Tags: art, blogging, Italy, jim downey, travel
Sunday, July 15.
A travel day. But that didn’t mean we missed a couple of opportunities to be hot & miserable.
We left Rome, heading south. Our first stop was at the The Archeological Museum Lavinium. Here’s an excerpt from their website:
The opening of the town council Museum and of the archaeological area of the “Thirteen Are and the Enea’s Heroon”, made under the aegis of the Soprintendenza for the Archaeological Assets of the Lazio, constitutes the start for an integrated program of initiatives that will concur ahead from now in the insertion of Lavinium in the national cultural panorama not more restricted to the scecialist of this branch.
Couldn’t have said it better myself.
Well, OK, perhaps I could. But let’s look at a couple of pics first.
The museum is at the old location of Lavinium, which according to legend was named/founded by Aeneas and dates back to the 10th century BC. Hence our interest in stopping there, since the workshop I was tagging along with was focused on “The Italy of Caesar and Vergil.”
This was also the location of the sanctuary of Minerva and the XIII Altars as well as the tomb of Aeneas (see the Aeneid for full details). It’s an interesting little museum which mostly seems geared for Italian school groups, and has a number of great terracotta and other statues.
And here are a couple of images for my friend Carla, which tie into Minerva’s aspect of being the goddess of weaving:
* * * * * * *
We walked from the museum back to a delightful little hamlet dating back to the middle ages. Here we relaxed in the shade of huge sycamore trees and enjoyed a picnic lunch.
I particularly enjoyed this flower circle, typical of much I saw in the areas south of Rome:
* * * * * * *
We continued south, winding along the coast. Our next stop was ancient Sperlonga, where the Emperor Tiberius had a substantial villa. Here’s a glimpse of the ruins as you descend from the museum there down to the sea:
But what’s really cool (literally) is that there’s a substantial cave/grotto which was a major part of the villa complex. You can see the entryway off to left:
And here’s standing in front of the grotto.
Note the platform with the grass growing up in the center of the image. This was part of the dining platform, which was originally partially or fully within the grotto entrance (the cliff face having collapsed back further into the hill over the millennia). The water around the platform, and the water outside the short wall in the foreground, were probably stocked with fish both for farming and amusement of the diners.
Here’s a shot from inside the grotto looking out:
And one which shows somewhat how the interior had been finished off:
* * * * * * *
Above the site of the villa there is now a museum, which holds a fair number of the statues and artifacts found at the villa/grotto. Here are a couple:
Image of what the actual sculpture probably looked like.
Tile pieces from mosiacs:
And ceramic items (including a very nice platter similar to the work of Jim Kasper at Prairie Dog Pottery):
One thing I want to point out: once again, this museum wasn’t worried about climate control. It was stifling, as you can see from the wetness of Steve’s shirt as he was lecturing about some of the sculpture:
I took it upon myself to open more windows to let a bit of air into the place. The guards didn’t seem to care in the slightest.
And curiously, in addition to the artifacts from Tiberius’ villa, there were also some modern paintings interspersed throughout the museum. Which provided an interesting counterpoint. Here are a couple of images:
* * * * * * *
The further south we went, the more we ran into beach traffic. The Italians love to go to their beautiful beaches, and there were snarls of cars and motorcycles everywhere. And I do mean snarls – the general attitude about driving rules seems to be that they only apply to ‘the other guy’. So you get several cars and a motorcycle or two all trying to fit into one lane, weaving in and out into oncoming traffic (which is also likely to be spilling over into your lane), using whatever shoulder or sidewalk exists, et cetera. It’s almost complete chaos, and I sure as hell wouldn’t want to drive in it.
But eventually we made it to the Villa Vergiliana, the overseas Study Center of the Vergilian Society in Italy. Here it is:
Looks like a wonderful 16th or 17th century villa, doesn’t it? Well, in actuality it’s just 100 years old, having been built in 1912 as a facility for a German archeology team which was investigating this Roman colosseum:
That’s taken from the balcony on the first story, with the Tyrrhenian Sea in the background . Here’s a little bit closer shot:
Our home for the next week.
