Destination: Italy : Life Among the Ruins : At Ostia Antica, listen carefully, and you can hear the buzz of ancient Rome

Like other first-time visitors to Rome, my husband and I found ourselves showered with lists of imperatives from well-intentioned friends.

Depending on individual biases, those lists consisted of churches, restaurants or historical monuments--all handed over with the clear implication that should we miss any, our visit would be severely diminished.

Like good children, we obediently worked our way through several of those suggestions. But on the fourth day of our list-directed explorations, crossing one of the bridges spanning the Tiber, we saw a small commercial boat float leisurely down the river, and realized we were saturated with grandeur. Scrambling down the bank, we hailed the next boat and sank back into its cushioned seats for the next hour, happily watching the heraldic glories of Rome slide by from a maritime angle. Other than my husband’s comment that the Tiber empties into the old port of Rome and thence the Mediterranean, school was out.

I phoned my cousin, Yvette, who, with her husband, Eric, has lived in Rome for 40 years. She listened patiently while I reeled off the grand sights we’d visited, then asked if a day in the country would suit us.

Yes!

“Good. Eric and I will pick you up tomorrow at 10 and we’ll drive to Ostia Antica, the ruins of the old port of Rome.”

Perfect. Yvette, who knows her Caesars, would be docent on our tour of the Roman Empire’s most important port, and Eric would maneuver us out of the nightmarish Roman traffic.

The next morning, the four of us headed out in the direction of Fiumicino, 25 miles southwest of Rome. On the outskirts of Rome, the famous umbrella pines began to sweeten the air and define a landscape progressively more pastoral. As Eric veered off the main road, we saw them clumped together in groves that introduce the entrance to Ostia Antica: sylvan cadres of extraordinary beauty guarding the best preserved ruins of any Roman city in Italy after Pompeii and Herculaneum--several miles of ruins so explicit that from them one can sense the rhythm of daily life.

Two arteries lead to the remains of Ostia Antica, established at the mouth (ostium) of the Tiber in the 4th century BC as a port for the existing city of Rome. One, a wide avenue bordered by pines, skirts the beginning of the old city and enters it about halfway through. My husband and Eric chose to walk that one, with a casual, “See you at the Corporation in two hours,” referring to the Piazzale delle Corporazioni, a square that once contained offices of the town’s shipping agents and served as the center of all maritime commerce. Yvette and I took the other road, the Decumanus Maximus, a still-cobbled main street that bisects the city and begins at the necropolis--a fitting reminder of our common destiny. It continues through the Roman Gate, a barrel-vaulted affair through which one enters the city, guarded over by a large sculpture of a winged Minerva, fierce of face.

*

Entering the city was like walking into an old etching. Vine tendrils wove themselves around pillars and elaborately carved capitals, tops of columns that had tumbled onto the grass, where they lay on their sides. Tiny white flowers peered out between antique flagstones. And yet at this well-preserved site, enough of the brick walls remained to flesh out the life of this city of 50,000-100,000 souls who had lived here at the zenith of its prosperity in the 2nd century--a populace given to craftsmanship and commerce. It was a small-scale mirror of the fortunes and misfortunes of Mother Rome.

One senses in her ruins the dominance of Augustus, Claudius I, Trajan and Hadrian. For about 800 years the port of Ostia expanded, thrived and experienced renewal, first during the Republican era, then during the Empire of the 2nd century. The Late Empire was built atop the Imperial city of the 2nd century, which lay atop the Republican city. Then, in the 5th century, as the Empire faltered, Ostia fell into disuse and disrepair. The splendid city became transformed into an open quarry for building materials. Columns, statues, bricks, marbles were taken indiscriminately for use in Rome and elsewhere. The Vatican Basilica and the Cathedral in Orvieto, for example, owe much to that open quarry.

Yvette seamlessly wove Ostia’s long history as we strolled flagstone paths from warehouses to laundries to the various apartments and villas. Most survive with enough mosaic floor to indicate the status and professions of those who had once lived there.

