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Classics Trip to Italy: Easter 2009

‘Oooooh...Italiaaa!’

Thus went the scream as we made our way down Vesuvius. A holiday, bubbling over with Roman enthusiasm and earthy catchphrase, headed towards one final deal-icious pizza and ultimately one final site, the hapless Herculaneum. We were in high spirits even if our legs ached somewhat from our journey up the infamous mons iratus.

We avoided the initial onslaught of waiting tat, and its proponents, and explored the excavated ruins of Herculaneum, the rich twenty percent; the Kingston waterfront, if you will. Our willing guide pointed out every indent in the road, every original piece of organic material that still remained, the stories behind every fresco painting and colourful mosaic that decorated almost every internal surface. In one house, the well-named ‘house of the beautiful atrium’, we saw a well-preserved flying cupid/angel painted on the wall of this split-level Herculaneum pleasure paradise. The original stone stairs and upper floor were still in situ; the plaster imprint of one of the many victims found cowering in the harbour was housed in an adjoining room, inviting the flash of a digital camera or two; interspaced cavities which would once have housed the original wooden rafters were still glaringly visible.
      

   [I say glaringly, hiding the fact that the guide who led us around this less well-known site, who was a curious mix of Italian chic and Columbo-esque staying power, was ever eager and never less than inspirational. No less so, it is true, than the previous two guides who took us around ancient Rome and Pompeii with equal enthusiasm and success. The gods indeed shone on the boys and staff alike during this trip.]

Two hours later, and after ten minutes of hastily purchased ‘laval’statuettes (a broken horse example later revealed that they were indeed black-painted plaster models), we left Herculaneum. I was left pondering the interesting combination of an archaeological microcosm of 1st century wealth preserved so emphatically amid the modern-day poverty of the sprawling 21st century insulae. Indeed much of the ancient Herculaneum, we discovered, lies below such crumbling flats, containing people it is too expensive to rehouse. The exact shape, therefore, of the rest of the ancient town remains, and will continue to remain, unexamined.

The day which was spent first of all in Ostia was the best part, by most accounts, of the trip. We visited there, to the West of the city, on our third day in Rome, not five days before an earthquake struck north of the city (a fortunately-avoided reminder of the country’s unstable geological make-up). We spent a morning guided around the ruins of ancient Rome’s harbour as Mr Coyle vividly brought to life a sea-faring town, often beset by marauding local pirates.

The businessmen of this important, but often ignored, Roman town liked to advertise their wares with colonnaded mosaics, their small shops surrounding a small but perfectly formed temple to Ceres, the goddess of the grain upon which their industry and economy depended.

The most eagerly awaited ancient Roman urbs, Pompeii, surpassed both Ostia and Herculaneum. Some rain threatened to make our time unpleasant, and perhaps untenable, as we pounded the original stone pavements of an ancient entrance to this almost mythical town. As we made our way, like so many of its ancient protagonists, into the amphitheatre’s arena, the rain abated and we were left to marvel at the surprisingly low wall which surrounded the killing-zone. The boys wondered at what kind of animals would have fought here: surely a large cat could have made its way into the audience in flight from a venatio’s assault. We later followed fertile roadways and gaped in awe at ancient graffiti. We made a pilgrimage to Caecilius’ house, chief protagonist of the Cambridge Latin Course Book 1, and offered up an imaginary libation or two to one of the ancient world’s wheeler-dealer extraordinaires. Wherever we went, though, I could not help but reflect that the charm of the place was, in fact, its ordinariness. It was just a matter of geographical and meteorological chance that it was destroyed in such a way as to offer us this unique window onto the ancient Romans.

Back at the start of the holiday, while prowling around the Colosseum, as it was aptly, though mistakenly, named by early British ethnographers, we had already had cause to imagine the plight of its ancient pugilists, a very ‘real’ version of the recent Gladiators TV show. We imagined its ancient audience marvelling at the impressive stage-managed spectacles and trapdoors, as well as the extant stone vomitoria spilling forth their humming crowds after a day of busy killing. We marvelled at the ancient, revolutionary cement the Romans had used to create this incredible structure. As we left our guide informed us of the Romantic rituals of a certain Lord Byron, caught short through fear in its arena many years later. This humorous aside certainly alleviated the dark cloud this stunning yet terrifying edifice had inspired.

