Ten Things Romans Used for Toilet Paper

Me and my talisman!

I know, I know! I'm always blogging about toilets and evil eyes and gladiator-scraping love-potion and suchlike, but I can't help it. It is all so fascinating! My husband Richard was the one who taught me the first lesson of history: NO TOILET PAPER!

So how did the people in olden days wipe their bottoms?

This question draws in even the most reluctant child. In fact it is often especially appealing to kids who find history dull. It's a Way To Show Them That History Is Totally COOL!

For the past dozen years I've been travelling around the world, speaking to schoolkids about the Ancient Romans and my writing. Everywhere I go, I carry my talisman, my good luck charm, my fave artifact: a sponge-on-a-stick. It's ANCIENT ROMAN TOILET PAPER!

This is how you used the sponge-stick

But recently some respected scholars have totally rained on my parade. Yes, Mary Beard, I mean YOU! And yes, Professor Mark Robinson and your bright and beautiful bevy of research assistants, I mean you, too! lol!

So what if they haven't found any sponges in the sewers or septic tanks of Herculaneum? They didn't even import shellfish from Pompeii only ten miles distant! As Prof. Robinson said in a recent lecture at the British Museum, "There probably wasn't a central market." In other words, they bought goods locally. Very locally.

But all right: I admit the SPONGIA or SPONGE-STICK would have been incredibly luxurious and costly. And if they hadn't had a sponge delivery from the Greek island of Symi for a decade or two the Herculaneans would have needed some alternatives to wiping their bottoms.

So here is my list of TEN things apart from a SPONGE-ON-A-STICK that the Romans might have used to wipe their derrières!

I. THE LEFT HAND - yes, the manus sinistra was always "at hand". This is why it was incredibly rude to point at someone with the left hand. In many cultures it is still a big no-no to hand something to someone using this sinister hand. It was also the sign against evil: procul este profani! ("Stay far away, you unholy creatures!")

II. LEAF FROM A FIG TREE. Or other suitable tree. But not poison ivy or nettles. Yowtch!

III. MOSS. Kind of crumbly but I guess it was absorbent.

Romans had no puppy-soft Andrex

IV. SCRAPS OF CLOTH. This is what Prof. Robinson and his fragrant staff found in the Cardo 5 Septic Tank of Herculaneum. Considering you had to spin and weave cloth by hand this would have been almost as expensive as a sponge-stick. Maybe even more so, seeing as cloth is not reusable. Or was it? Brrr. 

V. PEBBLES. You know those "game counters" we're always finding in archaeological deposits? According to recent scholarship, pebbles were used by Greeks to wipe their bottoms. The proof? A proverb: Three stones are enough to wipe your behind and possible evidence from excavations at Athens. And there's stuff in the Jewish Talmud about using pebbles on the Sabbath. Gives a whole new slant to Andrex toilet paper's Natural Pebble edition!

This is my pine cone. Stay away!

VI. PINE CONES? This pebble business has got me wondering about pine cones. They are like little flat pebbles on a holder! Pluck one off and wipe. Mmmm. Nice pine-woodsy freshness, too! Is that what those mysterious pine cones were doing in the Herculaneum septic tank? (And no jokes about "pine nuts", please!)

VII. WATER. Ahhh! Find a little babbling brook or even the surf of the Tyrrhenian Sea and let nature do the work. Many Turkish and Greek toilets have little spigots that will replicate this effect today.

VIII. SPONGE WITHOUT A STICK. Why even bother to put the sponge on the stick? For ease of use in public latrines like this one (below) in Ostia!

IX. STICK WITHOUT A SPONGE. Yowtch! Is this what they mean by "getting the wrong end of the stick"?

X. NOTHING! Yes, you heard me. Just squat and go, then stand up and go. Urgh! Now that really is revolting.

Thank goodness we live in the age of Puppy Soft Andrex® and Ultra Soft Charmin!

poo-stick prop from Spartacus

P.S. If this has whetted your appetite for more, check out my Pinterest Page on Roman Toilet Habits!

P.P.S. Still want more? Read this great piece about Latrines Throughout the Roman World.

P.P.P.S. Apparently they use "three seashells" in the future, according to the movie Demolition Man. Maybe Romans used three pine cone scales!

P.P.P.P.S.  This poo-stick prop from the TV series Spartacus recently fetched $155 on eBay. It's a cloth-wrapped stick with a little handle. Cool, huh? 