“Who lived here, for example?” I asked, trying to populate the puzzle of half-standing walls and tiled floors with their historical occupants. We were standing in front of the House of Diana, midway through Ostia, an apartment, originally three or four stories high, built in AD 130, at about the same time that the Pantheon in Rome was being finished. The many-colored mosaic on the ground in front contained allegorical figures representing the months of the year. The apartment probably had been inhabited by wealthy merchants or high officials.

“The first floors were always given over to taverns. The mezzanines were rented to shopkeepers and lower classes. The staircase--you can still see a trace of it going up to the upper floor here--led to comfortable apartments for the middle classes and. . . . “

Yvette was in mid-description of daily life when we were approached by a woman in her late 30s, a look of amused exasperation on her face.

“Have you seen a little boy wearing a red sweater? He’s 10 years old. He loves it here. Every time we visit he takes off like a rocket and hides between the buildings and pretends he lives here. I call and call but he won’t answer. His name is Enrico.”

We shook our heads. “Well, if you see him, tell him his mama is very angry.” She smiled at the pretense and walked away, singing out three syllables that echoed in the fragrant air.

“En-reee-co!”

*

We looked but didn’t find him in the Baths of the Forum. The largest of 19 baths built in Ostia, it included a large, trapezoidal gym surrounded by porticoes paved with mosaics. Here were the Caldarium (hot water baths), Laconicum (steam baths) and Frigidarium (cold baths) linked by an amazing underground passage that permitted attendants to light the boilers and empty the pools to change the water.

Still pondering baths and their ubiquitous usage throughout Rome and her colonies, we entered the Forum--Ostia’s religious and political heart. It contained a basilica, and the seat of the Senate and its attendant Capitolium, dedicated to the mighty gods Jupiter, Juno and Minerva. The magnificence of the complex shouted of imperial will. Instinctively, we looked for Enrico.

And there he was, standing on a platform intended for sovereign exhortation. With left arm extended to the sky, the little red-sweatered actor was so absorbed in enacting some inner-directed ancient drama that he didn’t see us approach, and answered Yvette’s question before thinking.

“Which Caesar are you?”

“I am Caesar Enrico I!”

He darted down and away, out of sight, out of century.

Two hours had passed without our notice. It was time to rendezvous with my husband and Eric at the Piazzale delle Corporazioni. We found them sitting contentedly on the steps of a temple, in what was during Roman times the heart of maritime commerce.

The Corporation was the center and basis of Ostia’s importance, for it was she who supplied Rome with all its maritime goods via the Mediterranean. Into Ostia’s port, begun by the Imperial Emperor Claudius in AD 41 and expanded by Trajan 21 years later, sailed vessels bearing glass from Phoenicia and Syria; incense from Arabia; spices and gems and silks from India and the Far East; timber and wool from Gaul; lead, silver and copper from the Iberian Peninsula; tiles, wines, corn from Egypt and Africa--a cornucopia from the world’s stores.

Built in AD 42 by Roman Emperor Claudius I, the Corporation is a great quadrangular portico with two rows of Doric columns that separated about 60 offices, each dedicated to a marine activity. Offices of the caulkers, rope makers, wood merchants--each publicized by its own beautiful mosaic pictograph in front--stand opposite those of the boat fitters, whose job it was to fit all the merchandise on board the ships. The fitters are identified by their cities of origin.

Overseeing this mercantile buzz and rising high on a podium in the very middle of the quadrangle stood a temple dedicated to the Divinity of Imperial Supplies, where grateful traders made offerings after having consummated satisfactory business deals.

From her commercial heart to her spiritual heart was a short walk. To be in Ostia and not visit a shrine dedicated to Mithras is to ignore one of the great religions of the Roman Empire, and one that pervaded Ostia for 800 years. This mystery faith--which had paused for many years in Greece to harvest Hellenic thought, then continued on to Italy--was dedicated to Mithras, the ancient Persian god of light and truth.

We stopped at the Mithraeum of the Seven Spheres, one of the best preserved of Ostia’s 18 Mithraic temples, dating back to the 3rd century. We found a long, narrow rectangle divided into three sections--the Podia (platform), where faithful participants in the rites sat, a corridor leading to the sacrificial alter and another where the image of the god Mithra reigned. The Podia and floor of the corridor were decorated in black and white mosaics delineating seven semicircles going toward the alter, signifying the seven phases necessary to reach knowledge.