Jim Downey
Filed under: Architecture, Art, Italy, Religion, Society, Travel | Tags: art, blogging, Italy, jim downey, Rome, travel
Saturday: no class. Rather, the whole day was spent visiting sites.
Which meant a nice early breakfast, then pack up for a day’s hiking around.
We headed over to the Roman Forum, entering just east of the Colosseum. Down into the grounds, then left and up a series of walkways to the top of Palatine Hill. Our goal for the first part of the morning was the house of Augustus and the rest of the grounds around it. Easy to see why the emperor wanted to live there – great views, nice breeze, close to the cultural/civic/market center of the city. Some images to share:
Central courtyard of Augustus’ place.
Nice view.
* * * * * * *
From there we descended down into the Forum. It is packed to the gills with history, monuments, and tourists. There’s the site of the House of the Vestal Virgins:
A nice little thing called the Arch of Titus:
Arch of Titus.
Temple and civic building bits galore:
The Arch of Septimius Severus:
Arch of Septimius Severus.
Even the altar of the Temple of Julius Caesar where his body was cremated:
Yeah, people leave flowers still . . .
But the most curious item for me was the Lacus Curtiu. There are several stories behind this simple little hole in the ground. The one I found most compelling is the most supernatural: that a mysterious hole had opened in the Forum – the heart of Rome – and no conventional efforts were able to fill or close it. Oracles were consulted, and it was told that the city could only be saved, and the hole in the Forum closed, if it sacrificed what it held most dear. While a debate raged over whether this was gold, or artworks, or religious objects, a young nobleman donned his arms and armor, mounted his horse, and lept into the gap. Immediately, the hole closed up, and Rome was saved.
Note the marble panel image.
There was once a hole here.
The young nobleman was Marcus Curtius. I think the meaning and implications of the story are clear, and revealing of the Roman character even so early in their history.
* * * * * * *
We exited the Roman Forum, crossed the street and had a delightful lunch outdoors in a shaded courtyard.
After lunch, we stopped at one of the many simple fountains to be found in the city to fill our water bottles. These are not fountains in the sense of having large beautiful sculptures and places where you can “make a wish”, but rather in the sense of being a drinking fountain. They are simple structures, sometimes free-standing, sometimes built into the side of a building. Out sticks a metal spigot, usually with no shut-off valve. And from that springs a stream of cold, pure water. Constantly. It just pours continuously, the water splashing into a drain below. Anyone and everyone is welcome to stop, drink directly, fill a bottle or a bucket.
In this way modern Rome continues the old Roman tradition of providing safe and palatable water to all.
* * * * * * *
Next we walked a bit down the street to see what we could of the Forum of Caesar. Interesting, and some of the images are pretty striking.
But mostly, to be honest, I just enjoyed people watching. The tourists from all parts of the planet. The small souvenir and snacks/drinks sellers. The Roman legionnaires in their flashy leather lorica (mine was better, though probably also hotter) who posed for pics for a few Euros. The colorful buskers who played instruments, or sang, or did tricks with trained parakeets. Grizzled old guys hawking hot roasted hazelnuts even when it is nearly 100 degrees out, standing over their braziers, scooping nuts into a twist of white paper.
Rome is vibrant, alive, layered with people and cultures just as it is layered with history. Just stay out of the streets if you value your life.
* * * * * * *
Across the street . . . wait, what street is this that I keep referring to? It’s the Via dei Fori Imperiali, a wide, beautifully straight and tree-lined road perfectly suitable for triumphal parades, built in the finest imperial style by Mussolini in the ‘30’s.
Yeah, it keeps traffic moving. It also obliterated a couple thousand years worth of the city’s history.
* * * * * * *
Anyway, across the street – actually, a lot of it is *under* the street – is Trajan’s Forum, the last of the grand imperial fora.
It’s impressive for a number of reasons. There are the typical “rubble-filled parking lots” (Steve’s phrasing, not mine):
Park your chariot, sir?
Surviving bits of great temples:
A multi-tiered shopping complex which was hacked out of a cliff face:
And, of course, Trajan’s column:
* * * * * * *
Dinner that night was in a little pizzeria not far from hotel, which had a decor straight out of the late 1960s, with music to match. Bit strange. Made moreso by the heavy application of liquid refreshments, which might just get my vote for the most valuable thing in the city.
