We were a right turn from paradise. Unfortunately, I took a left, and the
serenity of southern Italy evaporated in the mid-summer heat. Blue skies and
verdant fields were replaced by blind terror.
The game plan for short-break bliss had been simple enough: hop on a cheap
flight to Rome’s Ciampino airport, pick up a hire car and the family — kids
and all — would be on the Bay of Naples in a couple of hours, nestling in a
luxury hotel just outside the historic town of Castellammare di Stabia. For
a while it worked like a charm as we chugged down the motorway, ticking off
city after city, historic site after site. Then I made my mistake.
Suddenly the reassuring expanse of motorway gave way to the hurdy-gurdy of
painfully winding roads, that brought us very quickly up to date with the
grimmest parts of the area. Every village seemed to be populated by
sinister-looking locals who just had to be members of the Neapolitan
Camorra. Even when the tight bends and impossibly narrow roads finally spat
us out in Castellammare di Stabia, our ordeal was not over.
We’d arrived at the height of a local holiday. One moment we found ourselves
confused and searching for our bearings in a bustling square. The next,
somebody had dropped the flag on a local event that can only be described as
a cross between the Wacky Races and Grand Theft Auto.
In a flash, scooters laden with five and six people (no helmets, of course)
bounced off the car as sweat dripped from my palms onto the steering wheel.
We were lost, but, worse still, a desperate three-point turn had resulted in
my tiny Fiat becoming wedged across a narrow street, holding back a baying,
beeping mob of cars and scooters.
There was only one way out. The wimpish Scots driver must release his inner
Italian. I nudged a pack of scooters out of the way with the bumper, cut
across three lanes of traffic, beeping and cursing at all around, and
suddenly we were free of the chaos and on the coast road to Sorrento.
The atmosphere in the car eased and minutes later came the first glimpse of
our destination, the Crowne Plaza hotel, situated on a private beach between
Pompeii and Sorrento.
This hotel reeks of comfort and luxury. Its growing reputation has already
attracted many Brits, who mix with a smattering of wealthy Russians. This is
a place where you can swim or canoe the day away in the sea, then relax on
the terrace as the twinkling beauty of Naples reveals itself from the curve
of the bay as evening falls.
The whole experience was one of sumptuousness, exemplified by breakfast the
next morning: a feast of fruit, hams, breads, cheeses and speciality
pastries from the hills of Campania, all eaten outside with the blazing
morning sun blasting through the lemon trees.
Refreshed and with directions from the staff to get to Pompeii (“Keep heading
for Vesuvius. You can’t miss it.”) we ventured out on four wheels again.
After another series of wrong turns, we stumbled upon Europe’s finest
archeological site by chance, bizarrely situated at the end of a motorway
surrounded by a motley collection of pizza restaurants, tat stalls and
chancers hungry to part you from your cash.
Beyond this squalor, thankfully, the drama of Pompeii is undiminished. The
city was consumed by a volcanic eruption in 62AD, and the last acts of many
of its citizens were preserved under the ash and debris of the explosion.
Rome, the BBC sex-and-blood drama extravaganza, may have left some eager to
explore the Roman way of life. If so, this is the place to visit: such is
the astonishing detail of the remains, television researchers consulted
Pompeiian casts to ensure the historical accuracy of the explicit sex
scenes.
Whatever your reason for a visit, a few preparations will help. First, make
sure you take your passports, because children from EU countries are
entitled to a generous discount. Second, read Pompeii, Robert Harris’s
hugely enjoyable book, before setting off on holiday. Harris’s account is
seen through the eyes of Marcus Attilius Primus, an engineer given the task
of finding out why his predecessor has vanished and why the water is drying
up on the world’s largest aqueduct.
The book brings the remains of Pompeii to life, turning dusty streets and
buildings into a vibrant historical experience.
And the place is mind-blowing. Time slipped away as we charged along the dusty
streets, stopping to examine what remains of the villas of the city’s
wealthy fathers, all released from petrification since excavation began in
1748. Mosaics, sculptures and pottery survived in streets that were choked
by hot ash and volcanic debris.
It was an unforgettable break. With some luxuriant and terrifying memories and
Pompeiian dust in our shoes, it was back on the road north, with a promise
to visit Sorrento next time, via the Stabia bypass, of course.
Details: Ryanair flies to Rome Ciampino from Glasgow
Prestwick from £85 including tax.
The Crowne Plaza hotel (www.ichotelsgroup.com, 00 39 081 394 6700) near
Castellammare di Stabia offers doubles from £93
