A Rainy Day in Pompeii

[A note to my readers: This blog post contains several images of a sexual nature. Not much more than you would see in the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Issue.] To my more delicate and pious readers, this leaves you with three choices:

1~Scroll past this post (and miss some interesting content).

2~Shelve your morals, grit your teeth and read on. See, learn and enjoy for a few minutes.

3~Report me to Florida’s Gov. Ron DeSantis.

[Pompeii, inside the Forum. The cloud-shrouded Mr. Vesuvius lurks in the distance. Photo is mine.]

Part One: Ancient Pompeii

It was August 24, A.D. 79. It may have been late afternoon because there is evidence that the Pompeians were preparing their dinner. But this August day was destined to be like no other for the residents of this resort-of-sorts, close by Herculaneum, and only about seventeen miles from present day Sorrento. Pompeii was the home to 20,000+ residents at that time. Many were wealthy merchants from Naples or Rome. We could think of the city as a sort of Hamptons, or Sag Harbor of its day. Many of the villas were spacious and well-appointed. Large open air markets were common. Fishermen sold their catches of the day. Bakers offered bread. It was a very cosmopolitan city.

Not surprisingly, it supported and allowed the Oldest Occupation In The World. It had a red-light district. (More on that later).

I’m sure more than a few people wandering the streets or walking through the Gymnasium noticed the ominous cloud above Mt. Vesuvius, about six miles to the northwest. The cloud grew to an unusual height. The next twelve hours were filled with tons of pyroclastics, terror and instantaneous death. Historians are unclear about how many people perished that day. What is known is that a great many did survive. There exists a few first hand accounts of the day.

I won’t go into the well-known details of the aftermath except for this brief summary:

The city was buried under twenty feet of ash and cinders, pumice and earth. Pompeii’s very existence began to fade into history. People knew there was a city there, but where was it? Simple excavation equipment didn’t exist. It wasn’t until 1549, when an Italian named Domenico Fontana, digging a water channel through the site found indications of the city. He obviously wasn’t too interested in Archeology because it took another two hundred years before serious excavation began. The year was 1748. A Spanish military engineer with the impressive name of Roque Joaquin de Alcubierre was put in charge of uncovering the entombed metropolis. What he and others discovered was nothing short of one of the most important finds in the Annals of Archeology.

As of 2023, only 2/3’s of the city have been excavated.

So, what was found beneath those twenty feet of volcanic detritus? There were signs of gardens, opulent (for the day) villas, fountains, ovens, storage terra-cotta vases, streets, lanes, Temples to Apollo, Jupiter and Minerva and, of course, brothels, (again, more later). What also caught the eye of a few archaeologists were a large number of empty cavities in the cinder (now turned to stone). Someone had the brilliant idea to pour plaster into these cavities. Here’s where the good stuff comes in.

When the liquid plaster hardened, the resulting casts were the victims caught in the ash fall, in the physical position they were in at the moment when the hot death came for them. Among these are a dog, a man on his elbows gasping for his last breath he will ever take, a woman protecting her infant and two young women (maidens as described in the literature) embracing and kissing as they died.

The poignancy is heartbreaking.

These are just a few examples of many more that were eventually discovered. Here are a few images to look at, contemplate and weep:

[One of only a few human casts on display at Pompeii. Photo is mine.]

[Two women in an embrace, kissing, dying. Photo: Dreamstime.com]

[A haunting cast of a man taking what is likely his final breath. Photo source: See photo.]

Moving on from the awesome casts…

As the twenty feet of burial ash and cinder were cleaned away, houses began to take shape. The frescoes appeared like a photograph in a darkroom. Many depicted scenes of classical mythology. Some illustrated stories relating how men, having too much wine, would chase the women about.

[Household fresco of dubious nature. Photo is mine,]

I promised you the X-Rated frescoes. The innocent souls may turn away at this point. No one will think unkindly of you.

There were several Red Light Districts in Pompeii. How would a man (or woman) in need of some comfort and attention (for a few denarii) of a warm body for an hour or so locate such a place? If you were a resident, you’d already know. But what about visiting merchants or sailors? The Pompeians made it quite simple.

Look for the Phallus.

[This Phallus indicated to strangers where the action was. Photo: Google search.]

What did the brothels look like? That would depend on the location and reputation. The better the clientele, the better the bed. Shown below is likely a ‘working mans’ room.

This is likely not where the high class of sex workers would ply the trade. Photo is mine.]

