THE GODS OF NAPLES
We’d been here less than 18 hours, but already we’d had our tour of Sorrento, one of the most sought after tourist venues in Italy. Marion, our guide, wove us through the baking streets and the manic traffic until she was sure she’d shown us everything we might like to see later at our leisure. We took in the Best Ice Cream Shop in Italy and the shady cloisters. The Foreigner Club was her last spot, and Sue and I did not plan to leave it any time soon. My pasta had an unbelievable fresh cherry tomato sauce and Sue’s wine was chilled and quaffable.
‘I could stay here all day,’ said Sue. ‘I love people-watching. Look at that table next to us.’
A foursome, Italian and beautifully young and slender, were eating pasta and gesticulating loudly across their small table. One of the girls wolfed down a huge plate of pasta, then cut up her Amalfi lemon, added salt and olive oil, and ate it like an orange. Sue was on a mission for Amalfi lemons, which make normal lemons look like marbles in contrast. The noise from the Italian’s table grew...something to do with the cigarette the other girl was smoking as she leaned against the balustrade. We couldn’t help glancing surreptitiously over at their antics. I leaned across and lowered my voice. ‘I think they are Mafiosi. Look - they’re the only party here who have a tablecloth.’ Our guide, Marion, had already informed us about the Napoli Mafia, the ‘Camorra’.
‘They practically run Naples,’ said Sue. She should know; her partner's family are from Sicily. ‘We’re seeing Naples tomorrow. I can’t wait.’
I couldn't wait to see Naples Museum of Archeology – it contained original marble statues of all my favourite gods and goddesses. I was going to be in pagan heaven.
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| It seems we can trace the many-breasted Diana back to further ancient times. First, to the Hellenistic period, when the deity worshipped in Ephesus was commonly called “Artemis.” But the goddess venerated in Ephesus does not really resemble either Artemis or Diana, rather, resembling Near Eastern Mother goddesses.Temple of Artemis/Diana in Ephesus, now in modern Turkey, was among the ancient world’s Seven Wonders. Although destroyed, early reproductions of the statue of the Many-Breasted Goddess survive, so we know what she looked like: a beautiful, regal, crowned woman, her torso completely covered by multiple breasts, indicating her capacity to nurture and provide for all, her long tight skirt covered by reliefs of animals and birds. Date palms were among the most sacred trees throughout what is now the Middle East. Inanna–Ishtar is sometimes depicted as a date palm, as is Asherah, famed as the wet nurse of her pantheon |
‘We no longer allow you to walk around Naples,’ she told us as our coach drove us in that direction, past Famous and Bikini beaches. ‘We will go into the museum and return immediately to the coach. A tourist has recently been stabbed, so it’s not considered safe anymore. And then there’s the problem with rubbish.
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Venus (Aphrodites) was the Olympian goddess of love, beauty, pleasure and procreation. Medieval paintings about, especially of her rising from the foam of the sea. She is thought to be the most beautiful of goddesses. Herr attributes included a dove, apple, scallop shell and mirror, and also her golden apples. Her adulterous affair are renowned and many, with myths about her and the god Ares (Mars), her love for Adonis, and a shepherd prince called Anchises. She is famous for her part in the judgement of Paris which resulted in the Trojan War. The statue of Pygmalion which was brought to life by Aphrodite. Finally, she is known for the sad persecution of Psyche, the maiden loved by the goddess' son Eros (Cupid). |
I was pretty certain the dangers of the Mafia were being over-emphasized, but the rubbish problem certainly was not. The streets we drove through were ankle deep in litter - paper, cans, bottles, more paper. It piled up against walls and blew around corners. Forget stabbings; I was worried we’d all come down with Wiel’s disease. I’m not clear why there is a problem...but the Mafia are pretty much to blame for everything, so it was a safe bet they were involved. However, we did observe the locals dropping their unwanted bits and pieces from the safety of the coach. Their approach seemed more ‘if we’ve got it, we may as well contribute’, rather than ‘if we stop doing it, things won’t be as bad’.
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| Atlas was a Titan condemned to hold up the heavens or sky for eternity. He stood at the ends of the earth in extreme west, and has become associated both with Atlas Mountains in northwest Africa and the upper vertebrae, which hold the head erect. He was credited with inventing the first celestial sphere, a depiction of which can be seen in this statue. The museum was calm and cool, and plain. |
Many of the rescued artifacts have ended up here. Firstly, they were lifted from the excavations and gifted to kings and nobles, but it was the 18C at the time. Now, the wonderful mosaic floors, the household artifacts, the silver oil lamps and the impressive statues of gods and men are housed here.
