More Bridges of the World

On the walkways of Tower Bridge there is currently a display of other iconic, interesting, ancient and modern bridges around the world.

There are some big hitters in the display; the Pont Neuf; the Golden Gate Bridge; Ironbridge, and some interesting but less widely known examples, for example the Moses Bridge at Fort de Roovere, Halsteren, Netherlands. Looking at this exhibition, an in-passing conversation got me thinking about other bridges that have taken my fancy on my travels, so here are a few ‘Other Bridges of the World’.

The Tower Bridge display include a beautiful bridge which I was fortunate to visit in Isfahan, Iran, the Allāhverdi Khan Bridge, more commonly known as Si-O-So-Pol.

Here are a few of my images of this lovely bridge.

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A little way to the west of the Si-O-So-Pol bridge is another mid-17th century beauty, the Khaju Bridge.

Again, the bridge is built of two levels of arcades, and has the original tiles and paintings still intact.

The bridge works as both a bridge and a weir, but it also has a function as a buildings for meetings, a space for the Shah Abbas, the Persian Safavid king, to relax, take tea and admire the view.

The weir’s effect on the river is very evident but, as long as the water isn’t too high, it’s quite safe to sit by the water to enjoy the cool space on a hot day.

When I visited, the area around both of these bridges and along the riverside was peppered with people; individuals, couples, groups of friends and families, all enjoying the same relaxing space as the Shah Abbas. Strolling along the riverbank, sitting by the water, listening to music and eating ice-cream. Some things never change.

The sole Roman Bridge in the Tower Bridge display is the Pont du Garde, near Nimes in France.

I’m including another Roman bridge here for good measure. In Algeria, crossing the El Kantara gorge in Biskra, on the journey south to Ghardaia, we came to the El Kantara Roman Bridge.

The bridge was substantially rebuilt under Napolean but its roots are Roman. Built, probably, by the Third Legion Augusta, who were stationed at Lambaesis, this bridge crossed the gorge which was, and still is, the gateway to the desert. This made it a vital point of access for trade and people.

The bridge eventually fell into disrepair but was  renovated and widened under Napoleon.

Some of the original Roman construction blocks can be seen, and there is also an area of the original pavement, although it doesn’t look like it’s still in situ.

During our visit, we were joined at the bridge by a wedding party, and the happy couple has photos taken by the side of the river and on the bridge. We were told that it’s a bit of a tradition in the area to have wedding photos taken there and it’s certainly a lovely spot for it.

In the exhibition is a bridge which became a victim of war and, subsequently, a symbol of  post-war recovery and reconcilliation: Stari Most, the Mostar Bridge.

Originally built in the 16th century, on 9th November 1993, the Mostar Bridge was destroyed by Croat forces in the Croat-Bosniak War. Its destrucion has been described as a deliberate attack on the culture of Mostar in an act of “killing memory”*, so its reconstruction and reopening in 2004 acted as a symbol of the town’s recovery, both physically and culturally.

A bridge in my own alternative exhibition has suffered a similar fate and, we must hope, may yet act as a symbol for the future. In the northern Syrian town of Deir-ez Zor stood the Deir ez-Zor suspension bridge (Arabic: جسر دير الزور المعلق‎‎).

Deir ez-Zor suspension bridge, early misty morning.

This bridge was built in 1927, under the French Mandate and acted as a pedestrian route across the Euphrates, connecting the Levant region of the city on the southern bank with the Upper Mesopotamia region on the north bank. When I visited Deir-ez Zor in 2009, I was particularly gleeful about being able to walk from the Levant to Mesopotamia.

 

The bridge was destroyed in May 2013 in shelling by the Free Syrian Army.

Deir-ez Zor has suffered horribly in the Syrian War and this situation continues with no obvious end in sight. Clearly I have no idea how the situation in Syria will be resolved but I can only hope that one day, soon, the Deir-ez Zor Suspension Bridge might act as a symbol for the end of war and the beginning of recovery, as has the Mostar Bridge.

