Category: Roman

I was kneeling in the damp dust of a basement in Ravenna last autumn, my flashlight beam cutting through decades of grime, when I found it—a faint, rhythmic indentation in a single, sun-baked course of masonry. Most people walk past…

I was kneeling in the dust of a site near Ostia last Tuesday, my knees aching against the uneven ground, when I saw it: a single, jagged fracture in a stretch of ancient opus caementicium. Most people walk past these…

I was crouched in a narrow service corridor near the ancient waterfront, the smell of damp tuff and centuries-old dust thick in my throat, when I saw it: a modern patch of cement aggressively forced into a gap where Roman…

I was kneeling in the dust of a small thermopolium last summer, my fingers tracing the edge of a chipped marble counter, when I realized how much we get wrong about these ruins. Most tourists walk through the gates looking…

I was kneeling in the dust of a site near Ostia last summer, my knees aching against the grit, when I saw it: a section of wall where the Roman brickwork transitioned into a crude, hurried patch of lime mortar….

I was kneeling in the dirt outside a site near Pompeii last autumn, my knees aching from the damp, when I realized how much we get wrong about the past. Most guidebooks treat roman housing and the domus as if…

I was kneeling in the damp dust of a villa outside Pompeii last autumn, my flashlight catching the jagged edge of a broken pilae stack, when it hit me how much we get wrong about ancient comfort. Most textbooks treat…

I was kneeling in the dust of a partially excavated villa near Pompeii last autumn, my flashlight catching the jagged edges of a collapsed hypocaust, when it hit me how much we misunderstand the mechanics of luxury. People tend to…

I was standing in the shadow of the Flavian Amphitheatre last Tuesday, watching a tour group cluster around the travertine arches. They were listening to a guide drone on about the sheer scale of the empire and the glory of…

I remember standing in the humid shade of a vaulted corridor in Verona last July, my notebook damp with sweat, watching a group of tourists stumble blindly through a narrow passageway. They were looking up at the grand scale of…