Our guide was a dapper Italian in his forties with a smooth bald head. He took pleasure in pointing out the Romans were shorter than we are, but I bet he could have fitted into their battle dress easily. He showed us the treasures on each floor, but honestly, I only had eyes for the goddesses. Their statues felt almost alive, so perfect were they in their execution. I took picture of Venus (the only woman to be depicted naked), Artemis, the Roman Isis, Juno, Athene and Flora. Apart from Isis, the statues depicted perfectly the particular qualities of their characters. I found it wonderful to know that these statues had been created by such ancient artists at a time when these deities were worships reverently.
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Athena (Minerva) is mention first in Linear B tablets as Lady of Athens. She was born after Zeus experienced an enormous headache and she sprang fully grown and in armour from his forehead. She is associated with warfare and wisdom, handicraft, courage, inspiration, law and justice, strategic warfare, mathematics, strength, strategy, the arts, and skill. She is one strong goddess. My only grump about Naples Museum is that there was no coffee shop. Breaks for coffee were the only thing I was missing, which seemed incongruous in the home of great coffee. By this point, we’d already met several people we were enjoying the company of, and they seemed to agree with me on the coffee break issue. Michael was a true gentleman and a retired bank manager, Trish and Tony were both in the theatre, Tony as a writer/producer/educator while Trish still enjoys a vibrant career in acting. Jenny and Don, Tony and Maureen, Jim and Jill and Eddie and Joan were all lovely to meet and chat to. Kate was a student of art and a young breath of fresh air in our party. All of us were keen to see the museum’s treasures before going to Herculaneum and Pompeii. But first we were going to Capri. |
THE ISLE OF CAPRI
For Sue and I, the highlight of the day...almost of the week...was the trip from Anacapri to the top of the mountain in the chair life. It looked a little nerve wracking as we queued, but as the most elderly member of the tour took off and sailed upwards, I felt I would have to quell my nerves. I was almost bundled into the chair - they don’t actually stop, being on an eternal loop - but once the thin metal bar had clanked down to prevent a fall, I was off at a run, the sounds of the launch platform, the shrieks and squeals and the cries of the men, faded away. Suddenly all was still and calm except for the intermittent groaning of the metal rope over the cogs. I moved slowly upwards with a certain grace as scents drifted up; the herbs, flowers and sweet spices of the Mediterranean blending on the warm breeze. Below, bird-eye views of gardens, some neatly arranged in terraces of vegetables and vines, some haphazard harmonizations of nature; fig trees, japonica, oleander and bougainvillea, where terracotta statuettes, weathered with age, were half hidden by overgrown beds. In one, a black manikin from a shop window was decorated to become a Madonna, in another a thin, sleepy cat stretched over the pathway. The gardens dissolved into woodland and I found my feet touching the tops of oaks, sweet chestnuts and poplars, and looking directly down at carpets of wild flowers, carpets of yellow, white and pink, and explosions of purple, orange and red. As we were yanked higher, the deciduous trees gave way to the resiny smell of conifers and bird song surrounded me. I could have gone on forever, when the landing platform came into view and I was tipped from my seat seconds after Sue.
At the top of the island, Capri town spread before us, I felt I could see forever, the view filled with in the colours of the Mediterranean…sapphire blue, apricot, deepest green and white.
Named after Hercules, whose massive form we saw in the museum, the Roman town of was buried under boiling mud when Vesuvius erupted. Overlooking the sea, which at t Herculaneum hat point before the eruption, had reached the edge of the town, Herculaneum had been a posh settlement for the rich of the area, and the houses and high street shops have been wonderfully preserved. Only a quarter of it has been excavated, but that was many hectares and there was plenty to see, all built in the honeycombed style of the stone walls layered with the slender red brickwork Romans loved.
The villas were wonderful, floors of mosaic and walls decorated with brilliantly coloured frescos. Naturally, these were faded, but it was easy to imagine how civilized it would all be. Many of the villas faced the bay, and so had winter and summer dining rooms, where the view could be enjoyed when the sun shone. The baths were impressive too, room after room that a well-heeled Roman could spend his or her leisure in, being oiled, massaged and scraped, followed by saunas and plunge pools and warm, luxurious bathing areas. David Lloyd eat your heart out!
It had rained on the way to Herculaneum, but it stopped just as our coach arrived, and out peeped the sun. So, when the punters tried to sell me a brolly for 5 euros, I waved them aside, sure that Italy would prove true to form and keep its clouds at bay. It wasn’t long before thunder clapped directly above us and massive raindrops pelted down. A lot of us were extremely damp by the time we returned to the coach, and pretty glad when we reach Sorrento again. I capitulated on the way out and bought a brolly, which I used precisely once that day; the 30 second sprint from the umbrella stall to the coach.