To end on a slightly less depressing note, a bridge that’s a bit more modern.

One of the (many) things I like about Newcastle is the great abundance of bridges over the Tyne. There are railway bridges and road bridges, some of them towering above the river and the streets below them.

There’s a swing bridge!

Walking over the Tyne Bridge feels like an act of folly due to the thunderous traffic, but it’s quite fun nevertheless.

But there is also a more recent and more chilled out bridge taking pedestrians from the city over to the Baltic on the Gateshead side of the river: the Gateshead Millennium Bridge.

Work on the bridge began in 1999 and it opened to the public in September 2001. It is a bit of a symbol of the regeneration of the riverside area. I’m pretty sure that anyone who lives in an old industrial city can testify, ‘regeneration’ can be a double edged sword. Down at heel, even derelict areas can be brought back to life and made really nice. The addition of a decent cafe is always welcome. But in the rush to lure new money and new people to an area, ‘regeneration’ can often ignore the people who already live or work there. I’m not sure exactly how the people of Newcastle feel about their riverside’s regeneration but, as a visitor, I like it.

It’s a tilting bridge which consists of two steel arches, one which carries the footpath and the other which acts as a counterweight. Like Tower Bridge, the Gateshead Millennium Bridge ‘opens’ for river traffic to pass underneath, but rather than using the split roadway idea, the entire bridge tilts.

Despite having seen and walked across this bridge lots of times, I’d never seen it actually tilting but on a recent quick jolly up north to see some of the Hadrian’s Cavalry exhibition, I was able to catch it on its regular midday tilt**. It’s brilliant 😀 I already liked this bridge but, having now seen it tilting, I like it even more.

These are just a few bridges that have impressed themselves on my memory on my travels. There are others that I really like, in Constantine, Algeria; at Hadrian’s Wall, Northumberland and, of course, in London, but I think that I’ll leave those for another day.

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*https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stari_Most#Reconstruction

** There’s a little Youtube video here: https://youtu.be/lQ0ZqeE7vB0

Where all roads meet

Well, maybe not ‘all’ but 7, in any case.

From the area map at the bus stop.

This is Bavay, in the Nord-Pas-de-Calais region of northern France, close to the France-Belgium border. A sleepy little village that isn’t really on the way to or from anywhere. But 2000 years ago, Bavay was on the way to loads of places.

Bavay, or Bagacum in the 1st century CE, was the tribal capital or civitas of the powerful Nervii tribe.  Seven major routes passed through Bagacum so it grew into an important site for trading, administration, law courts and the military. Its situation on the road from Boulogne (Roman Gesoriacum) to Cologne (Roman Colonia  Agrippinensis) made it a key stopping off point between the Roman provinces of Germania and Britannia.

The site was known about in the eighteenth century as chance finds and unofficial digs turned up many Roman objects, but the site was really uncovered due to heavy bombing during WW2. The post-war excavations revealed a huge Gallo-Roman forum basilica, the largest outside Italy, measuring 200m by 120m.

In the Claudian period, the town flourished and grew rapidly, with the construction of civic buildings like the forum, the basilica, public bathhouses fed by aqueducts and temples being built and beautified. The town was an important centre for the production of pottery goods and traded in, in particular, bronze-working, and was a key staging post during the conquest of Britain.

I’d been wanting to get to Bavay for a little while and had pondered making my way over there when I was staying in Belgium last year, but it’s a faff to get to on public transport and a lot of routes take absolutely hours to get there. It’s not a natural stopping off point on the way to or from anywhere in particular so this time I decided that I’d just make it the be all and end all of a visit. The easiest route was London > Lille, Lille > Valenciennes, Valenciennes > Bavay, so, timetables checked, I was off.

By the time I got to Bavay it was pouring with rain, and I’d left my umbrella in London. Oh well. There’s a museum to visit at the site, so I started there, hoping that the rain would ease off a bit.

(cue museum break)

By the time I left the museum not only had it stopped raining, but it was scorching hot; cracking flags! My stroll around the site was, therefore, a slow and lazy one. A lot of the better preserved sections seem to have been buried in the building of the later ramparts, hence the excellent state of preservation.