[A naughty fresco in a brothel. Photo is mine.]

Another common question is what would the typical prostitute charge for her services. The answer is that the average fee was two asses. Yes, I know that sounds like a joke, but an ass was a bronze coin that made up a certain part of a larger amount. A gold denarii was equal to twenty-five silver denarii which was equal to ten bronze asses. There you have it

Part Two: Our Visit

Our excursion from the Wind Star began in the rain and ended in the rain. Our tender rocked violently in the choppy seas. It took two shuttle busses to get us to the top of the cliff that defines the town of Sorrento. The ride was slow all the way. Once there, we were given little radios to hear the guide. We passed beautiful apartments and plant-filled window boxes.

We walked the streets of this very old town. The visuals were extremely fascinating and worthy of an extended examination…but we had to keep up with the guide (who was a fast walker). My personal opinion? I did not have a particularly pleasant day. The rain fell heavy, the cobblestone streets were slippery, the walk seemed endless because of the maze of streets.

And the crowds. I either had to watch where my foot landed on a slick stone or I had to dodge an umbrella. (I can’t believe I forgot my Gore-Tex). There were simply too many people…and yes, I know I was part of that problem.

But how else can travel be done today?

Here is a small sample of what I had time to photograph:

[A rain slicked cobblestone street. Note the grooves that are parallel to the curbs. These are original chariot ruts. Photo is mine.]

[The Temple of Apollo. Note the black lava altar on the white pedestal in the center. Photo is mine.]

That brings my tale of a visit to a place that has held my fascination since I was a young boy. The memory of the stories I read about Pompeii even held its own after I grew a little older and discovered truly mysterious and incomprehensible beings that I knew would share my lifetime on earth.

Girls.

Rovinj & Split: Olive Oil, Cobblestones, Thrones and Holy Bones

[The closest to Dubrovnik, Croatia that I will get on this journey.]

I’m sitting at a desk in Suite 137 on board the Wind Surf (Wind Star Cruise Lines). The level of the mineral water in a glass next to my mouse pad gently tilts, back and forth, like I am playing with a level against a wall. We’re rocking and rolling. Every few minutes the light in our room darkens. I hoped it was not a light about to go out. Instead, it’s a wave breaking with passion and violence against the portal windows. The sea is rough, very rough. I’ve eyed the little tube of Dramamine (Original Formula) more than once. But I do believe that I’ve “found my sea legs” at last. My stomach and inner ear are another another story. When I get up at night (like every man my age) to pee, I clutch at objects that aren’t there. I bang into walls and feel for handles of doors and sills of any kind. I head for a chair to regain my balance.

But I’m not sea-sick. Really. But many of my readers have already been where I am now and don’t need to be reminded of the vagaries of ocean travel. Enough of my issues. Let’s go back a few days and I’ll will tell you a few stories. I think you’ll love the sarcophagus section a lot. I did.

ROVINJ

[A side ‘alley’ off the cobblestone street. A woman writes. In her diary? A letter to her son? Husband? Daughter? She seems content and she has a beautiful quiet little space to do whatever she needs to do. Photo is mine.]

Since setting sail (actually motor power) from Venice we made for Rovinj, Croatia. I confess that I had scant foreknowledge of the little city. But as the day progressed, the beauty, the history and the architecture came to me at first in morsels, then in a wholeness that was pure joy to experience. It seems that the entire Dalmation Coast is limestone. The ancient buildings are built of limestone, the cliffs are limestone and the narrow streets and alleys are limestone. Because my lower back continues to plague me, walking uphill will likely be my life’s burden. But here it gave me a chance to sit on a step, a bench or a low wall. Sitting and twisting my back I looked closely at the pavement. Limestone has an interesting property that granite and marble lack. It gets polished with the ages. I sit and stare and the smooth almost ice like smoothness and reflect. How many sandaled Centurians from Rome walked, two millennia ago just twenty inches from where my left foot rested? How many fishermen helped to polish these stones? How many barefoot servant girls left their damp footprints on these stones? How many slaves in chains? How many regal and royal feet trod in front of me? How many booted soldiers during the Bosnian Civil War? How many Nike sneakers of neoprene worn by the tens of thousands of tourists?

Yes, how many?

[The cobbles on a street in Rovinj. On the climb to the Cathedral of St. Ephemera. Photo is mine.]

