Contributor 1:
My alarm erupted at 5am on a cool summer’s Thursday morning. My friends and I awoke and stiffly made our way down to the 41 bus on Mountjoy Square. It was our holiday, and we were Napoli-bound.
One of our main goals for our visit to the city of Naples was to visit the nearby ancient ruins of Pompeii. This goal was quickly realized as me and my five pals boarded the train in Naples, bound for Ancient town. At first, it was your typical, run-of-the-mill commuter train, but as we hurtled down the coast to Pompeii, the train slowly turned to ashy stone. I was hastily reminded of the Dublin to Portlaoise train that I sometimes frequent when the bus is unreliable. The Dublin to Portlaoise train follows, as with the Italian locomotive, urbanity to ancient ruins that were once encased in magma.
As the train approached Vesuvius’ playhouse, I experienced genuine deja-vu. Had I been here before? The station in Pompeii, as pictured below, was almost identical to the Adamstown station. I was blown away, this place was a home away from home.
We bought tickets at the gates to the ruins. Being under the age of twenty-four and a citizen of the European Union, the price for five of us was three euro each. We bought the tickets with glee. However, as with the DCM (Dublin City Mindset) exhibited by Pompeii, the price was much different for my poor American peer. He was stuck with the price of nineteen euros for his entry to Pompeii. With volcanic furore, mi amico handed over his debit card, the first submission to the dusty grasp of this horror-filled city.
Walking around Pompeii was a terrifying experience. Somehow this city survived a volcanic eruption that had killed all the residents and forced the city into premature extinction. It reminded me of the Great Recession of 2008, and the brain-drain that found all of our loved ones flocking to Australia for some kind of fiscal comfort. Then it all made sense. The magma that encased Pompeii was the spit that came flooding from the mouth of Brian Cowen, the mountains of ash was Enda Kenny’s dandruff, the broken bodies were Bertie Aherne’s lies. All through the ruined city I heard echoes of the ghost of Charles Haughey telling me to leave, as a disaster was to follow. Suddenly, the heavens opened and the scorching city of Pompeii was christened by the rain. But it helped nothing. Vesuvius growled at us.
“Oh no, not again!” we cried.
Contributor 2:
The history of human endeavors is the history of cities built and subsequently destroyed. Travel anywhere on this planet and you will find well-populated cities, and in those cities, you will find museums memorializing once-well-populated cities; this is the way things are. Having recently done some traveling abroad, I found myself contemplating the nature of the urban dream– was it doomed from the start? Can man truly confine himself to the cramped and narrow streets of the metropolis?
At the root of these ruminations lay two cities: one, the capital of the Republic of Ireland, a city riddled with life and overflowing with ‘potential.’ The other, a city buried in the dirt– the ancient erotic metropolis of Pompeii. Two cities, separated by the millenia– what could they possibly have in common?
The city of Pompeii was completely destroyed in 79 A.D. It was destroyed when nearby Mount Vesuvius erupted, burying the city (and the unfortunate souls still living there) beneath layers of magma, ash, rock, and whatever else comes out of a mountain. Prior to its destruction Pompeii was a thriving center of commerce, intellectual activity, and erotic art. Now, it is an empty ruin where Italian people walk around telling you you can’t smoke and charge you a twenty-euro fee to look at rocks.
In contrast, Dublin was founded around 841 A.D, and is located nowhere near an active volcano. Though it will inevitably be destroyed by geological processes, it will not be destroyed in the same fashion as the city of Pompeii. This leaves the question: what will become of Dublin? What does its future hold?
As activist Eoghan Ó Ceannabháin said, “young people can’t afford to live in Dublin while the red carpet is being rolled out for developers.” Perhaps this is the answer to our question. Whereas the victims of Vesuvius were killed instantly, by boiling shockwaves and falling rock, those who dwell in Dublin city may be resigned to a more boring fate: they will be forced out to make room for the tourists. In Pompeii, market stalls and ornate villas were buried in ash; in Dublin, they’re demolished to accommodate an extension for a Holiday Inn Express.
What can we take away from all this? I’m not sure. All I know is this: I didn’t see a single homeless person during the entire time I was in Pompeii. Take that for what you will.
