Back to Italy: Pompei and Rome Day 1

 After the bustling energy of Athens, Tom and Jim set their sights on a place of striking contrast—the white-washed stucco and blue-tiled rooftops of a Greek island then in vogue with backpackers, thanks to its ferry link between Athens and Italy: Corfu. But on the day of departure, bad weather forced all ferries to cancel. Their island escape would have to wait.

So, it was back to Brindisi and onto an overnight train across Italy to another “must-see” destination for travelers of the 1970s—Pompeii.

Neither of them really knew what to expect. What they discovered was astonishing: an entire city once buried beneath volcanic ash since the eruption of Mount Vesuvius in 79 AD. The most haunting sights were the plaster casts of human figures—men, women, and children frozen in their final, desperate moments. With just a bit of imagination, you could almost hear life returning to those streets: merchants calling out their wares, couples flirting in the marketplace, cheers rising from the athletic fields, and laughter spilling out of the taverns.

Pompeii left them quiet and thoughtful. Despite the trip’s brisk pace, moments like this—combined with the people, trains, postcards, and even the daily frugality—made it all deeply rewarding. Their finances were still solid, too. After a week, each had about $500 left, having spent only $53, or roughly $7.50 a day.

Next came the grand stage of Europe: Rome.

One of the first stops was the American Express office, where Tom expected to find a package containing his replacement glasses, which he had lost in the canals of Venice. The glasses weren’t there, but he was delighted to find letters from home: one from his mother, one from “the Duck,” and one from his girlfriend, Beth. They all mentioned that no one could truly see Roma the Magnificent in just two or three days. And as soon as the boys unfolded the map, they saw why—Rome was enormous.

Their lodging turned out to be one of the trip’s great surprises. Instead of checking into a busy youth hostel, they followed a tip from Tom’s brother, BJ, who had stayed with the Oblates of St. Francis de Sales years earlier, the same order of priests who had taught them in high school. Tom had written ahead, and when they knocked on the door at 33 Via Dandolo, Father George Salzman welcomed them warmly.

The rooms were simple but felt luxurious—each with a writing desk, a comfortable bed, and blessed quiet. After weeks of shared bunks and noisy dorms, this was a gift. They could write in their journals, wander freely, and simply rest. Father Salzman would later reappear in Tom’s life thirty-seven years later, officiating his wedding.

Their first day exploring Rome began in the Campidoglio, one of the most elegant city squares ever designed, and from there they descended into the ruins of the Roman Forum. Standing at the spot where Julius Caesar was stabbed, it wasn’t hard to imagine the voices of ancient Rome—politicians debating, philosophers arguing, merchants bargaining, crowds gossiping about the latest intrigue.

They continued on to the Arch of Titus, gazed across to the Palatine Hill, and entered the Colosseum—its tunnels, chambers, and tiers still echoing faintly with the roar of crowds. 

From there, they wandered through the city on foot, finding that all the great monuments seemed connected by winding pedestrian lanes.

They stopped at the Spanish Steps, tossed coins over their shoulders into the Trevi Fountain, and marveled at the Pantheon, where sunlight streamed through the single round opening in its dome. Their walk ended at Piazza Navona, with its fountains representing the great rivers of the world.

Every site felt alive and surprisingly well preserved. The scale and beauty of Rome—its politics, religion, art, entertainment, and everyday life—left them humbled and amazed. And what struck them most was how naturally the city seemed to unfold. Every landmark was within walking distance, every turn led to another discovery. For Tom, compared to London or Paris, Rome felt more open, more human, more inviting. It was, and still is, one of the most walkable cities in Europe—made to be explored on foot, step by step, just as the ancients did.

It may have been all that walking that to led to only their second uncomfortable situation. At a restaurant that night, Tom was enthusiastically making suggestions on what to see and do the next day. This was momentarily interrupted when Tom stopped Jim from putting a forkful of salad in his mouth. At the end of the fork was a giant, black fly. Jim complained to the waiter but the waiter shrugged his shoulders, twittered his fingers about his head to suggest the flight of a fly, and walked away. Jim’s appetite was now as dead as the fly on the fork.

“So what do you think, Doc?” Tom asked after he outlined the next day.

“Sounds good,” Jim said, taking a sip of his beer.

“No opinion? You just sit there, staring off into space.”

“We’ve been talking all day,” Jim said. “Actually, you’ve been talking all day, reading from that [expletive deleted] tour book.”

Tom ignored the jab. “Even when we split for the day, you don’t say much about where you went or what you saw. You’re always inside your head somewhere.”

“Not true,” Jim said. “I just don’t go into excruciating detail about where I went and what I saw.”

But it was true. They were nearing the end of their Eurail pass and potentially the end of the entire adventure. The uncertainty of what was ahead weighed heavily on Jim’s mind.

And so the back-and-forth went on for a few more rounds, until one of them said something that made the other laugh.

They ordered another beer and discussed plans for the next day.

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That was "Then." Click on the video below for Tom and Jim's "Now" reflections on Pompei and their first day in Rome.

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