The train to Pompeii was packed tighter than bark on a tree. The doors slid open and 3,186 passengers almost fell out.
“Tutti a bordo!” shouted the attendant.
A few of us American tourists looked at each other. “What’s that mean?”
“I think it means ‘all aboard.’”
“Aboard? How are we supposed to fit aboard THAT?”
The train horn sounded.
“TUTTI A BORDO!”
So we elbowed our way onto the train car, past Italian passengers who were not thrilled to make room for us, and showed it. I sustained a blow to the upper lip from a little old woman carrying an umbrella. An elderly man in a beanie delivered a power shot to my kidneys.
We were jellybeans in a jar when the train doors shut. Standing shoulder to pelvis.
In a few hours we were in Pompeii. The world’s largest archeological site.
For those who failed fifth-grade history class (present!), Pompeii is an ancient city dating back to 8th century BC, shortly after the birth of Cher. The town is 150 acres wide, sitting
at the base of Mount Vesuvius, a large double-volcano.
When Vesuvius erupted in 79 AD, Pompeii was blanketed in 20 feet of volcanic ash, frozen in time forever, transforming the city into what archeologists refer to as, “a tourist trap.”
There are hundreds of simultaneous tours happening at any given hour in Pompeii. The tour packages are tailored to suit different cultures. You can close your eyes at any point and hear guides speaking Hindi, Korean, Portuguese, Japanese, Swahili, and whatever else.
We were with the American tour group, which means we were the only ones, in all of Pompeii, who were complaining.
Throughout our tour, I heard things like:
“Isn’t there anything to eat in this freaking place?” “Why are we moving so fast?” “My feet hurt.” “Why are there so many hills?” “It’s too hot out here.” “I can’t understand her accent.”…