When I was eighteen, I was in a bit of a rut. After a disastrous exam concerning my A-level poetry, I was sure that my chances of attending King’s College London was as likely as convincing a Frenchie that there is some value in British cuisine ...I just really miss my local pub’s scotch eggs...
Earlier that academic year, I had been on a week-long college trip to Sicily as part of my Classics A-level. For the first time in two years, I was in a foreign country and I felt utterly blessed. We swam around a place called Isola Bella which looks like somewhere you’ve seen on all the tourist ads, we were treated to local food, we lived with a family and went to an Italian language school. For many members of the class, it was also our first time drinking in a public place, I distinctly remember this for other reasons because it was an Irish bar, possibly the only Irish bar to have a massive Union Jack. Perhaps the poor barmen with his little English had encountered angry Irishmen before because each time he poured more spirits and less coke. Of course, I haven’t forgotten the actual reason we were there, Romans! I love Romans and soon I will get back to France but stay with me. Back in England, I studied as hard as I could, it got to a point after reading Cicero, Caesar, Plutarch and modern day historians that I felt I knew the guys. Having already been so impressed with my time in Sicily I gradually wanted to explore Italy, particularly to see Rome but it was an ‘I’ll go and see that someday’ kind of thing.
Until that exam my main focus was saving up for London but sensing that I’d blown my opportunity, the allure of Italy crept up and practically out of spite to a ruined dream, I spent my money on plane tickets, youth hostels, train journeys and then I didn’t return for a month.
I’ll leave Italy there because it's not very typique de la France is it? But it’s important because it made a great impression on me and where I’m about to take you is Italy, I felt I was there again and many times, it was even better.
Our first stop will be the Pont du Gard. When the Roman Empire receded, European civilisations didn’t oversee advancements in important walks of life for over a thousand years. I presume most people know this so why am I telling you? Because sometimes, even for the simplest of facts a reminder can go a long way. This aqueduct, in southern France, is a magnificent reminder of just how far ahead the Romans were. Composed of three tiers of arches and standing at 48.8 m high, it is the biggest and best preserved Roman aqueduct in the world and earned itself a place on the UNESCO’s world heritage site. Before learning the history and facts I was quite happy just to marvel at it. Between the sun-scorched river banks which only give life to the odd tree and dried out grass that may as well be as old as the place itself, this great thing stretches out and the higher you look up so does the greenery blossom. The clear water from the river Gardon perfectly reflects the Pont du Gard as though nature itself must pay tribute whilst it gently flows down from the Cévennes mountain range and into the Rhône. The immaculate condition makes it quite hard to accept that it has stood there for so long but it has, built in the 1st century AD, it is part of a 50 km long aqueduct that supplied the city of Nîmes, then called Nemausus, with an estimated 40 million litres of water a day. Its gradient is a mere 2.5 cm which is why it is so often referred to as a master of ancient engineering. Going back to my original point about being a ‘reminder’, by the 4th century the maintenance was neglected due to several waves of invaders and so it became clogged, wiki (we all use it, don’t frown) finally states by the end of the 6th century it was no longer in use. Perhaps Mr. ‘Failed a Poetry Exam’ is speaking out of line here but that all sounds a bit pathetic to me, come on, one civilisation can build this and another can’t unblock a pipe? If I sound a bit silly now then let me put it like this, it wasn’t until the 18th century that saw the construction of water supply networks to major cities. That’s how far ahead the Romans were, an engineer born a century after Christ could happily sneer at an engineer born well over one and a half thousand years after him. I just can’t wrap my head around it.
Nowadays, the place has an air of celebration about it. Families and groups of friends were eating picnics, sipping cold beer and fizzy drinks as they watched others frolic in the river. If you’re there, try and make the light show. They project entirely onto the aqueduct where cold looking Roman statues of Emperors reclaim their landmark and other dazzling effects such as turning the monument into a Roman mosaic.
23 km away is the city of Nîmes where Roman civilisation once again seems as though it departed just a few hundred years ago. I’ll start with the Maison Carrée a Roman temple which is also one of the best preserved Roman temples the empire of old has to offer. Unfortunately, it’s just the outside that is on display. The building has been under heavy restoration but the style and is still there. It is elevated from the ground by a 2.8 m podium and a wall of columns encompass it. It is startlingly white. When walking inside I wanted to briefly linger amongst the columns and take in that Roman superiority. Now I know I said only the outside is on display, this is because when you go inside you are shown a short film about the origins of the city then you’re out again. Essentially a tribal chief signed a peace treaty with the Romans and thus Nîmes was born. Either the people of Nîmes are too proud of their Roman buildings or the directors just didn’t fancy showing the genocidal levels the Romans went to if you said no. It looked like a happy affair. Caesar alone had a 1 million Gauls killed, when considering ancient populations that is completely staggering.
I’ll repeat these words for a final time but this small pocket of France hides another best preserved Roman building, Arènes de Nîmes or the Amphitheatre of Nîmes. Unlike the Colosseum it has retained its shape maybe I’m being a bit harsh now, its a hell of a lot smaller, but at least you get a much stronger picture of what such a place looked like in its heyday. It’s also worth noting that it was built soon after the Colosseum. Rather than trying to imagine the floor where gladiators and exotic animals once stood, you can see it. The doorway where they once came out looms with its shadows and gory secrets. You can sit exactly where the conquered peoples would have once been entertained in any place of the amphitheatre. We were given those talky thingys, you know, you press a number and on comes a historian and a few actors. I was grateful for this as in Rome I remember declining paying the extra, only to walk around and there be no signs explaining anything. At the top, you can overlook Nîmes’ beautiful array of sun-kissed roofs that are occasionally interrupted by towers and church spires and below you can walk through the dark, cool tunnels with the odd Roman artefact.
I’ll end my ramblings now but Nîmes and the Pont du Gard is a must for any ancient history lover. Admittedly, ruins can be such a hard place to try and reconnect with the past but these buildings aren’t ruins. Many times in Rome, for instance when I was walking around the Forum or the Circus Maximus I was trying to force out a feeling of awe. Not once did experience that in France.
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