Caroline Lawrence is a graduate of UC Berkeley, Newnham College Cambridge, SOAS and UCL, but has the mentality of an 11-year-old thus making her eminently qualified to introduce kids aged 7+ to the world of Ancient Rome. Best of all, she teaches through stories: The Roman Mysteries, The Roman Mystery Scrolls and the new Roman Quests series, set in Roman Britain!

Roman Poo & Pee

[WARNING: this blog entry contains excerpts from a talk I gave at the British Museum called "Ancient Romans & their Poo". It will make you go "Ewww!"]

When I first started studying Classics, I thought ancient Rome must have been nice and clean because of their marvelous engineering and the aqueducts that brought tons of water from miles away. I thought ancient Rome had luxurious bath-houses and sparkling white marble columns and steps, like this scene (right) from the 1953 film Julius Caesar. I thought everybody wore nice clean tunics and no rubbish marred the streets. And of course Romans used sponges-on-sticks as toilet paper. The next best thing to puppy-soft Andrex. (read more in my blog So What's with the Sponge-Stick?) What could be more sanitary than a soft sea-sponge on a stick?

toilet in shape of chariot

However, as I researched my books and travelled the world, I realized that Rome was probably more like a hot, crowded third-world city: Calcutta, Marrakesh or Cairo. Roman cities would have been colourful but also dirty, crumbly, smelly and very unsanitary. There would have been human and animal dung in the road, plus pee, dead animals, flies, sick and infected people, tainted water, sour wine, mud, blood, rotting vegetables and rubble. Romans didn't know about bacteria or germs, so in many Roman homes you often find the toilet is right next to the hearth in the kitchen. Very rarely do you find a toilet like this luxurious marble one from the Baths of Caracalla, (shaped like a chariot in case you need to go in a hurry!)

In my first book, The Thieves of Ostia, Vespasian is Emperor.

One ancient Roman described Vespasian's expression as that of a man sitting on the toilet trying to do a poo. Here he is (right) with his son Titus. Both these portraits are upstairs in the British Museum. What do you think? Does Vespasian have a strained expression on his face?

When Vespasian was emperor he did several eccentric things, including putting a tax on urine. The ancient version of dry-cleaners were called fullers and they used urine (pee) for part of their cleaning process. (In fact the Latin word for urine is lotium and is linked to the word for wash.) The fullers often had pots outside their establishments where men could stop to pee. They also bought urine from the public latrines, and this was when the tax was paid.

Soon after this urine tax was imposed, Roman wits started calling piss-pots "vespasians". Embarrassed, Vespasian's son Titus asked his father why he insisted on making money by taxing smelly urine. Vespasian pulled out a sestertius and asked Titus to sniff it. "So?" shrugged Titus. "You see," said Vespasian. "Money doesn’t stink."  Some people in Germany liked this story so much that they made a family board game based on going to the toilet in Roman times! It’s called PECUNIA NON OLET which means "money doesn’t stink." Sadly, it doesn't exist in English.

In my second book, about the eruption of Vesuvius, I investigated the different types of graffiti on Roman walls. As well as the Christian graffiti that appears in this book they wrote things like DON'T POO HERE! We also know from inscriptions and graffiti that there were often queues outside the public loos! That meant the public latrines - the foricae - were heavily used and therefore probably quite filthy.

Romans didn't have soap. Instead, they had olive oil. They would go into the baths, strip off and rub scented olive oil all over their bodies. After some exercise and maybe a session in the steam room, they would then scrape it off with a bronze knife thingy called a strigil. Then they flicked this oily mixture of dead skin, oil, sweat and dirt (called gloios) onto the floor by the drains. They did this in the public baths. Imagine if you used your public swimming pool to get clean… along with all the neighbours on your block, young and old, healthy and sick. I used to belong to a health club until I found out people kept getting sick from going in the jacuzzi, the warm tub. If that can happen in today’s world, think how icky it must have been in Roman times!

a Roman chamberpot

In The Charioteer of Delphi, my characters Jonathan and Lupus go to the new Baths of Titus near the Circus Maximus in Rome. Jonathan finds something floating in the hot plunge. This probably happened a lot, unless pools were cleaned regularly. In addition to floaters, imagine a thin scum of dead skin, hair and scabs floating on top of the pool. As well as a scum on the water, think of what would cover the floor. Slippery gloios, spilled oil, and also crumbs from snacks, which we know people ate in the baths. It’s no wonder Pliny the Elder tells us that cockroaches loved the warm and steamy Roman Baths.