As we ascended the hill to the Cathedral, I stopped to rest. On a partly rusted iron rail fence were several pad locks with messages and names engraved or written with a Sharpie locked to the rail. I took a photo of one. It read: MITCH & SARAH. Only later did I discover that I had my iPhone set on video. So you won’t see the lock.

But I wish Mitch and Sarah the best in life. I hope they’re still in love and still together. Their lock is still intact. Are they? One of life’s little mysteries.

[The hill and the Cathedral of St. Euphemia.]

We entered the church. The silence was welcoming. I’m not a very religious guy, but I put 1 euro in a slot and lit a votive candle. It was for a flame for my family and for my best friend. They know who they are.

Behind the altar was the room I was seeking. It held the large limestone sarcophagus of St. Euphemia. This is truly a holy site for many and her story deserves to be told. Euphemia was a 4th century Christian. The Romans prosecuted these early believers. So what did they do to this unfortunate young woman? They threw her into an arena…where the lions awaited. The mural on the wall depicts what happened. Scattered about the sand were the remains of other Christians. Apparently, their faith wasn’t as pure or true as Euphemia because there she is, petting the bloody-mouthed lions as though they were her pets.

Her remains were inches from my hand. I touched the stone, polished of course, and uttered a prayer of sorts, from a flawed human who harbors a few doubts about anything I may say that would be heard by anyone.

[The Sarcophagus of St. Euphemia. Note the mural on the far wall. If you have a swipe screen, zoom in for the interesting (bloody) details.]

We left the Cathedral and made our way slowly down the cobbled street and back to the shops at the dock. I sat at a cafe in the shade sipping a mineral water. Mariam went off to buy me a bathing suit. I wrote two postcards, one for my son and one for my daughter. 

If I had a third, I would have written it to Euphemia. She was probably someone I would like to have had a conversation with. Unfortunately, a mere two thousand years separated us.

We boarded the tender and returned to the ship. Me? A little holier, perhaps.

SPLIT

The surprises that this bustling city had in store for me were not at first apparent. That being said, let’s get one little fact out of the way. This is the location of Kings Landing in Game of Thrones. Inside the palace (more on this in a few moments) is where many interior were filmed. There’s even a GOT museum. No, we didn’t have time to go there. We were on a walking tour and walking tours stop for no man or woman.

This stop is one that we chose to take an excursion. After boarding a small coach (with no bathrooms!), we were off for a half-hour ride to Klis & The Stella Croatica Ethno Village, a small family run farm that produced traditional Dalmatian delicacies, olive oil and bread among other items. 

It was in the tasting room that I failed a major test. 

[One of the most awesome Olive trees in the world. Photo is mine taken from an display on the wall of the olive farm we visited.]

I thought I knew a thing or two about olive oil. After, I can make it to a Whole Foods on 97th Street and Columbus Avenue. 

Was I mistaken. I flunked out with the first sip.

[A botanical poster of an olive plant. There is no need to know anything else about olives than what you see here. Photo is mine taken from a wall display.]

The first tiny cup we were presented with had a half-teaspoon of cherry liqueur. Different but nice. Then after a brief PowerPoint lecture about the positive and negative traits of olive oil, we were give two tiny cups of 1) An extra virgin oil, and 2) A low quality of oil referred to as ‘lamp oil’. Now this isn’t what you think. There are no petroleum products involved here. The name comes from a low quality of olive oil that has been used for centuries for lamps. This was before the use of lamp oil as we know it today. There were seventeen people from our boat that were in the tasting room. We all sipped, first the one on the right and then on the left. We were asked which one was the extra virgin and which one was not. I was among three people who chose the left sample. Of course, that was the lamp oil.

So what’s my excuse? I had mis-read the PowerPoint illustration about the desirable traits. The little girl in the drawing looked to me like she was gagging. In reality, she was coughing (a totally acceptable reaction to a very good extra virgin oil). 

Foiled again.

Back on the bus. Back to downtown Split. We removed ourselves from the vehicle and gathered on a broad and busy public (carless) plaza. We were standing outside the wall of the chief Roman, Diocletian. After a short speech by our local guide, We entered an arched gate and found ourselves inside a small town, warren-like in its maze of lanes, streets and plazas. We paused outside a very impressive octagon building. Now, this person really disliked Christianity and was not afraid to order a fair number of that group to be execute in the most gruesome manner. One of his victims was a Bishop (probably St. Dominius). He was beheaded sometime in the 4th century AD. In general, Diocletian was quite unpopular. He died at the ripe old age of seventy, he was buried in a sarcophagus in the octagonal temple. It surprise no-one that after Christianity began to be accepted by the Romans by Constantine, his stone coffin was removed (and vanished into the mists of history) and replaced by the remains of St. Dominus. 

