Ashes & Ruins

Joanna
3 days ago
7 min read

I don’t know what it is about accommodations here, but they seem to really struggle with providing clear instructions.

Most of them.

Seriously.

I don’t think I’ve encountered one single, easy one unless it was an actual hotel.

When the Naples taxi man got semi-close to where my accommodation was on the map, I hopped out... and followed the blue dot straight to the pinpointed pin... exactly where the owners told me to go. Exactly. According to the map they sent.

Of course, it wasn’t the right place. Because... why would it be??? At this point, it’s happened so many times, it’s sitcom-worthy. A documentary on "finding your bed" is much needed.

First, I couldn’t even find the main entrance door. Obviously, I knew what the door looked like...because I was sent multiple photos of it on WhatsApp. BUT... why would I be able to find the door when the door was on an entirely different street from the one they pinned for me?

Naturally.

Remember... it was late. It was dark. Naples was sketchy. It was raining. It was cold. I was cold. I was confused. I was lost. I was exhausted. I was beyond irritated.

Once the address-man and I got our addresses straightened out, I finally managed to get myself inside. Then there’s the whole “first floor” thing that I feel needs to be addressed. Sometimes the 1st floor means going up one and a half flights of stairs... or up to the second... or, sometimes, even what I would personally call the third. There are often these tiny little staircases that veer off in different directions, apparently not counting as actual floors…

I was so relieved to be inside, out of the rain... and safe in my little room. Naples was every bit as unnerving as people warned me it would be. Sirens, fireworks (poor dogs), and people hooting and hollering all night long. ALL night long.

In the morning, still exhausted, I gathered my stuff and walked back to the train station. I figured I could skip the ludicrous taxi fare for a 20-minute walk. I stopped at a little café for my usual arancini. Remember... it's an addiction now. My new favourite thing in the entire world.. spinach and mozzarella arancini.

BUT... Oh. My. God.

I wasn't in Sicily anymore... It was at that exact moment... as I cut into it... that I knew my arancini era was officially over. It was just dry risotto. No sauce, no cheese, no spinach, no flavour.

Nothing.

Poor me.

At the station, I had pre-purchased a train ticket to Pompeii, but I couldn’t find a single departure board that listed “Pompeii” or anything close to it.

What???

I ran back & forth, in a bit of a blind panic, until I finally stopped and asked at a ticket office. They told me to go downstairs. Ok. Great. Down I went... only to discover the lower level was equally as confusing. Four different entrances, all for different trains… none of them labelled as "Pompeii."

Man.

I tried every entrance before one finally accepted my QR code and opened the sliding doors for me to enter. Ahhh… Pompeii.

It was such a relief to be out of Naples and in a smaller place, though... true to form recently... I almost missed the stop. What is it with me and not getting off trains??

Pompeii was a small, quaint town. Charming, really. I liked it a lot, though I didn’t get as much opportunity to explore as I’d have liked, thanks to the weather conditions.

My accommodation was close to the station... and it was fabulous. Absolutely fabulous. Best place I've been so far. Hands down. It was colourful and bright... with beautiful tiles, cozy spaces... and just lovely. The only issue was the host. He was highly enthusiastic. Like… too enthusiastic. He kept asking if I liked everything (which I "enthusiastically" did), but being asked repeatedly became a little overwhelming.

The internet wasn’t working... and this guy spent a solid thirty minutes (or more) explaining... at great emotional depth... why it wasn’t working and apologizing repeatedly. Something about the rain... and the weekend... and no one working... and and and... I don't know. I ended up drifting off and tuned him out. Every time he would start the explanation, I would smile, say “It’s okay. Don't worry about it,” and try to walk away... but then he’d just dive right back into the saga again.

I finally had to stop him with a very firm: “Yes. You’ve said all that! It's ok!”

I had tickets for a guided Pompeii tour the next day, and although I couldn’t wait... mostly I just wanted the weather to improve. I was praying. I was officially done with the rain... and being wet and cold. And of course, I don’t have an umbrella because mine was destroyed in the Ortigia storm. I refuse to buy another. And I don't really have a proper jacket as that was destroyed on the cobblestone streets of Rome.