And the pizza was good.
Jim Downey
Filed under: Architecture, Art, Book Conservation, Italy, Religion, Society, Travel | Tags: art, blogging, Campo de' Fiori, gelato, humor, Italy, jim downey, Palazzo Altemps, Pantheon, Rome, travel
Friday (July 13th) morning for me was much as Thursday had been: get up, shower, breakfast in the hotel basement.
As I sat there, I contemplated the history of the place. Somewhere in the complex of the Pompei Theatre Julius Caesar was murdered. I looked around.
Maybe over there by the table with the juices…
* * * * * * *
Again I went walking around the area of the hotel. Noted that there was a nearby museum with a show up featuring the “big machines” of Leonardo da Vinci. Picked up a couple dozen postcards at various little stands and shops. None of which had stamps for them.
See, in Italy, contrary to most logic, the only place you can get postal stamps is from the little places called “tobacchi” you can find on occasional street corners. They feature cigarettes, candy, drinks. And usually a lotto machine or two, frequently with some elderly Italian compulsively feeding the thing money.
I tried three of these places, asking about postcard stamps for mailing the things back to the U.S. None of them had stamps. None of them could tell me what it cost to mail a postcard to the U.S., though they mostly agreed on how much it cost to mail one to another country in Europe (about $2.00).
Well, what about going to a real Post Office someplace?
Silly person – that’s where pensioners go to collect their pension and conduct other such business, not buy stamps. More like a credit union. And, of course, I could never find one open.
I gave up, took my postcards back to the Campo. I grabbed a seat at one of the small restaurants, ordered coffee, and sat and wrote the cards while I watched the merchants get the day’s business going. Worse came to worse, I figured I’d bring the cards home and mail them from here.
* * * * * * *
I met the group late morning and we all trundled off to have lunch. Today’s site visits focused on the Campus Martius, or at least what was still left of it. Which turned out to be quite a lot.
We started over by the Roman Forum, which is actually when I took this image:
The Roman Forum.
Then we made our way NW, coming to the Pantheon from the back, pausing so the group could discuss one of their Latin sources.
Reading from the Book of Tuck/Leonard.
When we emerged onto the Piazzo della Rotonda the Pantheon was off to our left side. It wasn’t until I came around to the north face that I recognized the iconic structure.
There’s a lot to say about the Pantheon. There’s a lot more that has been said about the Pantheon. Why, while I was in Italy, an item about it ran in the Wall Street Journal: A Portal to the Heavens.
A 2,000 year old building. Which has been in continuous use for all that time. Which still, to this day, has the largest un-reinforced concrete dome ever made. The next time you hear of a modern concrete structure which is crumbling, think about that.
The outside, beyond being so recognizable from the front, isn’t that impressive, to be perfectly honest. In fact, the portico is a bit of a mess. As the Wikipedia article says:
The Pantheon’s porch was originally designed for monolithic granite columns with shafts 50 Roman feet tall (weighing about 100 tons) and capitals 10 Roman feet tall in the Corinthian style.[26] The taller porch would have hidden the second pediment visible on the intermediate block. Instead, the builders made many awkward adjustments in order to use shafts 40 Roman feet tall and capitals eight Roman feet tall.[27]
“Awkward adjustments.” Yeah. That’s putting it kindly.
But when you pass through that front porch and enter the rotunda, all that is instantly forgotten. Because even when you are expecting it – even when you’ve already seen it several times (I know, I did) – entry into the rotunda wipes other matters from your mind. It demands your full, undivided attention. It is an architectural space which is the equivalent of a flow state. It simultaneously overwhelms and enhances you, focuses your entire being on the experience of that space.
Beam me up.
The WSJ article puts it well:
The Pantheon is the greatest interior in Western architecture, one where space is nearly as palpable as the forms that contain it—what isn’t there is as important as what is. This effect derives in part from the perfection of its proportions. As William L. MacDonald writes in his 1976 book on the building (still the indispensable guide to the subject), the Pantheon is a sphere within a cube. Continue the curvature of the dome downward, and you get an orb whose bottommost surface kisses the floor. Then raise four vertical planes at the cardinal points of the rotunda, capping them with a horizontal one brushing the oculus, and, with the floor, they’ll give you a container cube for the sphere.
