The 12th of July started out in the Solfatara active volcanic crater by Pozzuolli. At the recommendation of Paul, Simon and I decided to acquire evidence of the raw volcanic power over which we had slept the night through checking out the steam vents by our camp sites. As we approached the surreal, brilliant white stone natural amphitheatre that encapsulated the hissing, steaming vents, the sulphurous scent of devilled eggs filled our nostrils. The far slope of the crater appeared to be ablaze, a hazy 140 degree hot smoking, steaming aspect of sliding white and orange rubble. As we approximated the hillside, the steaming sources of the phenomenon became apparent. Simon and i waved our hands over a vent to find it scalding hot, a more intense stream of kettle steam. After checking out the simmering hot springs in the centre of the crater, We returned to the camp to have awesomely cheap croissants and coffee at the cafe and bread, cheese and salami by the tents. After packing up, we resolved to see vesuvius and Herculaneum, myself now relieving the varadero of my weight by travelling in the rental car. We rode through surprisingly stunning coastal naples, direct experience providing a counter example to the pessimistic impression of the city painted by indirect hearsay accounts and the third world outskirts we had driven through the afternoon before. As we drove through grand, tall tunnels, by opulently adorned buildings and fountains and past high masted yacht filled harbours, it was hard to find the naples we had expected to see. However, closer examination revealed this grand coastal aspect to be a facade, the slummy Napoli of renown sneaking peaks at us from between streets inland. Over all, mount vesuvius loomed ominously, tip mysteriously shrouded in cloud, veiling its enigmatic intentions. Induction, would have had the volcano blow 40 years ago, following a pattern of eruptions separated by 30 year intervals. Instead, the dormant volcano has been active only as a deterrent against investment in the region, a contributing factor in the decaying settlements that seem ready to be abandoned at any moment. We now found ourselves winding our way up an aspect of this massive, immensely influential mountain, resolute to see for ourselves the summit responsible for so much. We stopped briefly in a cafe on the slope, david magnanimously shouting much desired cokes enjoyed whilst admiring the neapolitan metropolitan sprawl that spread across the bayside. With a not a chance at our suggestion to hike to the summit, steve deemed to stay safely away from the dangerous crater at the cafe and await our uncertain return. We drove as far up as we could, coming to a car park and admissions centre writhing with tourists. We had a dodgy exchange with a man claiming we needed to pay a fee of 5 euros to use the car park, another like minded individual claiming the same of the toilets. Upon reaching the admissions simon, deterred by the price of entry decided on joining his dad in waiting at the cafe. After gaining entry, we commenced our journey to the summit. We were accompanied by tourists from all over the world, of every colour, shape and size. We trudged through the volcanic pumice up a mountain path, naples peaking through clouds and mountain slopes beneath us. Having almost spent more time sitting on the back of a bike than not, i found my fitness lagging. However, after not long at all, we found ourself staring into the deep epicentre of mount vesuvius. The crater was over 200m deep, bordered by shining black, sheer cliffs on all sides. Mist spilled over the brim of the black cauldron like crater, the enormous soup of bubbling, simmering lava beneath not a giant leap of inference. After cresting the volcano, we came half circle and decided to head back, finding at the car that the car park attendant had lowered his price to 2 euro 50, and lowered it further when we asked after his license. We reunited with steve and simon and took off down the slope, headed for Herculaneum. After a ride down the mountain that passed hitch hikers, cyclists and buses so long they almost jutted over the mountain ledge whilst negotiating the winding mountain road, we entered ercalano, despite being confused by the italian-english name disparity. After receiving admission from a surly italian admin man, we entered the site itself. The ancient town was impressive, so immaculately preserved by its fiery volcanic demise that we questioned the integrity of its ancient nature. The resort town of Herculaneum had been first hit by the eruption, incinerated by a pyroclastic surge travelling at almost 700 km/ph as its residents attempted a river bound evacuation by the boat houses where their charred, skeletal remains have resided to this day. We walked through some of the best preserved roman atriums, villae and bath houses in the world, perfectly protected by a layer of volcanic ash turned earth hundreds of metres deep. We discovered that only 30% of the city had seen the light of day since its discovery by well probing over a hundred years ago. The rest remained covered by earth and modern buildings, excavation having proven too costly and complicated to be undertaken. After our expedition, we resolved to get a start on the amalfi coast. However, the sprawl of naples lay between us and it. The gps lead us through impossibly narrow cobbled streets we had to toot down to avoid running over the pedestrians that spilled over it. However, somehow dave managed the impossible, steering the fiat panda masterfully down streets that almost squeezed it from either side. Finally, we reached main streets. However, our relief was superseded by dismay as we found ourself entangled in chaotic traffic. At one stage, a butcher truck stopped in its tracks in the middle of a one lane road and began unloading meat. The cacophonous chorus that erupted behind us in reply was deafening. The napoletana obviously saw main roads as car parks and car parks as means of money making. After ages of gridlocked, rubbish strewn ramshackle streets, we reached the coast. Despite the amazing vista of the bay of naples it afforded, the amalfi coast offered no respite from neapolitan traffic and we found ourselves gridlocked once more. At one stage in a tunnel, the traffic became so bad that paul was able to get out of the car and feed the motorbike riding Simon biscuits in staving off the boredom. Finally, we found respite by a beautiful beach. We parked, paid a parking attendant a few euros and settled in a classy ristorante on a dock that jutted into the bay, sheer cliffs to either side of us and vesuvius ominously looming across the water.
Posted on: Thu, 17 Jul 2014 14:43:57 +0000