I’ve Visited Pompeii Solo, But a Guided Tour Unearthed Archaeological Secrets That I’d Missed

Minutes into the 25-minute drive from Naples to Pompeii, the western face of Mt. Vesuvius—the volcano that doomed Pompeii to centuries of oblivion—came into view, peering dramatically over the Gulf of Naples.

I had been picked up at 10am across the street from Napoli Centrale, Naples’ conveniently located main train station, and sat with about a dozen other travelers in a Mercedes minibus with leather seats and mood lighting. The luxurious ride was a welcome alternative to uncomfortable public buses and Circumvesuviana trains, the usual options for reaching Pompeii.

For those who are unfamiliar with the history, nearly 2,000 years ago, Vesuvius erupted, blanketing Pompeii in ash—technically, a wall of death called a pyroclastic flow. While this catastrophic event killed thousands and buried the town for centuries, it also preserved its ruins astonishingly well. Despite having been to Pompeii many times, I often felt something was missing exploring without a guide. During the drive from Naples our guide, Maria, who later told me she studied archaeology at the local university, provided commentary for travelers on the minibus. “Pompeii covers an area of about 66 hectares (166 acres), of which 44 hectares (108 acres) are excavated and open to the public,” she said.Exploring the entire site, Maria said, would require two full days and nights. What’s more, she explained that archaeologists often unearth new sections, such as the recently uncovered Blue Room, which they believe is an ancient shrine called a sacrarium. Hearing her describe the vastness of it all, and looking at a map she provided, I realized that during all my visits I had seen just a few sections. Today, we would stick to the southwest side and explore less than one-third of the ancient town. Still, it was more than enough to get a feel for the place.

As we pulled off the highway and neared the ancient site, I wondered what Maria would teach me about archaeology. After we parked at Porta Marina Inferiore, the southwest entrance, I asked her about our route. She explained that Giuseppe Fiorelli, an architect in charge of early excavations, divided the archaeological site into nine regions (regio), each with multiple block-sized (insulae), an organizing scheme still in use today. The massive amphitheater, known for being one of the oldest surviving Roman structures of its kind, is in Regio II on the east side of the site, while the Villa of the Mysteries is in Regio VI in the northwest. We planned to explore the southeast regions VII and VIII in a few hours. After wrangling our group and handing out headphones dialed into her wireless radio—designed to make sure we didn’t miss a word—Maria led us through the entrance. “Our purpose is to live as in Roman times—enter and you will be in the first century AD,” she said.

(However, she did note that we should follow her distinctly non–first century AD pink umbrella. “It’s hard to get lost, but nothing is impossible,” she quipped in her slightly mocking Neapolitan accent.)

Our first stop was the portico facing the Great Theater (Teatro Grande) and the Small Theater (Teatro Piccolo). The former is still in use—and has seating sections (cavea) organized into lower (ima), middle (media), and highest (summa) tiers based on social class. I had heard similar stories about class stratification before. The Greek Theatre of Taormina, for example, has similar architecture. But at the Small Theater, Maria asked us about terracotta jars set below the marble floor—what were they for? Maria explained that they served as “microphones of the ancient world” by enhancing echoes. These were exactly the types of details that I had missed during solo visits.

As we strolled up Via Stabiana, a well-preserved street leading north to Via dell'Abbondanza, it felt surreal to walk on the roads that ancient Romans set foot on. Aside from missing roofs and doors, Pompeii barely seemed 100 years old, never mind 2,000; Via Stabiana was flat enough for modern cars—except for three stepping-stone–like blocks that Maria pranced on, pink umbrella in hand.

Often, when we gathered to hear more details about various sites, I stood across the street from her to avoid the crowds of tourists (a major benefit of having the headphones, as even from a distance, I didn’t miss a thing). During one such pause, she pointed to tracks in the stone left by passing wheels, and then to small holes in the sidewalk. What were they for? “To tie up your donkey,” she said before marching up the road.

At the corner of Via Stabiana and Via dell’Abbondanza, the main street cutting across Pompeii from east to west, we stopped at a fountain, where Maria highlighted more archaeological features I wouldn’t have noticed on my own. Lead pipes filled a column next to the fountain to help slow the water pressure, an ingenious feat of ancient plumbing; and smooth depressions carved in the rim from ancient Romans rubbing their hands on the fountain's edge as they drank, a seemingly minor detail that helped archaeologists determine the fountain was an original.

From there, we stopped at the entrance to the House of Sirico, a local merchant. “We are guests in a Roman house,” Maria said, “a domus in Latin, where it’s forbidden to walk over marble or touch the walls.” We sidestepped marble floor slabs and Maria talked us through the impluvium, the water-catchment pool in the atrium, and led us through the cubicula (bedrooms) to the triclinium, the dining room.

Here, we also saw the first plaster casts made in Pompeii—there are others located around the archaeological park, most famously in the Garden of the Fugitives. Originally corpses of Pompeiians who perished during the eruption, they eventually decomposed, leaving a “mold” in volcanic ash that archaeologists filled with plaster. The resulting forms show the victims in the instant of death; often, they’re shielding their bodies. During prior visits, I had seen similar forms, but never these, and never in such detail.

As Maria explained, the belt and tunic one of the forms wore signaled her lower social class; she also wore her hair in a bun and was visibly pregnant. Most remarkably, she carried calcified pomegranate remains, which helped archaeologists determine that Vesuvius erupted in the fall, when pomegranates are in season.

Staring at the form, I was astonished at how fragments of her story, invisible to my eye without Maria's help, survived under deadly ash for centuries, and that Vesuvius’ disastrous eruption led to small miracles of archaeology—and the larger miracle of Pompeii—still intact. Even after repeated visits, my sense of wonder only seems to grow.

Before rounding out our morning excursion, we visited the lupanar (brothel), with its erotic paintings; the Stabian Baths; and the Forum, the town’s social and civic center, where we had free time to roam as ancient Romans did. But I kept my eyes on Vesuvius. I felt oddly grateful to that force of nature for converting Pompeii into a time capsule—one of the many strange contradictions that makes Pompeii (and Naples) a fascinating destination.

As we neared the exit, Maria mentioned that Pompeii has seven gates and kilometers of walls. From our position, it would take an hour to reach the Villa of the Mysteries on foot. We had only partially explored two of Pompeii's nine regions, and although our tour was more than satisfying, there was still much to see—perhaps on another visit. As Maria mentioned, Pompeii’s archaeologists make new discoveries all the time.

This tour was provided courtesy of Viator.