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The waiting game

Having a sprained ankle and having to wait for hours, it is not fun, I can tell you that.

I was awake this morning before seven, as nearly everybody was leaving at that hour, and I wanted to say our goodbyes. I had decided not to go that early by bus, but to wait another hour and a half comfortably in the villa, and then take a taxi to the airport. Alison volunteered to stay with me and help me out, but since her flight was quite a bit earlier than mine, we arrived at the airport at 9 nonetheless.

She dropped me and my suitcases off at the ‘special services area’ in the airport, said goodbye, and vanished to catch her flight. So there I was, sitting on an uncomfortable bench, for more than three hours. My flight was at 13.45h, and the Italian people behind the counter just eyed me suspiciously from time to time, but said nothing. Luckily I had brought my Robert Harris to read, and that is exactly what I did, for three hours straight. Just once in a while an elderly couple, or a father with a helping son would join me for 15 minutes or so, and then we’d chat a little. There was this very charming old couple travelling to Cannes, he a total gentleman in suit with tie and everything, who apparently was born near Pompei, and had never even visited the excavations. They had been living in France for quite a number of years now, and it was nice to be able to talk in French for a change. They were both so sweet…

Anyway, around half past one the lady behind the counter finally summoned up an assistant with a wheelchair, and within less than five minutes my luggage was checked in and I had a boarding pass. On we went, through customs and security, and even the little bottles of water in my handluggage didn’t cause a problem. I was manually frisked, only the cast got some special attention, as it’s an exquisite place to hide stuff, I suppose. Yet further we went, straight through the entire airport, to a little waiting room right next to the gate, in less than 10 minutes from the first waiting room to this one.

By then I got very hungry, but the guy accompanying me just wheeled me, on simple request, to the baker shop in the transit area, ordered whatever I pointed at, and payed for me, so I even didn’t need to get up. I must say, I was quite impressed.

More Robert Harris it was, till half past one, when they wheeled me down, and into this special kind of truck for disabled. And then, to my surprise, at the airplane, the entire truck went up, to the level of the side door. Such fun!

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In the airplane I was crammed into a regular seat, even though the business seats were empty and spacious. When I asked if there was a possibility that I could sit there, in order to lift my by then really painful and swollen ankle a little, the stewardess answered that it was business customers only, and that everybody had one complaint or the other. So much for compassion, I guess.

I made it through the flight quite unharmed, though feeling a bit queasy once more, and was happy to get off the plane. A very friendly (and pretty) girl was waiting for me, took me all the way through the corridors in both a wheelchair and this little electric car, waited for me by the luggage and hoisted my case off the belt, and wheeled me to the exit, onto the street, where Bart was waiting for me. Upon seeing that it would be hard for Bart to both help me ànd take care of the cases, she decided to stick with me and took me all the way to the car. What a service! Kudos to Brussels Airport, I say!

We got home by seven, and I was sweaty, sticky and exhausted. And still feeling a bit sick to the stomach. I lied down for a bit, took a shower, had a decent meal, and did feel better. By then it was passed eight, so no use to go to the Emergency at the hospital, as they would only take x-rays, and then make me come back the next day anyway. I decided on having a good night’s rest first, and in the morning go to the hospital.

 

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Villa Vergiliana: a day at Paestum

Day four of our visit at the Villa Vergiliana was a very relaxed one, to be honest. Alas for me, there was a different bus and an altogether different driver for the two hour trip to Paestum, all along the busy ringroad around Naples and quite a bit further into the direction of Sorrento. I was feeling rather queazy when I got of the bus, but the ever so beautiful landscape strewn with Greek temples and remains, made me quite well in no time. As usual, Leon provided us with very interesting information concerning the buildings and the surroundings, and we all enjoyed the peace thoroughly.

After the picknick we moved to the museum, where he gave us a short guided tour, and left us to explore on our own for a couple of hours.

I ventured into the precinct again, on my own, enjoying an icecream, and gave some Italian students a nice story to recount to their friends :-p Apparently they had an assignment, being seniors in high school, to explain in English to the tourists what their assigned building/monument was all about. So I let one of them explain to me all about the little amphitheatre, helped by his friends whenever he was stuck in English, up to the moment when he declared that it had been restored by the Flavians in the 2nd century before Christ. At which point I raised an eyebrow, and asked him if he was sure about that date. He was, he confirmed. So I went on to explain that it was definitely àfter Christ, and that I was a Latin teacher. He turned bright red, and said something about BC sounding the same as PC in Italian. So I switched: “Linguam Latinam loqui possimus, si velis”. They all started laughing, and said ever so quickly that it was okay, and that they would be fine the way it was! I’m pretty sure that, when I left, they were talking about the mere odds of having a Latin teacher as a tourist…