That morning, I was running late. Inadvertently. I didn't really know I was running late at all. I thought I had oodles of time. Naturally. I assumed the Pompeii ruins entrance was the main one I’d seen near the Duomo, right in the centre of the village of Pompeii. So I spent my morning meandering... strolling along casually… popping in and out of shops... having a latte... etc etc... until at exactly 11:15, I received a text from the tour company asking if I was still coming.

"Was I still coming?"

Yes. Duh.

That was an odd question considering I still had another 15 minutes until the tour started. I asked them to confirm the meeting location, which they did.

Uh oh... I was alarmed to discover that the meeting place was not where I thought it was. I was at the WRONG PLACE!!! The actual meeting place for the tour was another 22-minute walk away.

Shit. Errrr....

I booked it down the road to get there as fast as I could.

BOOKED it.

Somehow, I managed to run in at exactly 11:33 a.m., just as the group was beginning to walk off towards the ruins. Phewf!

Pompeii was fascinating.

It's one of those places where history rises up all around you. Long before the eruption, Pompeii was a thriving Roman city... lived in for centuries by traders, artisans, merchants, and families who filled its streets with everyday life. It sat at the foot of Mount Vesuvius, close enough to enjoy fertile soil but completely oblivious to the danger.

In 79 AD, everything changed within hours. Vesuvius erupted explosively, sending a massive surge of ash and volcanic rock into the sky. The city was buried so quickly that life was literally sealed in place... homes, frescoes, loaves of bread, tools, even the final moments of its people. What had been a bustling port town disappeared under several meters of volcanic debris for nearly 1,700 years.

Walking through it now feels surreal. The wagon-wheel grooves in the stone streets, the colourful frescoes, the bakeries, the gardens, the temples... everything preserved by the same ash that destroyed it. It’s haunting and astonishing all at once: a frozen moment of ancient life, uncovered again in the 18th century and still revealing secrets today.

There was even a brothel, complete with cement beds... as apparently comfort wasn’t the priority. You could actually find your way there by following little carved penises in the stones, pointing you in the right direction. Inside, there was a “constructive criticism” wall and artwork illustrating the various… services on offer.

The oddest part of the tour, though, was this one couple who could not keep their hands off each other. PDA at its absolute worst. She was mid-50s, and he was easily in his 60s... definitely not teenagers. Sometimes the entire group had to stop and wait, because they were too busy sucking face to keep up. It was… a lot. I kept wondering whether they were newly together or having an affair.

Was I at a Coldplay concert??

I briefly considered suggesting we leave them at the brothel.

The rain held off for most of the tour, but started again on my walk back to the hostel. I’m quite tired of all this rain. It’s killing me.

When I returned, the host was sprawled on the couch, loudly chatting on the phone. The moment he saw me, he jumped up to ask... yet again... if I liked everything. Yes. Yes. Yes. Except the internet was still down, and we had to relive the entire explanation saga all over again.

One thing I’ve learned: Italy uses coloured weather warnings. I think most of Europe does, actually.

Yellow – Potentially dangerous weather; keep an eye on it.

Orange – More severe and very likely; expect disruption.

The rain warnings swing back and forth between the two constantly. It doesn’t rain all day, but when it does, it pours. About 80% of the time, everything... including myself... is soaked.

After two days in Pompeii, I was heading to Sorrento... and hopefully for some much needed sunshine, though the forecast was bouncing between yellow and orange there too.

Ugh.

I stopped in a little café to dry myself off, grab a quick morning snack & coffee... and figured it was as good a time as any to check my train ticket. Good thing I did. The smart thing for me to have done was to book the local train station I'd be leaving from, but I didn't do that. I booked it from the train station, which was another 25 minutes away on foot. Of course I did. What was with me lately?

And it was POURING.

When I say pouring, I mean hailing.

Little ice pellets ricocheting off my hat.

Why this weather?

WHY? WHY? WHY?

There was even fresh snow on Mount Vesuvius.

But yes... I made it to the station on time. I even, stupidly, walked past it first... up a hill for another 10 minutes... and had to turn around and walk back.

Idiot!

And I was off to Sorrento...