I am running; weaving between stone buildings and narrow cobblestone alleys, dodging fire balls as I struggle to see through the soot to my home, where I must rescue my most prized possession before the city is overflown with lava- my chocolate stash. Actually, I am leisurely meandering down an ancient road, with a clear blue sky unfolding above me, imagining what took place in this very spot nearly 2,000 years ago, and what would be important enough for me to sacrifice my life rushing back into a disintegrating city for. I might be making a little bit of a satire out of an infamous yet fascinating tragedy, but that's exactly what happened in this perfectly preserved ancient Roman town.
The two-day eruption of Mount Vesuvius in 79 A.D. killed most of the population with it's initial heat and ash, and then, upon finishing its lengthy spew, released a pressure which dropped 48-hours worth of accumulated ash straight down onto those who had bravely re-entered the city to recscue people and belongings. Thus, the city and it's inhabitants were, for all intents and purposes, exterminated and basically mummified. "The Living City" they call it. And upon its discovery 500 years ago, Pompeii has given authors, historians, and artists enough material to weave fiction or perfectly accurate and equally interesting historical stories to last another 2,000 years. This is the stuff legends are made out of (and mystery series', such as one by Iris Johansen that I was once enthralled with).
Despite the dust in my contacts (or, I guess, the ashes of ancient civilization), and my stupid H&M tennis shoes causing serious toe crampage, I hardly notice my discomfort through a daze of fascination with our tour. Which was, to both my disdain and pleasure, lead by my science teacher. You can tell Prof. Luca was a stud in his youthful prime, wearing his eco-friendly pants and a small hoop in his left ear. He's even pretty funny- smiling as he encourages us to layer up "like onions", and reminding us to avoid wearing "flit flots". 
Yet, as he tends to do the classroom, he has a habit of droning on and on…. and on, in a monotonous voice that after four hours of treading cobblestone, makes escaping sound rather lovely. But alas, there is no where to escape to unless I want to risk ending up lost in a street, that looks just like every other street, unable to find my way out until the next volcano erupts. The only telling difference between roads is the placement of phallic symbols, which used to represent fertility and good luck to this immortal city. 
After seeing what used to be bakeries, bars, beds, bathrooms, public gathering, the colosseum, and, with fascinating morbidity, preserved human bodies- all in exactly the shape they had died in, curled with their arms around each other as they took their last, sooty, breaths- we ended up at what had been the local marketplace.
Other notable events in Pompeii, occurring outside of the actual ruins, include a small child harassing Kelsey for a bite of her apple and a high volume of massive lemons strategically placed everywhere. Ever-the-diligent tourists, we tried fried calzones typical of Southern Italy,which boasts the freshest mozzarella and tomatoes in the entire country. After sampling the wares, I believe this to be the truth.
We finally re-board the bus to begin our journey to Sorrento. Kelsey and I had stayed out at at a club the night before, setting our alarms for 4am so we had just enough time to head home, grab our bags, and make our 5am bus. Needless to say, the moment I closed my eyes on the bus, I was already dreaming of ancient kings and treasures and raining fire.
Fascinating!
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