While Naples has a lot going for it as a vacation destination, it's not the ideal port of call on a cruise. There's just far too much on offer; we had to make a choice from nine excursions, the most of any port on our cruise.

"I'd like to take the funicular railway on the Isle of Capri."

"I'd rather see the ruins of Pompeii."

"Capri."

"Pompeii."

A short pause, and then:

"We're not joined at the hip. You go to Capri, and I'll go to Pompeii."

"I don't speak Italian."

"Neither do I."

"Yes, but you do speak Spanish, and can make yourself understood."

So, we went to Pompeii. And, in retrospect, I wish I'd seen more of Naples. The port building was a poem in 1930s Art Deco, although the stucco could have done with some attention and a lick of paint. Beyond it, a modern, open-topped tour bus stood right next to a venerable tram car; the kind of wacky juxtaposition I like.

As our bus traveled through Naples, I saw much more peeling stucco, and that's come to symbolize Italy for me. Maybe the Italians have the right idea, and let the building look a little dilapidated and shabby from the outside. If everyone renovated, it would look just too twee and tidy.

Antonio, our guide, was a fruitful source of trivia. Did we know, he said, there used to be a funicular railway to the top of nearby Vesuvius until it was destroyed by an eruption in the 1940s? "They wrote the song 'Funiculi, funicula' to commemorate its opening!" What a coincidence! I'd been singing -- or rather, humming; I don't know the words -- that very song in the shower that morning!

From the bus, we could see the slopes of Vesuvius. From here, it didn't look very volcanic, and I feared those passengers who had opted for the hike to its summit were going to be disappointed. Antonio told us about Lachrima Christi, (The Tears of Christ), a superb white wine made from the grapes that grew in the fertile volcanic soils on the slopes of Vesuvius. In fact, he praised it for ten minutes, but we had no opportunity to buy any, or even taste it. Maybe it's so good that the Neapolitans want to keep it all for themselves?

I suppose the date 79 AD is engraved on the minds of Neapolitans as 1066 is on the minds of Britons, or 1776 on those of Americans. That's the year Vesuvius erupted big-time, engulfing the cities of Pompeii and Herculaneum with vast amounts of volcanic ash. Yes, there are also tours to Herculaneum; these are often recommended for people who don't get around so well, and can't manage a walk around Pompeii.

Having passed the clutter of cafes and souvenir stalls around the entrance, we entered the ruins of the city proper. Two thousand years ago, said Antonio, we would have been underwater, for Pompeii was once a seaport; now, it stands several miles inland.

The buildings are remarkably well preserved, and much evidence has been found of their former use. I wonder how it happened that the "house of ill repute" attracted the greatest number of visitors, even though it hasn't done any business for millenia?

And, we saw a couple of the ancient Pompeiians. Antonio explained they weren't bodies we were seeing, but plaster casts made from the "molds" that were formed as the bodies were buried in ash, then decomposed. But, it still seemed rather disrespectful and ghoulish to take photographs and make video, as many people did.

Probably the best views of Pompeii are the old Forum, or market place, looking towards the seemingly innocuous pile of Vesuvius. And, it's not dead yet; it's engulfed the city once, and may well do so again.

On the way back, Antonio had something else to show us. "Look at those trees on your right!" he said. Apparently, in the 19th century, the people used to hang their freshly made pasta in those trees to dry. One day, Mark Twain passed this way -- and remained convinced for many years that spaghetti grew on trees!