At one end of the site there are the remains of a cryptoporticus; a covered storage area below ground level.

Much of the site has been turfed over but here and there, there are still little patches of the Roman paving. There’s even the odd wheel-rut.

The fortunes and function of the city began to changes in the third-century, when it served as a post for regional defence, and around the turn of the fourth century, the ramparts and city walls were constructed.

Getting to Bavay without a car was a bit of a schlep but it was worth it, as it’s a really interesting site with a great museum. As I had to pass through Valenciennes and Lille to get there, I made a point of visiting a few other places on the way, including the Musee des Beaux Art, Valenciennes and Lille Cathedral, so all in all this made for a great little trip.

The future of the past

Have you ever seen those programmes and films from the ’50s and ’60s that were concerned with how we would be living in the future? Futuristic cities in the sky, hover cars, and jet packs. Lots and lots of jet packs.

EUR, a southern suburb of Rome is a bit like that.

But perhaps a bit more fascistic.

The genius of the sport, Italo Griselli

Planned and begun under Mussolini as the intended site of the Esposizione Universale Roma, a world fair to celebrate the beginning of the Fascist era. Designed as a modern echo of the ancient city, construction began in 1939 but was abandoned due to the entrance of Italy into the second world war. Works stopped in 1942 and the site was more or less abandoned until the 1950s, when the authorities recommenced building works with the intention of creating a new business district for modern Rome.

The Palazzo dei Congressi (formally the Palazzo dei Ricevimenti e dei Congressi), now with added BMXer

Although it has had its ups and downs, the recent renovation of some of the buildings has resulted in a resurgence of interest in the area.

I was visiting on a Saturday and, in the usual way with business districts, the area was half deserted. I did run into little clusters of people around particular buildings and there was constant traffic on the main road but many of the streets and piazzas were completely devoid of people. This made me think of those futuristic but bleakly apocalyptic films in which all the people disappear due to alien invasion or as the result of human folly.

 

My initial interest in the area was because it’s where the Museo Nazionale dellAlto Medioevo, the medieval museum, is situated. In a city with so many sights, museums and historic buildings, this museum seems to get a little overlooked, possibly due to its location away from the tourist centre. The museum concentrates on the period from the late-antique to the medieval; 4th-14th centuries and contains a range of religious, household, military and decorative objects.

I’m not going to post lots of photos from the museum here, I’ll link a separate post later because the collection is really worth a look. It’s only about 20 minutes on the metro from Termini and a short walk to visit this museum so do make the effort if you can. It’s worth it.

When I left the museum I headed west to have a look at some of the fascist-era and other 20th century buildings. Many of the buildings, open spaces and public art have been designed as a sort of echo of Rome’s ancient imperial and renaissance past. So buildings are arcaded; there are curving colonades; there are monumental statues, friezes, mosaics, pools and fountains.

Materials used in construction are mainly travertine marble, granite and tuff, giving the area a gleaming whiteness, echoing ideas of classical purity (though not the more colourful reality of the ancient world).

Right next to the museum, in the middle of the, frankly, lethal road*, the Via Cristoforo Colombo, is the Obelisco di Marconi. Built in 1959, for the 1960 Summer Olympics, this obelisk is decorated with scenes from Marconi’s career and achievements.

Just along the road is the Piazza dell Nazione Unite. Begun in 1938 but not completed until 1952, this consists of two large semi-circular arcades on either side of the main road,

 

On the external walls are these high relief panels.

Quite a bit of this was boarded up when I visited and it looks, generally, like a number of the buildings are either in the process of, or waiting for renovation.

Next I walked over to a really nice, relaxing, cooling spot by the Salone delle Fontane, there are these cool lines of water fountains, flanked with near-spherical bushes. It’s all very very architectural but with just enough greenery to soften its edges.

In the pool there are mosaics, mimicking the monochrome mosaics seen at Ostia Antica. These are, unfortunately, quite faded and difficult to photograph, but you can get at least an idea of how they look.