Because the Romans didn’t really understand about hygiene, there were probably flies everywhere. Vespasian’s younger brother Domitian used to amuse himself by trying to spear lazy summer flies with his stylus (the sharp implement used to write on wax tablets). One day a man went to see Domitian and asked his Greek scribe if there was anyone else in the room with the Emperor's younger brother. “Nobody,” replied the secretary dryly. “Not even a fly.”

Zoe from Blue Peter drinks pee?

My seventh Roman Mystery, The Enemies of Jupiter, has lots of gruesome facts about medicine and doctors. Doctors were called "dung-eaters" because some of them sipped your pee and tasted your poo to diagnose what was wrong with you. In that book I also tell how one doctor bleached his teeth by drinking his own urine! When I was on Blue Peter a few years ago I convinced presenter Zoe to try some urine teeth-bleaching mouthwash. She didn't like the taste! (Of course she was just pretending.) You can watch the clip on YouTube; the Roman beauty bit starts 4 minutes in. (That's me standing behind Zoe, in the unbleached stola.)

The Sirens of Surrentum is full of passion and poison. For this book I researched half a dozen deadly plants and their antidotes and learned some more fascinating facts. For example, everybody knows an antidote is something you take to stop poison taking effect. But what most books and TV shows don’t tell you is that an antidote counteracts poison by getting your body to expel it, either by vomiting or pooing! Or both.

In The Fugitive from Corinth, a Roman Mystery set on the Greek mainland, somebody accidentally empties a chamberpot out of a tavern window onto somebody down below! What is a chamberpot? It’s a pot you keep underneath your bed or in a corner of your room as a portable toilet. One Latin word for chamberpot is matella, which usually means a narrow necked flagon. Other words were pelvis, scaphium and situla. A Roman poet called Martial wrote an epigram about a  chamberpot "peeing from a chip in the side". (Epigram XII.32) Some scholars think chamberpots might have been more hygienic than toilets over pits or sewers. This is because animals might crawl out of the pit or sewer and track bacteria from poo onto food and bedding.

title card for my British Museum talk

There have always been urban myths about creatures climbing up out of the sewers or toilet. You can read more about this on my blog called Demon in the Toilet. You might think the Romans were silly and superstitious to believe there were demons in the loos. But in her forthcoming book, Roman Toilets: their Archaeology and Cultural History, Dr Gemma Jansen, a Dutch archaeologist, suggests that demons were the ancient Roman equivalent of bacteria. I think that is a brilliant idea. Like demons, bacteria are virtually invisible, but frightening because of what they can do to you… If a demon possessed you, he could make you sick or even kill you. Just like bad bacteria, germs or viruses.

don't worry; it's fake

There may not be pigs, alligators or demons in the loo, but there are germs. We know what the poor Romans didn't know: to wash our hands after doing a poo or a pee!

P.S. Thanks to everyone at the British Museum, and to all the kids who brought their parents to my talk, and to all of you brave enough to touch my fake dog poo. It was "sticky and stretchy"... Ewww!

P.P.S. If you want to know which of my Roman Mysteries has the highest 'yuk' factor it is probably The Enemies of Jupiter, now available as ebook and audio, as well as in the old fashioned format!

[The 17 books in the Roman Mysteries series are perfect for children 9+ studying Romans as a topic in Key Stage 2. The Roman Mystery Scrolls series is aimed at kids aged 7+ and the Roman Quests series, set in Roman Britain, is a follow on for kids 9+]

Territorial Enterprise

The Territorial Enterprise Newspaper

The Territorial Enterprise was a famous newspaper in the Nevada town of Virginia City.

It was established in 1858 in the town of Mormon Station (AKA Genoa) in the Carson Valley, but moved up to Virginia City in 1860 shortly after silver was discovered on the Comstock Lode. Virginia City suffered from frequent fires and for this and various other reasons the Enterprise moved offices a few times in its first two decades there.

The first office of the Territorial Enterprise was a rickety wooden building up on A Street at the top of the town. We know this from the 1862 Directory of Nevada Territory. We even have a rough idea of what it looked like, thanks to a lithographic drawing by a talented young artist named Grafton T. Brown in 1861. (above) A full page ad in the 1862 Directory tells us that the magazine was published every morning except Sundays, which meant the reporters and printers had Saturday off.