What goes around, comes around. 

[The Diocletian Palace. The octagonal church is the original tomb of Diocletian. His sarcophagus is missing…never found, forever gone. It is believed that the saint he had beheaded, St. Dominius, rests there today. Photo is mine taken from a public display.]

Inside the Palace/town, I once again stared at the polished limestone pavement. I thought of all the human feet that walk those very stones for two thousand years. What were their lives like? Did they love and laugh like we do? Did they have affairs? Babies? Loving sons and beautiful daughters? 

I think they felt cold in the winter and sweat in the summer. I think they were just like us in many ways. Perhaps they worshipped other gods. Perhaps they murdered a best friend. Perhaps they starved during droughts and got fat during the good years.

And I feel they looked up on moonless nights and saw the same stars, the same moon and asked themselves the same questions about death and life.

In those days, like the days of our lives, destinies could go either way.

[NOTE: This blog post was written and published under more duress than usual. The church bells are tolling outside The Square Pub where Mariam and I are sitting…with a strong WiFi signal. Mariam did the proofing. I take full responsibility for any errors, misspellings or other mistakes. I hope you enjoy it!]

This Is Not Me

[The Wind Star. Photo: Windstar Cruises.]

I know it’s April Fools Day but this is not a trick or prank.

{NOTE TO READERS: The name of this post says it all. I did not write it. Backstory: Several weeks ago I had a dinner conversation with my son, Brian. He is almost always one step ahead of me in matters of technology and most every other thing. I do win, on occasion, about things that happened twenty years before he was born. During this dinner (I had Chilean Sea Bass and he had a boat of sushi), he told me about how far AI had come. He suggested I procure ChatGBT for my laptop. So I did. I don’t feel I need to explain anything about AI to my readers. You’re an educated lot. In brief, it’s like a search engine on steroids. Brian mentioned that some guy published an entire novel using ChatGBT. It sounded like fun. I tried it out on a few small tasks like giving me a few writer’s prompts about harvesting cucumbers. Then I got an idea. Wouldn’t it be interesting to have ChatGBT write a blog for me.

So I fed it a few topics: The Adriatic Sea, Castles, Food, Love and Ghosts. I sat back and waited about forty seconds. The story came through. [Full Disclosure: Mariam and I are indeed going on an Adriatic cruise in May.]

I am printing this story, in full, as it came into my laptop. I didn’t alter a word. The character names were not changed. I will say that the departure city for us is not Dubrovnik, but Venice.

One more important thing: I have written over 600 blogs. All of them, to my knowledge, were conceived and written by myself. Rest assured that I would never publish a post in the future using ChatGBT without a disclaimer.}

So here’s the story courtesy of Artificial Intelligence:

Once upon a time, there was a young couple named Alice and Ben. They had been together for a few years, but they had never been on a romantic vacation together. So, they decided to take a cruise sailboat trip of the Adriatic Sea, hoping to create unforgettable memories.

Their journey started in Dubrovnik, where they boarded the sailboat that would take them on their adventure. The first thing they noticed was the incredible food. Every meal was a feast of fresh seafood, pasta, and local specialties. They dined on the deck, with a stunning view of the sea and the coast, feeling like royalty.

As they sailed along the coast, they stopped at several small towns and villages, each with its own charm and history. One day, they visited a castle perched on a hill overlooking the sea. They walked through the ancient halls and courtyards, imagining the lives of the kings and queens who once lived there.

But as night fell, they began to hear strange noises and whispers that seemed to come from nowhere. Alice was scared, but Ben was intrigued. They asked the captain about the history of the castle and he told them a story about a ghost that haunted the castle, the ghost of a queen who died tragically. Alice shuddered but Ben was excited, he wanted to explore and find the ghost. Alice reluctantly joined him and they explored the castle, hoping to catch a glimpse of the ghostly queen.

As they continued their journey, they fell deeper in love, their days filled with adventure and their nights filled with passion. They saw the most beautiful sunsets and swam in the crystal-clear waters of secluded coves. They danced under the stars, feeling like the only people in the world.

Their journey ended in Venice, a city of romance and mystery. They strolled through the narrow streets, hand in hand, feeling like they had just lived a fairy tale. They knew they would never forget this magical trip and the memories they had created together.