  

This one looks like a map of the area.

Standing in a wooded area nearby, the Parco del Ninfeo, is this statue of a youth, apparently called ‘The fields are redeemed’.

This statue is interesting because, even though it’s a modern rendition, it looks like the sculptor has consciously mimicked the look of a bronze statue created using the lost-wax technique.

 

The building here is the Palazzo degli Uffici di EUR and the entrance at the end of the fountained pool is flanked by this monumental bas relief panel by Publio Morbiducci; ‘The History of Rome through its buildings’.

   

This is a really interesting artwork, taking modern Rome and mixing it with its ancient counterpart, presenting them as the same. It shows events, building works, industry, notable people; it’s like Mussolini’s very own ‘Trajan’s column’.

And so to the really iconic building of EUR; the Palazzo della Civiltà Italiana, also known as the Colosseo Quadrato (Square Colosseum).

Designed in 1937 by Giovanni Guerrini, Ernesto Bruno La Padula and Mario Romano, the building works were begun in 1938 and finished in 1943 but, due to the cancellation of the trade fair, the building remained empty for over a decade. It has been used on and off over the years since 1953 but its latest incarnation is as the headquarters of the Italian fashion house Fendi.

 

It sort of echoes the tiers of regular arches on the Colosseum and the ground level is lined with classical-esque statues and flanked by sculptures. The inscription at the top of all four sides is taken from one of Mussolini’s speeches, made on 2 October 1935: “Un popolo di poeti, di artisti, di eroi, di santi, di pensatori, di scienziati, di navigatori, di trasmigratori”, trans: ‘a nation of poets, of artists, of heroes, of saints, of thinkers, of scientists, of navigators, of migrants’.

Fendi has restored the  building to it former glory and hosts public exhibitions as part of its programme of ‘giving something back’. Fendi has also funded the renovation of several other sites in Rome, including the Trevi Fountain.

The ground level of the building is populated with ‘classical’ statues, emphasising Roman virtues such as industry, commerce, invention and so on, again emphasizing the connection between modern and ancient Rome

And so I spent a short afternoon in EUR. Not enough time at all, as there was much more to see, but it was good to at least have a brief look at the area. As so much of this trip was spent looking at ancient Rome, this area provided a really interesting counterpoint.

EUR can be reached by taking the Metro, Line B south from Termini or the historic centre. I got off at EUR Fermi for the museum. There are also plenty of buses from other parts of the city.

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* there are several roadside shrines attesting to the lethal nature of this road.

Bread and circuses. But mainly bread.

After a week in Italy with a couple of friends, my last few hours before my flight were spent scouting around a few minor sites by myself, failing to get into some (because they’re churches and it was a Sunday in Rome), wandering the streets looking at this and that, and hanging around on a roundabout surrounded by trams.
That last doesn’t sound very glamorous but there was a very particular reason to be on this particular roundabout.*

This is the Porta Maggiore, the ‘Larger Gate’ on the eastern side of the third-century CE Aurelian Wall. Over time, this ‘gate’ has served several purposes. Built in the year 52, under the Emperor Claudius, as a support for two of the aqueducts bringing water into Rome, the Aqua Claudia and Aqua Anio Novus, the arches were later incorporated into the city wall built under Marcus Aurelius in 271.

At the top of the central section, the two water channels are still visible.

But before all that, before the aqueduct and the wall and the gate, there was this:

Positioned at the intersection of two key roads leading into the City, the Via Praenestina and Via Labicana, this is the Tomb of Eurysaces the Baker and (possibly) his wife Atistia.

Wealthy merchants, freedmen, and prominent citizens of all classes were always keen to be remembered after their deaths, and  so set up tombs, sometimes very large and elaborate ones, at key positions along the roads leading into the City. A walk along the roads leading into the City takes in reams of memorials vying for attention and this tomb occupies a particularly prominent spot where the two major  roads meet.

