Back in the early 18th century, Johann von Goethe's father traveled extensively in Italy, a variant of one of the many "great tours" performed by wealthy Northern Europeans. One of the major highlights for him was his climb to the crater of Vesuvius, perhaps the world's most famous volcano. Once he reached the top, he pulled out a flask of Lacryma Christi to celebrate.Lacryma Christi is the name of the wine produced around the volcano, with grapes grown from the fertile near-black volcanic soil. The story: when the Lord expelled Lucifer from the Heavenly Paradise, Lucifer stole a piece of it and carried it down with him, leaving it in this exact spot (truly a piece of heaven, I might add). When the Lord discovered the theft, he wept holy tears at the loss, and where these tears fell grapes sprang from the ground, producing the bold, earthy young wine we now know as Lacryma Christi, or tears of Christ.
I do not know how, but my father got a hold of the story of the elder Goethe's trip, and was persistent in suggesting that I repeat his actions in homage to all those Great Tourers, who in a sense paved the way for my own journey. Liking the idea myself, I assented, and this was the day I had chosen to do it.
I caught the train from Sorrento, got off at Pompei, took a bus to the area near the top, and started to climb. I was not alone; actually I was surprised to see such a large number of people up top. Apparently, all of us had waited for the rainy, cloudy days to pass, only to find that the top was shrouded in a thick grey fog that only blew for short periods of time, revealing the coast below.
I caught the train from Sorrento, got off at Pompei, took a bus to the area near the top, and started to climb. I was not alone; actually I was surprised to see such a large number of people up top. Apparently, all of us had waited for the rainy, cloudy days to pass, only to find that the top was shrouded in a thick grey fog that only blew for short periods of time, revealing the coast below.Still, when we managed to see it, the view was splendid, and anyways the main attraction here was the volcano itself, not the view. Funny how things change when you poke a hole in a mountain. Nobody would have paid for the bus and entrance ticket simply to reach the top of a mountain, average-sized as it is, except for the fact that every once in a while it spews out lava. Which got me thinking: aren't volcano climbers very similar to people who go to air shows? Everyone pretends they want to see cool tricks, check out the latest aviation innovations, see the view from the crater, see the evidence of past eruptions, and so on, but we all know that we're there for one reason above all: in the air show, to see someone crash, and in the case of volcanoes, to see it blow up or at least get angry and bubble. Ok, Ok, you disagree, that's fine, but speaking for myself, I must admit that I mostly wanted to see lava or some mini explosion.
As that was not coming, I contented myself with cloudy curling wisps of smoke in the crater, and taking lots of photos, none of which were satisfying. The best view of a volcano's crater, like any circular terrestrial object, is from far above or far below, and I would have to buy a postcard to get either.For all my complaining, I will say that it was still fascinating from a historical perspective, and another one of those things I can check off my life list.
The only thing left o do was check something off my Dad's vicarious list, and so I sat at a table overlooking the misty non-view and opened my bottle of Lacryma Christi. Pouring out a libation for Goethe's father, the other Grand Tourers, and travelers in general, then one for Dad (hope you enjoyed it!), 
I drank wine on the top of the volcano whose eruptions had given it a particularly jubilant and fresh earth flavor. Accompanied by the Italian lunch staples (bread, cheese, meat, tomatoes), I put down a bit less than a half bottle, poured the last bits out once more in homage, and taking one last look at the crater, left Mt. Vesuvius.
I drank wine on the top of the volcano whose eruptions had given it a particularly jubilant and fresh earth flavor. Accompanied by the Italian lunch staples (bread, cheese, meat, tomatoes), I put down a bit less than a half bottle, poured the last bits out once more in homage, and taking one last look at the crater, left Mt. Vesuvius.By the time I reached Sorrento, it was almost too late to get any walking done. However, the bus to Sant'Agata was just leaving as I arrived, so I took the shot, landed at 3:55, and in 65 minutes managed to fly 4.1 miles up and down hills to Colli S. Pietro, a tiny 3-building outpost situated on a hilltop. There I waited until 6:05 for a bus back to Sorrento, happy with my one productive hour of walking.
So, did I catch you with the title of the blog post? You know you wanted to see some pictures of an eruption, no use lying to yourself...
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