I stood in the center of the Via del Vesuvio — a street made of hard white stones laid there 2,700 years ago by Etruscan masons — staring at an opening in a wall that had a slab of marble at the height of a counter.
It was a wine bar in the commercial center of Pompeii, right next to Modestum’s Bakery. On a day trip from Rome, I was touring the archeological remains of the ancient city of Pompeii.
I had slipped away the tour group, wandering off to lose myself in this amazing place. For a few minutes I was transported to Aug. 23, A.D. 79, the day before Mount Vesuvius erupted and buried the town and all its people in lava and ash.
A young woman at the counter of the wine bar asked me if I wanted some wine with my bread. I clutched a large round loaf of brown bread, hot out of a wood-fired oven from the bakery next door. “Pliny the Elder was just here. He loves our wines,” she said.
Pliny was a Roman historian whose letters and writings survived those times to give us a record of everything from agriculture to volcanic eruptions. She said her name was Octavia and that she was named after the Emperor Nero’s first wife. A good name, except that wife was exiled and put to death in A.D. 62.
I asked Octavia how many wine bars there were in Pompeii. “Dozens, but mine is the best. Our wine comes from vines high on the side of the mountain.” I gazed up at Mount Vesuvius, which was present in every view to the north. A little cloud of steam encircled the top of the volcano.
Octavia described the vineyards stretching from the bay of Naples on the slope of Vesuvius all the way south to Sorrento. Pompeii was one of the most important wine ports on the Mediterranean. Wine was shipped north to the port at Ostia for sale in Rome and other parts of the Empire.
She told me about “Pompeian wine” made from a local vineyard called the Holconia, owned by a prominent family in Pompeii. She agreed with Pliny that it “made the head hurt.”
Two Roman soldiers walked by; she smiled, raised a flask to offer them some wine and said, “Praise Titus Caesar!” in homage to the present emperor.
Outside town were farm-villas where Octavia’s wine was made. Wine pressing rooms had elaborate piping systems for running crushed grapes (the must) at harvest time to the “dolia.”
These large earthenware vessels, some holding several thousand litres of must, were set into the ground where fermentation of the wine took place. The finished wine was transported to cargo ships in the Bay of Naples, some so large and full of wine that they were the ancient equivalent of a tanker transporting wine in bulk.
Wine in Roman times was stored in amphora, smaller pottery containers that looked like clay vases with two handles and a mouth narrow enough to be stoppered. The inside was coated with pine resin to keep the wine in, and cork or a fired clay lid sealed the top.
Amphoras were stamped with the name or symbol of the wine merchant or owner. Most of them held about 26 litres, or about 7 gallons, of wine. Wine aged well in these vessels.
Octavia showed me the rows of amphora in her wine bar showcased behind the counter. Some was straight wine, red mostly; but some wine had strong additives, like pepper, wormwood, capers, saffron and other herbs and spices. There was an amphora of wine laced with honey, the sweetener of the day. It was the most expensive.
The Romans adopted the winemaking methods of the Greeks and Etruscans and developed pruning methods and winemaking as an art. The Italian Peninsula became known as “Oneotria” (the land of wine) in ancient times.
Octavia told me that there were vineyards even inside the walled city of Pompeii and the houses of the city’s rich were full of wine. “Have you been in the House of the Vettii?” Octavia asked me. “They have the most wonderful fierze (a mosaic painting) in which cherubs are making wine and offering it to customers like you. The Vettii are wine merchants. I buy wines from them.”
“Do you live here in Pompeii?” I asked.
“Yes. But by nightfall I am on my way to Rome. My parents live in the Aventine,” she replied.
“That’s good. Go soon. Don’t linger in the city,” I said with a sigh of relief.
Octavia looked puzzled. She didn’t understand.
A finger jabbed me in the side. “Are you talking to someone?” my wife asked.
I turned around and awoke to the 21st century. Octavia vanished. “Nobody. Just thinking aloud about what it must have been like here before the volcano blew. I really would like to get a glass of wine.” I replied sheepishly.
Our tour guide said that when Vesuvius blew, the countryside for miles around was submerged in a hurricane of ash, cinder and dust, while rivers of lava mixed with mud raced down the sides of the volcano. It was such a sudden eruption that most of the people here were killed as they tried to escape.
Many bodies have been discovered encased and perfectly preserved in mud. For three days the coastline was devastated from Herculaneum to Stabia; Pompeii was buried in a layer of ash 20 feet deep.
After the tour, I got to nearby restaurant and ordered a bottle of local wine. I wondered if Octavia made it out of Pompeii in time. I’m sure she did, I reassured myself as I drank down the Aglianico Rosso, a powerful volcano of a wine.
Michael “Gino” Gianunzio is a local lawyer, artist and winemaker. He lives on Camano Island and can be reached at: theislanditalian@yahoo.com.
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