In 1971, Pink Floyd played open air concerts at Crystal Palace and at the amphitheatre in Pompeii. I was at the former (which was memorable for the famously immersive ‘quadrophonic’ sound system, the giant inflatables that hovered over the lake in front of the stage and the rumours that even the fish in it were moved by the music) but not the latter. In fact, I didn’t know of it until some years later, when I came across the film of the event, at which there was no audience, apart from a few children who managed to sneak into the closed-off venue.
After
visiting Pompeii last Monday, I brought up the film on YouTube and had another
attempt at watching it, but was defeated, yet again, by its dullness, which I
put it down to the lack of audience participation. I would rather have seen a
good old gladiatorial contest.
We had
travelled to Pompeii from Naples on the local commuter train, a pleasant enough
experience at this time of year, when crowds are thin and temperatures are in
the teens. I had forgotten just how big the site is and was grateful for Lonely
Planet’s guide to the major points of interest, however I look forward to
visiting the Archaeological Museum in Naples, where many of the treasures
uncovered can be viewed at leisure. Important as it is, Pompeii is one of those
sites that is too close to urbanisation and too popular with tourists to afford
the moments of lonely reflection that connect the senses deeply to pre-history,
such as I’ve experienced at the remoter relics of Mediterranean civilisations, like
Choirokoitia, in Cyprus.
Whereas
Pompeii (and Heraculaneum) are uniquely preserved historical treasures, fixed
in time, Naples is a work in progress. It has something of a reputation for
being messy, chaotic and corrupt, all of which might be reflections of its
history as a kingdom, a brief study of which reveals all those characteristics
and more (brutality and cruelty, not least). From the time of the Norman
conquest in the 11th-12th centuries, until the
unification of Italy in 1861, various royal houses fought and connived to exert
rule over the Neapolitan region. The history is too complex to relate, save to
say it reflects Martin Gardner’s* view of biographical history as taught in
school being: “largely a history of boneheads: ridiculous kings and queens,
paranoid political leaders, compulsive voyagers, ignorant generals, the flotsam
and jetsam of historical currents. The (people) who radically altered history,
the great creative scientists and mathematicians, are seldom mentioned if at
all”.
Relative to
its tempestuous past, the Naples that today’s tourists experience is tame. But
wander away from the guidebook recommendations and you soon experience the kind
of native life that has lent the city its lawless reputation. The most
startling aspect is the use of the streets, especially those that were built
before the motor car. They may be narrow and crowded with pedestrians, their
shops and cafes spilling out over the pavements, their itinerant traders laying
claim to whatever space they can find to set out their stalls, yet still the
motorists, on four wheels and two, barge through the chaos. The pedestrians
appear unfazed and no user seems to have a ‘right of way’ in the constant
struggle to get around.
If this was
a city in northern Europe, everything would be tightly regulated and marked out,
yet one senses this will never happen in Naples and perhaps it’s for the best. The
intricacies of drawing up and policing an effective code are daunting, whereas
the Neapolitans seem to have developed their own system, of making things work
by common consent.
Accepted
etiquette is a powerful social constraint, though it is necessary for everyone
to be knowingly complicit. When we found a suitable step in Pompeii’s amphitheatre
on which to perch and eat our sandwiches, a passing native glared
disapprovingly and wagged her finger at us, as if to say, “you are defiling a
revered place”. I bet she was never a Pink Floyd fan.
*Martin Gardner, mathematician and writer, 1914-2010.
No comments:
Post a Comment