http://artsbeat.blogs.nytimes.com/2010/11/30/another-collapse-at-pompeii-renews-calls-for-better-care/?ref=arts
Another piece of ruins has collapsed in on itself at Pompeii. This follows the news about a month ago that the alleged "House of Gladiators" (where men were said to relax pre-battle) fell to dust just outside the amphitheater. How can a ruin collapse? Good question. Everything at Pompeii at least partially collapsed almost two thousand years ago when Mt. Vesuvius rained its fire down on her. The crux of the Times article is really just the spawning of a debate in public history--save the ruins (which means pumping money to fund special preservation strategies) or leave them be?
The topic struck close to home because I toured Pompeii this past May. I spent an afternoon there (not even long enough to see half of what's there, to note). I ambled along with my friend Catherine for hours, tracing and re-tracing the confusing passageways, wincing as the stones underfoot jabbed right up through my Keds. (Yes, I was wearing Keds...the cute kind.) Pompeii is a beautiful mess, let it be known. It's iconic at this point, plastered on the pages of history textbooks, the subject of many a coffee table book, pushed by travel agents the world over. And in many ways it lives up to expectations. It is a pile of ruins, jagged and haphazard because the volcanic ash selectively preserved its image. Recognizable artifacts--frescos, statuary, and the like--are scattered throughout and serve as shocking reminders that what Pompeii really can offer are haunting glimpses into the life of a community cut short. Vesuvius lurks around every vista there, and on our journey the clouds bundled around it threatened torrential rain.
At the entrance to Pompeii, right off the Trenitalia platform, you encounter public history at its absolute worst. Stall after stall of souvenirs, all of them cheaply made, where pompous men will haggle with you until you finally decide to just run away from them. The food is gross and expensive. People rush around you every which way, you must protect your pocketbook, and the air kind of smells, to be honest. But the beautiful thing is that once you buy your ticket, that's all behind you. I turned to Catherine when we entered and asked, "Is this right?" because the entrance pathway looked way too calm and indiscreet to be the gateway into one of the most wondrous sites of ancient history remaining in the modern world. There are no souvenir stalls in Pompeii. There is no food to be had, just water available from some of the original fountains. There are hardly any signs. Without the headset (which I never purchase, because why would I want someone else interpreting what I see for me?), it's a maze that you have to give yourself over to. At one point Catherine and I ended up on a hill above the ruins, felt lost, and considered climbing down into a roped-off part (maybe too fragile?) and sneaking back to where we could hear voices.
My point is that even though the weather and the process of aging are finally taking their tolls on what's left there, something's been done right. History is allowed to be history there, untainted by the bright colors and intrusive guidebook-mentality we encounter at just about any historical site these days. Even the Vatican has give in to some of that.
I don't have a solution for Pompeii. Does anyone really need to have one?
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