Stories the Stones Still Tell
At a quiet mosaic, a caretaker traced a dolphin’s tail with his shadow and whispered, “Fishermen still recognize this curve.” He pointed to a worn threshold and said vendors once argued there. For a minute, the site was not a lesson but a neighborhood, and the centuries felt politely thin.
Stories the Stones Still Tell
Standing by the ovens, you imagine warm loaves scored into quarters, carried through ash-bright streets. A guide mentions carbonized bread, and suddenly modern focaccia at lunch becomes a ritual rather than a snack. Taste, like memory, proves that ruins are not silent; they hum when curiosity leans close.