The memorial is a tower tomb type, with much of the height now below ground level. Its trapezoidal ground plan (rather than square or rectangular) was necessary to fit it into the available space. It’s built of concrete faced with travertine on a tufa base and on one side, where the facing has gone, you can see the brick interior filled with a concrete and rubble core.

It’s a bit of an odd-looking structure. Sort-of classical but a bit squiffily classical.

The (surviving part of the) inscription tells us that Marcus Vergilius Eurysaces was a baker, a contractor and a public servant.

EST HOC MONIMENTVM MARCEI VERGILEI EVRYSACIS PISTORIS REDEMPTORIS APPARET,

The ‘contractor’ bit suggests that Eurysaces held government supply contracts, perhaps to supply the army with bread.

As is often the case with the tombs of wealthy tradespeople, the tomb displays the source of his wealth, with the decorative frieze around the top section depicting various stages of the bread-production process.

sorting and grinding grain; kneading; weighing; baking; transporting and selling.

The pilasters and pairs of engaged columns are squashed in tightly together.

But, undoubtedly, the most striking aspect of the tomb is the weird circular features on each face. It has been suggested that these may represent pieces of bakers’ equipment, probably grain measures.

In Roman society, social mobility was possible. People whom circumstances had dumped at or near the bottom of the social structure could, through hard work and dumb luck, rise in wealth and status and end their lives wealthy, important and influential. it’s very possible that Eurysaces was such a man. Although the tomb inscription is not conclusive, Eurysaces may have been a Freedman; an ex-slave who had been able to work his way out of slavery and end up a very rich man.

The tomb’s later history is a bit inauspicious but probably saved it for posterity. As the city of Rome declined and succumbed to invasions from the north, the tomb was utilized as the base for a fortified tower. Only in the nineteenth century was it uncovered again as the result of the archeological interests of Pope Gregory XVI.

And now it’s stuck on a traffic island at a tram stop, but this tomb has done its job in ensuring that Eurysaces the Baker hasn’t been entirely forgotten. You do have to exercise care getting across the road to see it, or just catch the tram!

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*Some of the photos are a little fuzzy because I had to take them with a long-ish lens. I wasn’t able to get as close as I’d have liked as that would have involved jumping a fence in plain sight of all the people waiting for their trams :/

The eccentric charioteer

I’ve never been to Hull before. It’s a bit of a schlep from London so it does require an actual effort to get there but it’s just one of those places that I’ve never had any particular reason to visit. However, I had been wanting to see the museum’s collection of Roman mosaics so, as I’m a lady of leisure at the moment, now seemed as good a time as any to make the effort.

The museum is fairly compact but is home to a pretty impressive collection of not only mosaics but also other Roman material, prehistoric, iron-age, anglo-saxon and medieval artefacts and an amazing, and very large, iron-age log boat. The mosaics in this collection were discovered at villa sites around the Humber region and there are fifteen villas are known in the area, with villa-building reaching its height in the fourth-century. Before visiting I had a quick look on the go-to place for information on Romano-British mosaics, ASPROM (The Association for the Study and Preservation of Roman Mosaics), where the Hull mosaics are described as “rather eccentrically interpreted” local versions of Mediterranean models. Here’s a few of the mosaics.

The Horkstow Mosaic. At the villa site at Horkstow an enormous 15m x 6m mosaic was found, the second largest Roman mosaic found in Britain. It’s fragmentary and has been displayed in pieces around a recreation of a Roman atrium house. Because it has been displayed in this way, it’s not that easy to really get an idea of how it would have looked when complete but, still, there are some decent sections to see.

It was divided into three panels. In the top panel (on the floor in the image above) sat Orpheus, with his lyre, surrounded by the wild beasts charmed by his song. Only about a third of it survives but it’s possible to see that it was laid out as a wheel with images of the animals surrounding the central Orpheus.

The central panel has been called ‘the Painted Ceiling’ or the ‘Medallions Panel’, and contains scenes from mythology. They aren’t that easy to make out.

The panel at the bottom of the mosaic shows a chariot race in a circus, complete with a spina, the central island, and the metae, or turning posts.