Dennis McCarthy and Joe Goodman were the owners and editors of the paper. Under their guidance the Territorial Enterprise became one of the best-known newspapers in the West. It carried national and local news, mining statistics, advertisements, etc. Frequently - when local news was thin - the reporters filled empty column space with witty stories and tall tales like the ones about the "Demon Frog" or the "Travelling Stones". Some of these stories were pure fiction but because they were printed in a newspaper many people believed them. Later, when readers discovered they had been "taken in" many of them became angry and accused the reporters of being "hoaxers".

In late September of 1862 a dusty 26-year-old failed prospector arrived at the Enterprise to take up a position as a local reporter. His name was Samuel Clemens and he had been promised $25 a week. In those days reporters often used funny or witty pen-names instead of their real names. At first, Clemens signed his articles "Josh". But early in 1863 he tried out the byline "Mark Twain" and it stuck. That is the name by which people know him today. (left: Mark Twain in 1862, before he grew his famous moustache)

Some less-famous writers who worked on the Territorial Enterprise were William Wright (whose pen-name was "Dan De Quille") and Alfred Doten. From the 1862 Directory, we even know the names of some of the printers who worked on the paper, like D.P. Iams and James Richards. Another famous employee of the Territorial Enterprise newspaper was the Chinese cook, Old Joe. Dan De Quille writes that Old Joe did the cooking, and three times each day the whole crowd of "newspaper men" were called out to the long table in the shed to get their "square meal."

Shortly after Mark Twain's arrival in Virginia City, the Enterprise moved offices to a building on North C Street. (Any street above Union in Virginia city is North.) By the summer of 1863, the Enterprise had moved yet again, to a big brick building called the "Enterprise Building" on South C Street between Sutton and Union. This was probably to accomodate a new steam-powered printing press.

By now, the boom times had arrived and the Enterprise's day off had moved, too. Now everybody worked hard on Saturday to get out a special Sunday edition devoted to mining news and other related matters. Everyone was happy and busy. Then, in the spring of 1864, Mark Twain wrote a tall tale that got him into "hot water". He had to "skedaddle" out of Virginia City. Twain went to San Francisco to work for another newspaper, and sometimes he sent articles back to the Territorial Enterprise. But within a few years, he had become a famous writer and a popular lecturer. (above: detail of the newspaper on 8 July 1874, the year before the great fire, shows offices on 24 South C Street)

Twain came back to Virginia City a couple of times over the next few years, but he was long gone by 1875, when a terrible fire burnt down his former workplace. The Territorial Enterprise you see today was built in 1876, several years after Twain's last visit, so he never set foot in this building. However, down in the basement you will find the Mark Twain Museum, full of fascinating items such as printing presses, a desk and even a toilet like the one Mark Twain might have used.

For more info about the Territorial Enterprise, go to the Official Site.

[The Case of the Deadly Desperados features the 26-year-old reporter Sam Clemens who will soon take the nom de plume Mark Twain. Aimed at kids aged 9 - 90, it is available in hardback, paperback, Kindle and audio versions.]

So what's with the sponge-stick?

subligaria = underpants

Recently there has been a lot of excitement (OK, a little excitement) about a new literary competition for schoolchildren all over the world: the GOLDEN SPONGE-STICK AWARD. It has appeared on prestigious BLOGS and CLASSICS SITES and even in a NEWSPAPER. So what IS a sponge-stick?

Because it was my talk that inspired the staff and students at the Royal High School in Bath to start the competition, I thought I should explain exactly what a sponge-stick is.


When I write my mysteries set in ancient Rome, I like to use artefacts as clues. To come up with ideas for these clues, I play with replica artefacts made for me by my re-enactor friends. Occasionally I use the real thing; like the 2000 year old oil-lamp I used to take around to schools with me. I once filled it with olive oil, put in a wick and lit it. You'd think a little piece of string would burn up in a few seconds. But not if it's soaking in olive oil. Then it will burn and burn. When the oil begins to fail the flame flickers and grows smaller, but all you have to do is top up the lamp with oil and the flame burns brighter. Sadly, wear and tear took their toll on my Romano-Egyptian oil-lamp so I use modern replicas when I go to schools and festivals, like this oil-lamp (from the British Museum) with a four-horse chariot design. Today, if you go to a football game you might come home with a souvenir mug. In Roman times, if you spent a day at the Circus Maximus, you would buy a souvenir oil-lamp, daubed with the colours of your team: red, white, green or blue.

Other artefacts I have used as clues in my mysteries include a wax tablet, a signet ring and a bronze bleeding-cup. But my favourite artefact is a sponge-stick. This soft sea sponge on a stick was known as a spongia. What on earth do you think the Romans used a sponge-on-a-stick for?