Later on, still during the first day, we visited the sprawling outopian eutopia of Hadrian’s villa, an ancient Disney-land, nay Neverland, retreat which outstretched its cultural and literary fingers a safe and peaceful distance away from Rome to the East. Hadrian, though Emperor, was reviled by the Senate at the centre of his Empire, not only for his Hellenophilia. Keen on travelling and a budding and successful builder, he had this magnificent villa constructed based on all the hip and happening places that lay within his inherited heartland. Some he may never have seen.

One thing we learnt is that he was fond of water and water-based attractions: there were quite a number of bath-houses of different size and style; a peristyle pool based on the Stoa Poikile of Athens; a reconstruction of an Egyptian canal, the Canopus, replete with temple of Serapis at one end, an impressive stone crocodile on one side and some statues reminiscent of the caryatids, maiden-columns discovered propping up the Erechtheon on the Acropolis of Athens, on the other; even a water-surrounded island retreat concealed by an outer wall and with its own drawbridge. If he was fond of anything, the Emperor Hadrian respected his peace and quiet!

Talking of peace and quiet, the boys were brilliant. I have never been away with such a well-behaved, intellectually curious and empathetic group. Under a burning sun (contrary to the earlier unhappy forecast of misery-inducing rain) they listened intently and asked, on the whole, pertinent and searching questions. Back at the hotel their behaviour was exemplary, displaying fantastic restraint (or perhaps rather the effects of some busy and demanding days!).

Back in Rome, the legendary Chef Express spoilt us all rotten for the three nights we spent in the Eternal City. Located within the city’s Termini train-station, the chefs of this fine culinary establishment effortlessly produced fine sea-food and even better salads while we clutched our golden tickets and waited in line. We were certainly spoilt while in Rome. The salad of our second pad in Vico Equense, a small hamlet outlying the more celebrated sea-side town of Sorrento, left a lot to be desired. Thankfully, though, we were adequately served in the local town by a fabulous gelateria, serving ambrosial ice-creams (especially, by almost universal consent, its pistachio blend) which we partook warmly, led ably by the ice-cream maestro himself, Mr Thomas Millward.

During the trip we successfully sampled almost everything in the way of transport Italy had to offer (save the ill-conceived Vesuvian cable-car): traversing tube-stations by night; picturesque train-stations (the word cannot do them justice) by day; as well as the more conventional fare of coach and omnibus somewhere in between. It is fair to say we got a taste of the modern, as well as ancient, Italian transportation systems.

We had amazing stories of triumphs over adversity (take a bow, Hugh and David!) as well as all round outstanding contributions (big up yourselves, Fergus, Oliver and Oscar!). However this trip could not have been possible, never mind run so smoothly, without the superhuman contributions of my fellow professori. A big shout out to Miss Jacobs, Mr Coyle, Mr Iwanowski, and last, but in no means least, Mrs Cash, our Valetudinaria Optima.

So one last time, mi amici, tutti ragazzi, hold your hands aloft, as the horn sounds out its conspiratorial beat, and forever intone, aloud, as one: ‘Oooooh Italiaaa!’       

If you did not come along this time, make sure you join us Easter 2010 when we make our way to Greece, to find out more about the Ancient World (adverts and letters to follow soon...)

Key to some terminology:

Oooooh Italia! = Euge, Italia!
Mons -tis m. iratus = angry mountain (i.e. volcano)
Tat = vilia-orum n.pl. 
Insulae-arum f. pl. = flats
Urbs-is f. = city
(The legendary) Chef Express = (clara) Culina -ae f. Celer
Gladiator = gladiator-is m.
Ice-cream = gelas-atis f.
Mi amici = fellow travellers
Professor = something approximating the ancient concept of rhetor
Tat merchant = viliarius-i m.
Fountaineering = fonscenditas-atis f. (see Mr Iwanowski for further details)

JWB