Vine tendrils wove themselves around pillars and elaborately carved capitals, tops of columns that had tumbled onto the grass.

There it was, that magic number seven--the Seven Wonders of the World, the seven seas, the seven deadly sins, the Seven Sages--that cardinal number found also in Christianity’s day of rest and in seventh heaven, where God and the most exalted angels meet.

We walked to the Theater--like the baths and the Forum, an inevitable part of Roman life. Augustus built this one. Able to accommodate 3,500 spectators during its heyday, the theater had been site of live aquatic shows on the cleverly adapted lower floor of its orchestra, which could be flooded. Today, it hosts classical theatrical spectacles during the summer months. Three theatrical masks with great staring eyes, creased foreheads and grimacing mouths were mounted on columnar fragments in the front.

We climbed up the 24 tiers to get a panoramic view of this perfect seating bowl. Suddenly, Yvette pointed to a small figure standing in the middle of the orchestra, gesturing to spectral crowds. Tiny Caesar. She called out.

“Enrico!”

He stopped, frozen in the middle of his posturing, looked about, then darted like a small rabbit out of the orchestra and behind the three masks.

We saw his impish head pop out from behind the middle mask. One more “Enrico!” and he was gone.

*

The huge white clouds scudding across the sky were now tinged with umber. The sun was beginning to burnish all it touched, filtering through the pines and polishing the stones with gold. Cats, dozing earlier in the sun among stone ruins, scurried off to prepare for nocturnal adventures.

As we walked slowly back toward the beginning of Ostia, Eric fleshed out the centuries after AD 300, when Constantine stripped Ostia of her municipal powers. By the 5th century, with the Empire in decline and the city’s canals no longer maintained, the sand and mud of the Tiber gradually claimed the city, covering and preserving it for history.

Not until 1855 did Pope Pius IX begin excavations of a small tract of land. Serious scientific exploration began 54 years later. Today, about half of the town has been revealed.

The end of Eric’s history lesson coincided with our arrival at the parking lot. As we walked toward our car, we saw Enrico reluctantly being led to a small Fiat by his mother. We called his name.

“Ave, Caesar Enrico I!”

“Pace!” (peace) replied the Emperor.

One could almost see laurel leaves crowning his black curls. He turned and stepped into the car with ceremonial dignity, impervious to his mother’s 20th century admonitions, which clearly failed to pierce his 2nd century fantasies.

We drove home under his benediction, feeling the past intimately alive.

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GUIDEBOOK: Roman Holiday

Getting there: Alitalia flies direct to Rome, with one stop but no change of planes. Connecting service, with plane changes in U.S. and European cities, is offered by British Air and TWA. American, Delta, United and Northwest offer connecting service with other carriers.

Advance purchase, round-trip fares start at $800 for shoulder season, through March 31; fares rise after that.

Ostia Antica is about 45 minutes from Rome by car; about 30 minutes by train; about 25 minutes by metro. For details, contact the tourist board.

Where to stay: Hotel Atlantico, Via Cavour, 23, Rome, (near Termini Station); $235 per night for a double, including breakfast. In the United States telephone/fax 011-39-6-485-951 or (800) 223-9832.

Hotel Canada, Via Vicenza, 58, Rome (near Termini Station); $155 for a double, including breakfast; tel. 011-39-6-445-7770, fax 445-0749.

Hotel Madrid, Via Mario de’Fiori, 93, Rome (near Spanish Steps); $180 for a double, including breakfast; tel. 011-39-6-699-1510, fax 679-1653.

Hotel Portoghesi, Via Deiportoghesi, 1, Rome (near Piazza Navona); $160 for a double, including breakfast; tel. 011-39-6-686-4231, fax 687-6976.

Car rentals: Avis ([800] 331-1084), Budget ([800] 472-3325), Dollar ([800] 800-6000) and Hertz ([800] 654-3001) rent cars in Rome.

For more information: Italian Government Tourist Board, 12400 Wilshire Blvd., Suite 550, Los Angeles 90025, (310) 820-0098; fax (310) 820-6357.

--V.W.