If you guessed that Romans used sponge-sticks for wiping their bottoms, you would be right!

Think about it: those poor Romans didn't have 'puppy-soft' Andrex or beloved-by-bears-in-the-woods Charmin.

If you lived in Roman times and wanted to give your bottom a good wipe you would have had about four options:
I. leaf from a fig tree (not very absorbent)
II. handful of moss (kinda messy)
III. sponge-stick (more on that in a moment)
IV. YOUR LEFT HAND (ewww!)

Personally I would have used the spongia without hesitation.

So when my re-enactor friend Nodge Nolan from the Leg II Aug promised to send me an historically accurate replica sponge-stick, I was excited. 'Oh goodie,' I thought. 'Roman toilet paper!' A few days later a long, padded envelope arrived in the post.

I pulled out my sponge on a stick, along with a witty compliments slip: 'Never been used.' Clever Nodge. I marvelled at his craftsmanship. Most of the bark had been peeled away, but there was a little left at the 'right end of the stick'; a nice textured surface to ensure a good grip. But one thing surprised me: its length! The thing was almost as long as my forearm. In fact, come to think of it, why have a stick at all? Why not just use a sponge like a piece of toilet paper? 'Why is the stick so long?' I mused aloud.

I phoned Nodge and asked him: 'Why is the stick so long?'

He told me.

The reason the sponge-stick is so long has to do with the design of Roman toilets. Romans were very civilized and in first century Rome, if you were caught short, you would have had a choice of 144 public latrines. Including one in the forum where the 'patrons' could sit and look out through columns at people strolling in the forum. And the people could look right back at them!

If you lived in Rome's port of Ostia, like the four young detectives in my books, you would have used the forica at the Forum Baths. You can still see them today. Now they are ruins, but try to imagine them in the first century AD: frescoes on the walls, coloured marble floor, perhaps a fountain in the middle... The seats themselves are of smooth polished marble, nice and cool on your bottom on a hot Roman day.

See the channel for running water? That's for water from the baths next door. Not too dirty, just right for the job. I don't have to tell you what the holes on the top of the bench were for. That's obvious! It's the holes at the front that often puzzle people. Before I explain those holes, notice there are no dividing walls and no doors. In Roman times, you sat next to your friend and did what you had to do!

You would enter through the revolving door (archaeological evidence tells us this) and as you came in you might see some men sitting right there, chatting, laughing, grunting... 'Salve, Marce!' you might say. 'Hello, Marcus!' 'How are you?'

'Fine! Couldn't be better.'

'Would you like to come to dinner tonight?'

'I'd love to!'

(The Roman poet Martial teases a well-known citizen for loitering in the public latrines in hope of a dinner invitation.)

Roman men and women wore tunics, like a big tee-shirt. Probably no underpants. So you could just hike up your tunic and sit down. The tunic would modestly cover your knees at the front so nobody could SEE anything. (They might have been able to HEAR and SMELL some things, however...)

Then, when you finished your business, you would take the sponge-stick, rinse it in the channel of running water at your feet, and without getting up or revealing anything, you would PUSH THE STICK THROUGH THE HOLE AT THE FRONT AND WIPE YOUR BOTTOM. That's what those holes at the front are for. And that's why the handle of the sponge-stick is so long. After a good wipe, you would rinse it again, stand up and leave it in the basin for THE NEXT PERSON TO USE. (Kids, don't try this at home.)

Now you know where we get the expression he got the 'wrong end of the stick'!

I sometimes go into schools and speak to the little Year 3 children, who are seven or eight years old. Some of them haven't yet studied the Romans and they ask my lots of funny questions like: 'Please, Miss, did it RAIN in ancient Rome?'

'Yes,' I say, 'It rained in ancient Rome.'

'Please, Miss? Were there TREES in ancient Rome?'

'Yes, there were trees in ancient Rome.' Then I ask them. 'Boys and girls, what do you think the ancient Romans used a sponge on a stick for?'

Some of their answers are what you yourself might have guessed:

'Please, Miss, is it for CLEANING COBWEBS from the ceiling?'

'Please, Miss, is it for WASHING YOURSELF in the bath?'

But some of their answers are quite disgusting if you know what its real use:

'Please, Miss, is it for BRUSHING YOUR TEETH?'

'Please, Miss, is it for CLEANING YOUR EARS?'