Anyway, I really didn’t feel like leaving the place, even though it wasn’t quite as peaceful anymore as in the morning, due to the massive amount of Italian teenagers who had arrived, and who were very good at what teenagers are best at, being laughing and making noise… So I went back on the bus, into the Neapolitan traffic, and alas, I wasn’t so lucky this time. By the time we hit Pompei to pick up two of ours who had visited the town instead, I was, as Adrian described it, violently ill. Another hour stuck in traffic really wore me out, and I went to lie down as soon as we hit the Villa. Half an hour of sound sleep worked wonders for me, and so I could easily participate in the wonderful activity that was planned before dinner. We all went up to the roof, and we in turn read out the poem we had been making about our trip. I must admit, I was seriously impressed by everything I heard. Especially Adrian’s poem about a slave being left behind on the shores of Pompei struck a nerve, and when Daan started to sing a song about a dad who is waiting in the vaults beneath Herculaneum for death to come, and says goodbye to his little daughter, both Dana and I were in tears.

I tried to write a sonnet, but I had to finish the last verse in a couple of minutes, after I had been woken up by the gong to indicate that it was time to go up on the roof.

In Virgil’s land the green hills lay,
and some are even mountains.
Beneath a veil of clouds of May
the sea, the lakes and fountains.

A Virgilian group of people came
to explore the Latin treasures
only to find the poet’s name
amidst so many more pleasures.

Now here we stand beneath the stars
and think of all the ancient wars
the Romans fought of old

And we will think back with a sigh
– our hearts will leap up really high –
of all the stories told.

It truly was a magical moment of bonding, there up on that roof of the villa… Thank you, Leon, for making that possible.

The rest of the evening was spent talking and having fun, just sitting around in the main room. Most of the participants were due to leave the next morning, hence the “last evening” feeling.

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Villa Vergiliana: a most volcanic day

Today was once more a wonderful day, and I enjoyed every last bit of it, not in the least due to Francesco, the amazing bus driver. He got me safely and without getting sick up the winding road to the summit of the Vesuvius, which is not a mean feat, believe me. But behind every turn there was another fantastic vista, and he was more often grinning than not, when he saw me taking in every single view of the Naples bay.

As for Mount Vesuvius, now there’s a pretty impressing volcano! It took me quite some time to get up the long and steep road from the parking to the actual rim of the crater, due to my lack of breath and overal fitness, I’m pretty ashamed to admit. But finally I made it, thanks to the verbal support and patiently waiting of Wietse and Juliana, and oh lemon (inside joke), what a view! And not only the very strong gusts of wind were responsible for the goose bumps I got up there: Wietse read out some lines in Latin from Plinius, where he describes the eruption of Vesuvius, and Leon provided us with a very liberal and exhilarating translation of them. You know, standing on the edge of the crater, at one side the actual crater with the fumaroles, at the other side the beautiful view over the Bay of Naples, while listening to Plinius being read out: it doesn’t get any better than that.

 

Slowly we made our way back down again, only to arrive in Herculaneum around midday. We had our picknick there and went inside. And yet once more, I was baffled. The city is actually in a pit, and I never even considered why. But when in 79 AD the Vesuvius erupted, the entire column of rocks, dirt and ashes collapsed onto the city, burying it in a layer of at least 25 metres of volcanic debris. The locked vaults which were situated at the coast line, were now quite some kilometers inland, and the whole excavation – taken litterally in this case – is indeed a pit. But what a pit!

We slowly made our way through the exquisite little coastal city, looked into the houses, at the frescos and mosaics, and did our photo assignment. Divided into three groups, we had to ‘die’ in Herculaneum: three pics, first about the very moment we discovered the eruption, then the fleeing, and at last the dying in the city. While our pictures might not have been the best, we really had fun making them. And I think the dying one is pretty neat, mostly thanks to Daan.

On the trip went, to Oplonti, the Villa Poppaea. My students in 6th grade now her by now all too well, Nero’s mistress and eventually second wife, who got kicked to death by her violent husband. He gave her (or so we think, at least) this villa, and it’s a beautiful specimen of a rustic villa. There we had another assignment: we paired up and took a ‘Grand Tour portrait’ like people used to have their portrait painted in the 17th century when travelling through Europe. I teamed up with Geert, we borrowed an ancient volume of Vergilius and used my coat (I especially brought it for this assignment) and we had great fun making the portrait.

Last but not least, we drove back to Cumae, only to visit another volcano, the Solfatara. It’s still quite active, with a bubbling pool, very hot spots, a Bocca Grande (a large fumarole) and an ancient kind of sauna devised for health reasons by the Romans. It was hot there, and very smelly due to the sulphur.

We drove home, had some nice spare time, went for delicious dinner,

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and then did our frescoes. The first night – while I still was on a plane – everyone made a base structure for a fresco. Luckily they thought of making a spare one for me, as I was arriving late. Today we all got our moulds with a fresh layer of plaster, and got a lot different colours to work with. I thought I’d keep it easy, and went for the mount Vesuvius which had made a tremendous impression on me.

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Anyway, this was another glorious day that I won’t forget easily. Lucky me!