Ancient Suburbia Roman Port Town Of Ostia Reveals How The Middle And Lower Classes Once Lived

Grand palaces of the past are fun to visit, yet few of us can relate to the folks who lived in them. On the other hand, step into the apartment of the average Joe — or Marcus — of ancient Rome, and you might just feel at home.

In Rome itself this is no longer possible, even though 46,000 apartment houses, or insulae, once jammed the crowded capital of empire. But a short train ride today to its ruined port town of Ostia, near the mouth of the Tiber River, unveils the daily life of middle and lower class Romans at work and at play.

This is not another Pompeii. Here stand city blocks of insulae with only a few of the large private houses that grace the shadow of Vesuvius. Ostia, founded in the fourth century B.C., housed mostly the tradesmen and workers of commercial enterprise, not the leisure class. Here, too, rise warehouses that stored the grain that fed the capital. And here doze deserted streets and tranquil courtyards instead of the touring throngs of Pompeii.

Ostia was preserved not by a volcano, but by neglect. Virtually abandoned in late antiquity due to malaria and the decline of trade, the settlement slept until excavations began in the 19th century. Groups of schoolchildren and daytrippers from Rome now replace its former 80,000 inhabitants.

Let’s follow our friend, average Marcus, for a day in the life of the second century A.D.

At dawn he awakes in his apartment on the top floor of a four-story insula not far from the forum. Clad in a tunic, he takes only water for breakfast and attends to his needs in a public lavatory on the way to work.

In a warehouse, or horrea, Marcus records shipments of grain arriving from Egypt. He then supervises its loading into smaller craft for the final leg upriver to Rome.

Noontime brings a lunch of bread, fruit and cold meat. Work ends in early afternoon, when it’s off to the public baths for socializing, exercising and washing. Afterward, at a shop on the route home, Marcus haggles over the price of a small bronze statue. Dinner with his family is the big meal of the day. Tonight his wife prepares a cut of lamb and some greens cooked in oil for the main course. Finally, bedtime comes.

In the recovered ruins of today, dubbed Ostia Antica (“ancient Ostia”), we can trail Marcus down the same streets, treading the same black paving stones. The insulae lack their upper levels now, but stairs still lead to the second story of many.

Look out across a sea of brick buildings shaded by the umbrella pines and cypresses so evocative of the countryside ringing Rome. Constructed of brick-faced concrete, the warehouses and apartment blocks crowd the public buildings and temples centered at the forum.

The insulae appear startlingly contemporary. With shops on the ground floor facing the street, these blocks of flats are not unlike those of our own time. Even then, high urban land values forced mixed-use dwellings.

Curling vines and window pots once dressed up the plain brick facades. We should not be surprised that the ancients wanted a homey feel to their abodes, just as we do.

Wander into one of the archaic public restrooms, a multi-seater with no dividers. The Romans were evidently unashamed of their bodily functions.

Continue to the warehouse shown in every text on Roman architecture, the Horrea Epagathiana. Taking their cue from the marble carvers, the brick masons recreated in faithful detail temple-front columns bearing a triangular pediment over the entrance, complete with capitals and molded-brick ornament.

The baths, built at public expense, guard a treasury of floor mosaics. Black figures dance and swim on a white background. In the Marcian Baths, an athlete works out with weights. Another subject mimics our Statue of Liberty. Fantastic sea creatures looking like aquatic lions befit Ostia’s location on the coast. The Forum Baths sport a row of five rooms, each stepped back from its neighbor, allowing sunlight to splash the bathers within.

Clues abound in the shops to solve the nature of their business. Hand-turned millstones of volcanic rock survive in a bakery. A mosaic fish proclaims a seafood market. Huge vats for wine mark a tavern. At the House of the Lararium, shops arrayed about a central courtyard resemble a modern mini-mall.

Then weave your way to the forum, the center of city affairs. A broad, steep staircase ascends to the Capitolium, or chief temple.

Formerly faced in marble, the walls are stripped to bare brick, revealing construction elements the architect hid. Look for relieving arches embedded in its side walls, diverting stresses around the temple niches below.

Maybe Marcus didn’t make it to the theater this time, but we should not pass it by. Up to 2,700 patrons laughed and cried from the stone benches arranged in a semicircle. Three howling masks of marble stare back at the audience from the stage area.

Ostia is best explored by simply rambling. The allure of an open doorway is irresistible. A courtyard entrance tugs in one direction, while an intriguing name like House of the Charioteers pulls in the opposite. Frescoes of men driving chariots might be the reward, or maybe the image of an empress.

Elsewhere, before the Temple of the Shipwrights, stacked marble columns lie entwined in weeds. They still wait patiently in storage, as they have since the barbarians came a millennium and a half ago. Stroll into the museum and inspect the statue of a breastplated Emperor Trajan striking an imperial pose.

A short walk from the west side of the archeological park leads to the placid Tiber. The river changed channels away from the port after a flood in 1557.

Indeed, the Tyrrhenian Sea itself, which lapped the city’s edge, has retreated more than a mile to Lido di Ostia, the beach of present-day Romans. Time alters everything, it seems, not merely the works of man.

Why do ruins hold such fascination for us? Amid desolation, some seek the picturesque - broken columns, collapsed arches, lichen-covered fountains. For others, ruins resonate with reminders of their own mortality and the fragility of civilization.

Or, perhaps, they speak of changeless human nature, proved by people of long ago with our same wants and needs. For yet others, dusty history comes alive in walking the very streets, for instance, from where St. Augustine left for Africa in 387 A.D. after his mother died at an Ostia inn.

For most of us, the appeal is all of these.

ILLUSTRATION: 3 photos (2 color) Map of Italy

MEMO: This sidebar appeared with the story: IF YOU GO How to get there: Ostia Antica, 15 miles southwest of Rome, can be reached by train or car. By train, take the Metro B Line to the Magliana station and change to the train for Lido di Ostia. (At Magliana, I was told that a separate ticket for the second leg was not required, although the guidebooks say otherwise. Check at the Magliana ticket window to be sure.) Get off at the Ostia Antica station. Then take the pedestrian overpass in front of the station and continue for two blocks (angle slightly left for the second block). Turn left and proceed to the park entrance. Follow the yellow “Scavi di Ostia Antica” signs. The walk takes less than 10 minutes. If you prefer driving from Rome, take the Via Ostiense leading to the Via del Mare (Route 8). Proceed in the direction of Lido di Roma Ostia and exit at “Scavi di Ostia Antica.” Park in the lot outside the park entrance. When to go: The excavations are open from 9 a.m. until one hour before sunset Tuesday through Sunday, except for major holidays. The park museum (Museo Ostiense) displays artwork found at Ostia, mostly statuary, and is open from 9:30 a.m. to 1:30 p.m. Allow at least half a day to explore the ruins. Further reading: “Daily Life in Ancient Rome” by Jerome Carcopino, published by Yale University Press.

The following fields overflowed: CREDIT = Story by Eric Johnson Special to Travel