The various sets of horses and charioteers represent the action at the races with these horses stumbling dangerously.

On the left the team is storming ahead but, on the right, the chariot loses its wheel and the rider is leaning dangerously, about to fall.

And here, the rider, with his lasso, is coming out to recapture horses that have run wild.

From Brantingham, along with some very nice Geometric Mosaics, is this Tyche mosaic.

The figure at the centre, unfortunately displayed upside down and halfway under a sofa (!), has been identified as Tyche, the deity of a city, on account of her crown, which represents the city walls.

Also known as Fortuna in Latin, she watches over the city, protects it, brings it prosperity and good fortune. The flipside of Fortuna is the bad luck and disasters that can befall a city if they do not carry out the necessary rites and rituals of worship.

The panel on the wall, from the same mosaic, has been identified as one of the muses, wearing a coronet and with her head surrounded by a halo.

The mosaic border also includes these lovely reclining water nymphs.

From Rudston is this fantastic Venus mosaic.

A typically nude Venus holds a golden apple, the symbol of her victory in the tale of the Judgement of Paris. By her side is her mirror, symbolizing her beauty and vanity.

Although the mosaic depicts a very typically classical subject matter, the image itself is not very typically classical, particularly Venus’ body-shape. She is pretty low-slung and broad in the beam, and look at that jelly belly!

Nevertheless, it’s a fun, lively mosaic, with Venus herself looking quite wild and free, especially her hair! I think that this is definitely one of those “rather eccentrically interpreted” mosaics.

Next to Venus is this, frankly, weird looking Triton, or merman, holding a flaming torch. He reminds me the Creature from the Black Lagoon (from the 1954 film).

Other panels in this mosaic contain wild beasts like a lion, a bull and a leopard; a figure identified as Mercury by the inclusion of the caduceus, and other lively figures. The leopard, in particular, looks like it was created by a workman who only had a vague idea of what a leopard looked like.

And finally, here is that eccentric charioteer; the  Victorious Charioteer mosaic from Rudston.

The central image is of the winner of a chariot race, with the victorious charioteer riding a ‘quadriga’, or four-horse chariot.

In his left hand is the winner’s wreath and in his right is the palm frond, these symbols indicating his win.

In the corners of the mosaic are the Four Seasons and the border panes have some rather odd looking birds.

 

Well, it was definitely worth the trip up to Hull to see this collection. It’s true that some of these aren’t the most finely worked mosaics and some of the images are pretty squiffy but they do have  plenty of life and personality, and must have really enhanced the homes of the Roman villa  owners in this area.

Roman walls in car parks. This is actually a ‘thing’.

In 2012, archaeology in car parks hit the headlines. The perfect mix of the prosaic and the sensational; the ancient and modern, seemed to excite the interest of people who usually had no interest at all in archaeology. Of course, you throw in a king and an ‘odd feeling’ and that gets the tabloids going. But I am a Romanist and we don’t do kings. We do, however, do car parks.

On my wanderings I have found myself in many a car park, squeezing between Vauxhall Astras and Ford Focuses, tramping about the place to look at…what? Walls. There’s loads of them. So many that I’ve decided that ‘Roman walls in car parks’ is an actual ‘thing’. So here are a few.

York (Eboracum).

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Ok, that doesn’t look like much but York was an extremely important and powerful city in the Roman period. Founded by the soldiers of the ninth legion in 71CE;  the seat of Roman power under Septimius Severus’ from 208-11 (and the site of his death in 211), the capital of Britannia Inferior under Caracalla; the location for Constantine’s accession to the purple in 306.

This is all big stuff. Seriously.

It’s ok. Those bits of wall in the car park aren’t the only surviving Roman walls. There are some quite impressive sections still surviving to full height. With bastions.

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There is also Roman wall in other British car parks. Here in London (Londinium), you have to go underground. Under the aptly-named London Wall is the London Wall Car Park and if you go along to the motorcycle bays (around Bay 52), you can find… the London wall.

