The next morning we got up early. We planned to arrive in Pompeii before the majority of tourists would reach it, hoping to avoid the worst of the crowds.

I dressed up quickly, choosing a simple, short tunic dress from my luggage. Organising my wavy, long, brown hair into a braid, I remembered Livia and her intricate hair-do.

Oh, well, I thought, looking at my own reflection in the mirror, never quite happy with it, this is it, it won't get any better.

As a last thought I attached Livia's brooch to my dress and stuffed my book in the handbag. Looking in the mirror one last time, I noticed that the amethyst of the jewel was nearly the same lavender colour as my eyes.

"I'm coming," I informed Laura who was pacing across the room noisily and impatiently, making me understand that she was ready to go.

Of course she was. With her perfect Barbie looks she needed very little time or effort to prepare. Today she was excited too, and that gave her an extra speed. I was sure that she was hoping to meet Ian somewhere, sooner or later.

If they got together, they would be the perfect Barbie-Ken couple. I mused, attempting to hide the smile the thought brought to my lips, to avoid talking about Ian. At least for the moment.

"Finally," Laura said after I locked the room, and we made our way downstairs.

Our original plan was to take a little local train to get to Pompeii, La Circumvesuviana. However, after a little chat with the receptionist, we changed our minds. He told us how hot and overcrowded that train would be on an August morning, when the city was bursting with sightseeing tourists. We were recommended to take a bus instead, which, after picking up more tourists from several other hotels, would take us directly to Pompeii and its archeological site.

Looking at Laura, I guessed she was hoping that the bus would pick up her Ian in one of the other hotels. Oh well, if it made her happy...

After a quick breakfast we got on the bus that was already waiting outside. We were the only passengers at the moment, but after the driver stopped in maybe five nearby hotels, the little vehicle filled up.

There was no sign of Ian and Marcus though. I observed Laura inconspicuously-- she was acting bravely, letting nothing on about her disappointment.

"We will have a great time today, Laura, you'll see," I felt obliged to lift her spirits up.
"We will bump into Ian and his friend sooner or later, we are all young tourists from London visiting Naples for the first time, we are bound to want to see the same places..." My words brought back her smile, making me feel happy.

After a good half an hour, the bus driver managed to disentangle us from the crazy, hectic traffic. The road became narrower, leading us through small towns, offering great views of the sea on one side and Mount Vesuvius on the other.

It took quite some time to reach Pompeii, but for me the journey itself was a part of the trip and I enjoyed it.
This time it was Laura who dosed off in her seat, overcome with boredom, after she had finally given up talking about Ian.

We got out of the bus and were hit by the Italian heat. It was only ten o'clock in the morning, but the place felt like a huge greenhouse, extremely humid and warm.

Walking towards the ancient ruins, I heard insects chirp, hiding deep in the sun dried grass, and birds singing among the old pine trees that were offering the only, rare and welcome shadows. The volcano looked quite peaceful and sleepy, with a lone, smoke-like cloud lingering above its top, the mountain being tall enough to touch the high clouds of a summer day.

We reached the museum's entrance and found our guide waiting for us outside. The woman looked like someone who had spent her life in Pompeii, telling its secrets to the curious tourists, making me wonder how it actually felt, being bound to one place for so long-- how Livia felt after her centuries' long existence...

"...now let us walk among the ruins first, before it gets too hot. After, you can rest from the heat inside the museum, admiring our unique collection," the guide was saying in perfect English when I forced myself to stop thinking about Livia, and tuned her in. "You chose a perfect day to visit Pompeii," the guide went on. "Most likely, the volcanic eruption started on this very day, the twenty-fourth of August, in the year seventy-nine. In about twenty-five hours of activity, Mount Vesuvius buried Pompeii, along with those citizens who decided to stay, under meters of volcanic material for centuries..."

Stepping among the ruins felt like travelling back in time, and getting an insight on the life and habits of the people who had lived there, centuries ago. It was a spellbinding experience-- walking along the town's strange roads with their tall curbs and stepping stones, strolling next to the small town houses and huge villas on the outskirts, with holes for windows and missing roofs, across small squares with their fountains, left intact by time, observing so many perfectly preserved objects of daily use, mosaics, fresco's and... skeletons and the plaster casts which looked so real that I felt a chill in my bones, despite the summer heat.

The guide took us for a walk among the ruins, pointing out the most important places and buildings.

"If you look closely at the houses' walls," she said at some point, "you'll notice that there are cracks that were filled later, some parts of the buildings rebuilt and repaired. That's because a huge earthquake in February of the year sixty-three destroyed the town and killed plenty of people. Just imagine that it was so strong, that the tidal wave it caused nearly reached the city of Rome. And yet, the Pompeians refused to take it as a warning sign and leave their beloved town. Eventually, they got used to the little tremors caused by the volcano shaking the ground under their feet, which had never really stopped since the earthquake."

The story of Pompeii and its people was becoming increasingly sad with every new sentence pronounced by the guide. At some point I noticed a piece of flowery fabric attached to a broken stone wall of one of the houses-- it reminded me of my dress, and made me think about Livia again.

Where was she now?

In the end I was relieved to reach the museum, I was sad, hot and my feet were sore. Laura didn't seem to feel any better.

We thanked the amazing guide who had explained to us the past few centuries in an hour, and entered the cool and dark building. It would have been a nice sensation if the first thing I saw weren't more dead people, covered in plaster.

Any one of them could be Livia...

My head started to spin and my tired legs gave way to the weight of my body, as I felt myself precipitate into darkness.