Ostia Antica Day 6

In fifth grade I was awesome, or at least I thought I was awesome.  I was an old pro at the elementary school.  I was in the gifted program. I felt popular and well-liked. I had boyfriends (!).  And then my mom dropped the bomb that instead of going to a regular middle school with the rest of the soon to be sixth graders, I would be attending a traditional magnet school in downtown Lexington. Of course, no matter what, we would be split up by geographical area and there would be many friends I wouldn't see at school any longer, but this meant that I wouldn't even be with any friends.

I was not amused.  There was a dress code.  I didn't know anyone.  And by the time school started I had bad case of the Sixth Grade Chubs.  Life went from awesome to awful in the space of a few puberty-stricken months.

I was no longer cool, nobody even knew who I was. I was no longer even smart, relatively speaking, because everyone was smart. I was just a sad, chubby sixth grader, who longed for the glory days of elementary school.

The one thing I liked about school that year (and the next, before I moved to New Hampshire) was Mrs. Dahl and Latin class. It was my favorite.  And if I had a say in public education these days, I would be an advocate of learning Latin.  It helped my vocabulary so much and it was interesting to learn the roots of so much of our language.  But I also enjoyed learning all about ancient Rome.  I feel it gave me a good base of general knowledge I wouldn't have gotten otherwise.

Our study of Pompeii had me so intrigued.  The thought of volcanic ash covering up their whole world, preserving it, was just so crazy.  I have always wanted to go there and see the ruins for myself.  On our trip, we realized that we would not have the time to get down to Pompeii, but instead, Leah lined us up for a day trip to Ostia Antica, also a fairly well preserved, ruined city.

Ostia Antica was once the bustling port of Rome. I believe most of these ruins date back to the 1st and 2nd century.

Arranged on the banks of the Tiber River, it served its purpose, until it was outgrown and eventually when Rome was conquered, the city was left to ruin.

Due to silting, the river changed it's course and the city's ruins now lie 3km from the Tiber.

As we entered the site, we were approached by a woman hoping to give us a personal tour.

She was offering a great deal and she was obviously well qualified to show and explain the ruins, ruins that to the untrained eye were hard to recognize.

But being the penny-pinchers we are, we decided to forgo the tour, wander on our own, and if we were so inclined, use the tour summary of Rick Steve's that Leah had brought along.

I'm sure we would have learned significantly more had we taken her tour, but I'm not sorry that we didn't.

We could tell what some of the major ruins were, thanks to Rick.  And we also allowed ourselves the option to meander at our own pace and take as many rest stops as we wanted.  Yes, we were still tired.

The weather was perfect.

 The soft sunlight + the green grass + the old brick work = gorgeousness

We even stopped for individual photo shoots on the steps of the old temple,

right across from the old amphitheater,

I had a love affair with the trees.

 I would learn the next day that they are called Stone Pines.

There is just something about them that I couldn't get enough of.  

They dropped huge pine cones like this,

We saw the public latrines.  Apparently they stuck their sponges on sticks through those holes for wiping purposes. It is no accident that I was born in this modern era.

Throughout the site, many mosaics are largely in tact.

In the market place, the sellers booths were demarcated by pictures for the patrons who could not read.

I saw all of these intricately laid tiles and couldn't help but think of the hands that laid each individual piece thousands of years before.

 You couldn't just run down to Home Depot and buy those pre-made sheets of mosaic tiles back in 1 A.D. 

We finally found ourselves on a bench in a tucked away area.  And so followed a conversation of heart-growing proportions.  My sister and my mama and me.  Crying and laughing in our usual style.

The ruins were a little bit magical.

  I kind of wished I was seven years old again, the same age I had been when my family visited the Anasazi Indian ruins, where I had the most amazing time because I was completely wrapped up in my own imagination. This place would have provided just the same type of experience.

Alas, I am 30.  But at least I'm not in sixth grade anymore!