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I like this because you can see the construction methods clearly, the inner core made from rubble with tile courses for stabilization, faced with nicely worked  stones on the exterior, all on a beautifully chamfered  plinth.

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Nearby, hidden behind a nondescript door by the side of the ramp down to the bit of the London Wall Car Park that’s under the Museum of London…

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This is what remains of the west gate of the fort and it’s associated guardroom, which stood in the north-west corner of Londinium. Built in about 120CE, the fort predates the city wall and was utilized to form the north-western corner of the enclosed city when the wall was built  in the third-century.

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This isn’t always accessible but the Museum does do regular tours/talks so look out on their website for those.

And here’s Colchester (Camulodunum).

In Colchester you can see a mixture of original and recreated Roman wall. Here’s a bit of the recreated.

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Basically you can just see what the Roman wall looked like when it was pretty new, and you can, again, see the way that the wall is built using courses of stone blocks with layers of terracotta tile for stabilization.

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Round the corner is a decent stretch of the real thing.

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It’s looking a bit less pristine but then, it is pushing 2000 years old. The city was fortified with walls when it was rebuilt after its destruction during the Boudiccan revolt of 60/61.

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The walls were built fairly rapidly and utilised whatever building material they could find. Within the wall structure you can see bits and bobs, like this piece of roof tile (tegula), some of which show signs of burning.

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Again, there are other, pretty extensive, Roman walls surviving in the city. And they are easy to follow round, taking in some of the city gates on the way

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I’ve observed that this is not just a British thing.

Arlon (Orolaunum)

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Further afield, in the Belgian city of Arlon, is this magnificent section of wall, complete with a bastion.

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The foundations were built using old bits of worked stone, inscriptions and tomb stones, and it’s possible to still see some of those in-situ.

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An earlier blog post has a few more pictures of the delights of Roman Arlon and some more of the many many carved stone monuments found there.

Paris (Lutetia)

There is a rather sorry little section of the Roman city wall in Paris. The door here was locked so I could only see it through the glass but it’s not that impressive in any case. Still, here it is.

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It’s in the stairwell of an underground carpark on Boulevard Saint-Michel.

As far as I’m aware, that’s about it for the Roman city wall of Paris but I discovered that there are some other Roman walls in a car park in Paris. The brilliant Crypt Archeologique at Notre Dame is one of the best places to see the remains of Roman Paris (see also the amphitheatre, the ‘arènes de Lutèce’; and the great big bathhouse at Musee Cluny). I had thought that Crypt Archeologique was just next to the Notre Dame carpark…

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…but a display about the discovery of the remains shows that the site is actually inside the carpark, albeit separated from the vehicles, so I’m claiming this one too.

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The crypt contains, among other things, Roman houses, a bathhouse, a bit of a bridge abutment and part of a quay on  the River Seine.

Nimes (Colonia Nemausus )

Nimes is another city where it is possible to follow the circuit of the old Roman walls, happening upon gateways, decent sections of standing wall and sorry little scraps along the way.

Here’s one of the sorry little scraps.

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On the Rue Armand-Barbès, just by the side of the pavement, are these hardly-noticeable remains of the city wall.  It’s a bit more obvious when you look at the run of the wall that leads into the nearby car park.

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It’s not much to look at but it’s just a small element of the, quite extensive, remains of Roman Nimes and so, for a Romanist like me, worth looking out for on my way round town.

Angers (Juliomagus Andecavorum)

In Angers, in terms of Roman remains, there is, frankly, not much. In the Roman period there were the usual houses, bath-houses, bridges and temples, including a Temple of Mithras. All of this has been built over,  plundered for later building work, and swept away for the construction of the castle and later ramparts.

So what is left?

Apart from some artefacts, now in the local museum, there is only this stretch of wall on Rue Toussaint.

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It’s a chunky stretch of wall made mostly of petit appareil but also looks like it has been altered, built on and up against, and knocked through so that it contains elements of Roman and later construction. It’s actually by the side of a road but there are designated parking spaces all along this stretch, so I’m calling it a car park.