We all enjoyed the visit to Pompeii more than we thought we would, having seen Herculaneum so thoroughly. It was the big metropolis down the road from Herculanium’s dormitory settlement. There we found the huge amphitheatre, the gladiatorial ring and the wide forum where everyone would gather to talk (and probably show off their finery). Here also were the plaster casts of the victim’s bodies, taken after they had dissolved inside their ash shells like fossils…the dog, chained to his ring, a pregnant woman, her hands trying to protect her baby, a man’s body, stiff in death. These were a moving sight, reminding us all of the transitory nature of everyone’s life. |
| Venus was the patron goddess of Pompeii, and The Sanctuary of Venus is placed on spectacular artificial terrace overlooking the bay. This really was the place to be in 50 BCE, |
It seemed to me, moving though streets, houses and temples, that Pompeian citizens were surrounded by their own images of the sacred.Statues of divinities often y set up as votive offerings. The bottom line in Roman society seemed to be; Praise your gods, and they will reward you – attend your gods, or they may be vengeful.
The coach took us up the side of Vesuvius to where the walk to its rim was just thirty minutes. The place feels unloved; winding road is too narrow for passing coaches, and the loos in the car park smell from thirty metres away. Marion told us that the local government had received an EU grant to aid the upkeep of this important ancient and geological site - one of the most visited in the world. But they had spent it all on the statues that lined the winding road. I was reminded of Mickey Blue Eyes, where Hugh Grant plays an auction room owner in New York who finds himself selling rubbish art for millions in a sting by a Mafia painter. I thought the statues were at best comical and at worst obscene, like spending hundreds of pounds on your baby’s romper suit.
The walkers set off; Sue and several others, including Joan, stayed behind. Sue’s legs were playing her up, but I didn’t really worry that she would have a boring time once I discovered the coffee shop sold wine by the glass. I hired two sticks from the wizened old man who whittled thin branches into walking aids at the start of the climb. These were particularly useful on the way down, when the scree became hazardous. However, as soon as I began to pick my way up, I realized they had a sorry side-effect; I had brought my new, and as so far unused, umbrella to afford myself some shade from the relentless sun, which had now reached a temperature of 40 degrees, but with a stick in each hand, I had no way of holding it over myself. Sadly, it returned to England still a virgin brolly, having kept me neither dry nor cool.
The path upwards, black with the lava scree, was bordered at first with wild carrot and the broom, yellow with flowers, that grows into impressive trees. There was little else on this barren mountain, but below us stretched the vast Vesuvian plain, with its slug of lava sliding down the mountainside like a concrete river.
I plodded on, getting into a rhythm with my feet and my sticks. 15 minutes later, I’d reached the halfway stage. I was dripping with sweat (obviously not a lady, then) and my lungs had reached that wonderful stage where they feel as puckered inside as a lemon (and not an Amalfi one, at that). I love that pressure that comes from massive exertion; it means that later you will have an endorphin high and your lungs will feel as if they have been reborn.
I started up again, moving through the shacks of souvenirs, and immediately came to the rim of the volcano. The path continued on around the edge, but the steep climb had gone. I was there, the black, purple and brown basin of rock, deeply shadowed by the sun lay before us, and we all had a great time climbing over the barrier to be photographed inside the rim. Across the basin were swirls of steam rising from the smoking vents. Best not stay long, then. Anyway, we had to be back in the coach. 
That night, officially our last tour day, the hotel put on a special dinner. As usual, we pulled some tables together (rather tricky as they are circular) to join our new friends. The lights were low and candles flickered in globes. A rather loud electronic organ played to us. We had an extra course (pears with prosciutto), followed by the usual pasta, followed by an entire roast veal, brought in and paraded round. Heaven knows what the vegetarians thought, but I have to say the veal was utterly delicious. The chef carved it himself, although I was quite surprised to think he’d shown his face in the dining room. Hadn’t he heard the whispers from us British about his food? His cooking was excellent; I had a great gnocchi one night and several fish dishes I loved, but he seemed to imagine that we all were wedded to canned goods and served them at both breakfast (canned fruit, reconstituted fruit juice) and dinner (canned diced carrot, potato and peas for godsake). Even in the gala, the mushrooms were from a tin. There was always a huge basket of fresh fruit on the sideboard, but it contained only apples, pears oranges and bananas, as if to remind us of home, while directly outside the hotel was a man with a small stall selling four kinds of peaches, nectarines, grapes, watermelon and apricots, none of which we got a whiff of inside. 