* * *
Because of the vertical alignment of these elements, the eye is naturally drawn upward, and as it moves, we notice that the forms become simpler, more elemental. We trace a passage that gradually removes us from the specific, worldly realm below to the most abstract, universal shape of all. The oculus is many things. It is the Pantheon’s basic design module. It is an act of consummate architectural audacity. Most of all, however, it is a portal to the heavens.
The round disc of sunlight it admits draws our thoughts out and away from our immediate surroundings to the motion of the planets, and invites us to think of ourselves not as members of a particular faith, city or country, but as part of the whole cosmos.
I am a modern person, one who has traveled extensively, and seen many incredible structures. That comes with being married to an architect who enjoys travel as much as I do. And still, I found the experience of walking into the Pantheon to be almost spiritual.
Consider the effect it must have had on those who had never seen a room much larger than your average apartment. On people who had little or no understanding of the way a built space could be manipulated to achieve specific effect.
Yeah, it’d be easy to think that the people who built such a thing were like unto Gods.
* * * * * * *
After that, we cut over to the Piazza Montecitorio to see the Solare – the Obelisk of Montecitorio. This was brought from Egypt by the Emperor Augustus.
The Solare.
It’s impressive. No, really.
But still, I was happy to continue on down the alleyway to what is touted to be the best gelato in Rome. So was the rest of the group. Poor Steve almost got run over when he suggested that we leave the Piazza Montecitorio and go a block down the street.
(A note on *real* Italian gelato: I’m glad I finally had a chance to try it. A bit lighter than other forms of ice cream I’ve had around the world, yet still with a smooth quality and rich mouth-feel. I did try it another time or two, but I didn’t feel the compulsion to eat it whenever I could.)
* * * * * * *
Our next stop was the Palazzo Altemps, a 15th century home which is now part of the National Museum of Rome. In addition to seeing a couple of excellent marble artifacts (particularly the Suicide of a Gaul).
Looks like a party.
it was interesting to see some of the support structures put into place to help maintain the building itself.
Architecture retrofit.
* * * * * * *
The last site location of the day was the Ara Pacis now housed in a new (and somewhat controversial) museum built for it.
Ara Pacis.
Damned impressive.
Side panel of the Ara Pacis.
Even more impressive was the fact that the building actually had some climate control. Seriously, this was a huge surprise to me – to discover that any number of museum buildings in Italy have little or no climate control, at least in the summer. It is common to find windows completely open to the outside, no screens, no attempt to control humidity or temperature variations.
With some artifacts, this isn’t *that* big a deal. A nice marble sculpture is pretty damned stable, so long as it isn’t being subject to a freeze-thaw cycle and acid rain. But it was common to see other much more fragile items – books, documents, paintings, textiles – in conditions which made my professional side cringe.
Even more maddening, the rules about when you could or could not use camera flashes were almost totally random. And when they were invoked, it was just as likely to be when a flash wouldn’t be that much of a concern – again, when taking pictures of stone statues – while no one seemed to give a rat’s ass about extremely friable paintings.
Insane.
* * * * * * *
We hiked back towards the hotel. Somehow, we got waylayed by beers at Mad Jack’s again. But this time we were joined with several other members of the tour group. Gave me a chance to get to know some of the others I hadn’t spent much time with yet. As I vaguely recall, some “Jim Downey” stories were told.
But I might be mistaken about that.
* * * * * * *
Then showers, and a bit of fun before dinner: going to see a street performance by The Miracle Players . This summer they’re performing Cleopatra with their own personal twist on the story.
Definitely fun, and geared so that kids will love the hell out of it. Warning – unlike the locals, they actually start on time. Don’t be late, or you won’t find a seat on the church steps to sit and watch the performance.
Jim Downey
And thanks to my friend ML for sending me the WSJ story about the Pantheon. Good timing.
Communion Of Dreams 