A few kilometres away, there’s more.

Tours (Civitas Turonum)

Enclosing the carpark behind the Studio Cinema on Rur des Ursulines is this stretch of the Roman city wall.

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The wall has clearly been built from reused material with a mixture of petit and grand appareil

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There’s another stretch in the Jardin de St Pierre le Puellier. This area has actually been set out as a public garden with signage about the walls and the bastion.

Cologne (Colonia Claudia Ara Agrippinensium)

And, lastly, I was just in Cologne, a city with some quite decent stretches of its city wall still standing, on my latest car park-related jolly. So here it is, the Roman wall of Cologne, in a car park.

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And another car parky-bit.

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These are in an underground car park right underneath the Cathedral. The remains of the north gate of the city have been reconstructed up at ground level but down here we can see the in-situ remains. This being a rather historical car park, there’s also a medieval well!

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And down the road is another section of the wall bordering another car park.

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Ok, this doesn’t look very Roman, does it? But, trust me, it is. The Roman wall core has subsequently been faced with brick so it all looks much later but, at its core this is still in-situ Roman wall. You can see this better at the exposed end of the wall.

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In the making of this post I gatecrashed a tour being run by one of the Curators of The Museum of London. He raised an interesting point about how the decision to preserve the particular bit of wall we were looking was taken. As a car park is, essentially, a big empty space, I started to wonder about the discussions that preceded the decision to preserve or not preserve, and how that discussion might differ if it was, say, a row of houses rather than a big empty space that was being built. How many chunks of Roman wall have been swept away, demolished to make way for new homes and shops? Probably loads. Maybe it’s easier to argue for the preservation of ancient monuments in car parks specifically because a car park is big empty space. That might explain why there are so many bits of Roman wall in car parks.

And so I rest my case. Roman walls in car parks are clearly a ‘thing’. The evidence speaks for itself.

Oh, and if you’re planning to seek out random archaeology in random places people will, inevitably, wonder why on earth you’re taking photos of a crappy bit of old wall in a car park, so be prepared for funny looks.

The city beneath the city: part 2

In part 1 we looked at the sewer system of Paris but now were going to go way back in time and a bit further east to Cologne.

Part 2: Cologne, the Roman Colonia Claudia Ara Agrippinensium (CCAC).

Travelling over to Cologne, and way back in time, I found myself, for the second time, down in a sewer. This sewer is without poo these days but in its day it was the main sewer of Cologne.

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The cloaca maxima (main sewer) of CCAA lies about 10m under the modern street, Grose Budengasse and is accessible for about 150m.

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The Romans are rightly known for their skills in engineering, urban planning and hydraulics. Cologne attained the status of imperial capital of its province, Lower Germany (Germania Inferioris) by the mid-third century and was well provided with all the infrastructure and facilities you’d expect. Aqueducts brought water to the city from sources in the foothills of the Eifel mountains, about 90km away. Water conduits and public fountains formed one half of the cycle of civic water management. The sewer system formed the other half.

The sewer is constructed from well-cut blocks of tufa (a porous limestone) together with some bits and bobs of reused material.

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The cutting of the stone for this construction would have been carried out by masons, probably being paid according to the number of stones cut. I spotted what looks like a mason’s mark on one of the stones, used to identify the work of a specific mason.

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A small part of the sewer system has been taken up and reconstructed at ground level, nearby. This makes it easy to see the voussoirs  (the wedge-shaped stones) that form the arched ceiling.

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Waste from public and private toilets washed into the sewer, which was accessed via vertical shafts. This one has been reconstructed from the original stones

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The tunnels must have been easily accessible for over a millennium because they were used as cellars during the middle ages and then as air raid shelters during the Second World War. Then they seem to have been misplaced but were rediscovered as the result of works to Cologne’s transport system.

If you want to visit the cloaca maxima, it’s accessed via the Praetorium exhibition on Kleine Budengasse. 

http://www.museenkoeln.de/archaeologische-zone/default.asp?s=4380