THE ARCH OF JANUS, OSTIA ANTICA, THEN HOME
The Arch of Janus, 4th c. AD
The Arch of Janus dates from the 4th century AD, but the enigmatic god was worshipped for centuries, if not millennia, prior. He’s the god of entrances and exits, passages and transitions, and most fitting as I start my long journey back to California, beginnings and endings.
What to say about Rome? It was a magical visit, and it’s prompted me to reflect on all that the word “Rome” has meant through the ages.
Rome was an empire, is a thriving city; and perhaps most importantly, will remain a potent, captivating idea.
One of the many wide, nearly deserted streets at Ostia Antica Archaeological Park.
A lot of metaphors come to mind, but two stand out.
Rome is full of ghosts; the spirits of those who left an imprint two millennia ago. Their presence is tangible in their monuments and tombs, but it’s also ethereal, as if you can sense their presence here.
I’ve been especially drawn to the few sites and artifacts that represent the common people. Overwhelmingly, Roman history is about the aristocracy. The extant sources were written almost exclusively by privileged men, and their patrician bias comes through. But the vast majority of Rome’s residents worked a daily job or toiled as a slave. They are woefully underrepresented in our understanding, so I try to listen for their voices above all.
I heard them clearly at Ostia Antica, Rome’s port on the Mediterranean, about a 30 minute train ride west of the city. Unlike Pompeii and Herculaneum, Ostia was preserved by mud rather than lava or ash. Also unlike those rich leisure destinations, Ostia was a working class town. There are fewer ornate frescoes and mosaics there, but walking its streets, I felt how it might have been to be a longshoreman on his way to grab a drink after a grueling 18-hour shift, or an actor preparing for his role on the theater stage. The relative simplicity of the structures spoke more to me than the most ornate things I’ve seen.
Modern-day signage indicating area of Ostia Antica. I thought it looked old-timey in black and white.
But Rome isn’t just its past. It’s also its present, writ large and loud, and that leads into my second metaphor. There’s a pulse to the city; a rhythm, a melody if you choose to synthesize the various notes being played. Sometimes it’s cacophonous, sometimes it’s harmonic, but it’s always worth a listen. Dissonance and consonance merge into each other effortlessly at times, starkly at others. As I’ve written before, I’m fascinated by Rome’s contrasts, such as their forward-thinking with law compared to their callous disregard for human life. Rome’s architecture fits neatly into this concept.
Finally, to address the idea of Rome, one need only look at its lasting legacy on world civilization. More on that soon. Beyond that, though, it represents fascination and promise for me. And truly, this trip was life-changing.
And while I traveled solo, I never felt alone. That’s because of YOU! Thank you all for your support, suggestions and all those likes and comments on Facebook. Oblivious to how my posts clutter your feed, I’m sure I’ll have more to say and show soon.
Arrivederci, Roma!
Long journey home from Rome, but I was treated to this spectacle on the last leg of my trip, departing Salt Lake City for Palm Springs.
Map showing the port of Ostia Antica where the Tiber River connected Ancient Rome to the Mediterranean. Over the centuries, the river has changed course and silting has extended the coastline. That same silting buried Ostia in mud, however, thus preserving the working class town.