I never laugh at them because some of their answers are very well thought-out:

'Please, Miss? Do you soak it in olive oil and light it and USE IT AS A TORCH at night?'

'No,' I say, 'But that's a good guess. It shows me you know the Romans had no electricity. Well done!'

'Please, Miss? Do you dip it in paint and WRITE GRAFFITI on the wall?'

'No. But that's also a good guess. It shows me you know the Romans had graffiti in ancient times. Just as they still do today.'

'Please, Miss, is it for BEATING YOUR SLAVE?'

'What a good idea!' I say, when the laughter dies down. 'If your slave is just a little bit naughty, you could hit them with the soft end. But if they've been really bad you could give them a smart THWACK with the stick end.'

On one occasion a teacher suggested: 'If your slave has been really, really naughty you could hit them with the soft end AFTER YOU'VE USED IT.'

Ewww.

One of my favourite answers was from a boy who asked: 'Please, Miss? Is it for BEATING A DRUM?'

A dry sponge-stick actually makes an excellent drum stick. On several occasions, when I've been speaking to a school from the stage and there is a kettle-drum nearby, I have been able to prove this point most effectively.

In fact, I liked his suggestion so much that I stole it for the opening of the fifth Roman Mystery, The Dolphins of Laurentum. In this book, readers finally find out who cut out Lupus's tongue, why he did it and why Lupus can swim so well. (The answer to why Lupus can swim so well is NOT that he was a dolphin in a previous life.)

Here's part of the opening of The Dolphins of Laurentum (and the French cover, which gives a good idea of the flavour of the book)

Lupus picked up the new drumstick he'd found at Flavia's.

He gave the drum an experimental tap and nodded in satisfaction at the sound. Perfect. He found the beat and started to weave a new pattern, holding the drumstick in his right hand and using the palm of his left.

'Lupus!' Jonathan was staring at him in horror.

Lupus stopped drumming and gave Jonathan his bug-eyed look: What?

'What on earth are you using as a drumstick?'

Lupus held up the sponge-stick and shrugged, as if to say: It's a sponge-stick.

'Where did you get it?'

Lupus tilted his head towards Flavia's house next door.

'Lupus. Do you know what that is? I mean, what it's used for?'

Lupus shook his head.

Jonathan sighed. 'I know you used to be a half-wild beggar-boy,' he said. 'But you've been living with us for nearly four months now. You're practically a civilised Roman. You're sure you don't know what that sponge-stick is used for?'

Lupus shook his head again. And frowned.

Jonathan leaned forward and grinned. 'It's for wiping your bottom after you've been to the latrine.'

(You can order the book HERE)

the award!

Probably my favourite answer of all came from a sweet little girl in Year 3. She was about seven years old and her face was beaming with pleasure: SHE knew what my sponge on a stick was for.

'What do you think my sponge-stick is?' I asked, smiling back at her infectious delight.

'Please, Miss? Is it AN AWARD FOR YOUR BOOKS?'

Frankly, I can't think of a better prize than the GOLDEN SPONGE-STICK AWARD FOR THE BEST ROMAN MYSTERY.


Above: Caroline with two of the best things about ancient Rome: a sponge-stick and a gladiatrix.

P.S. OK, not all Romans used sponges-on-sticks, just as we don't all use the same brand of toilet paper today.  In a recent examination of material from a huge septic tank in Herculaneum, not one sponge was found. What they did find were scraps of cloth. Were these an alternate method of wiping the bottom. If so, they would have been expensive, too, and not re-usable. Have a look at my post Ten Things Romans Used for Toilet Paper.

P.P.S. Sadly, the Golden Sponge Stick Award is defunct (from Latin defunctus = 'dead') but you can order a fun Sponge Stick mosaic kit from Roman Mosaic Workshop. Perfect for schools or home fun. And it's educational!

[The 17+ books in the Roman Mysteries series are perfect for children aged 9+, especially those studying Romans as a topic in Key Stage 2 and 3. You can watch Season One of the Roman Mysteries via iTunes. And the new four-book Roman Quests series, set in Roman Britain, starts with Escape from Rome.]

Ice Cold in Alex

It is Sunday 9 December 2007. My husband Richard and I are on the last leg of our second trip to Egypt, researching The Scribes from Alexandria. This will be one of the few books set in Alexandria of the past without Cleopatra, because my interest is Roman Alexandria. (However, Cleopatra does make a kind of cameo.)

Our tour group is given the choice of a free day or an optional day trip to Alexandria. Well, obviously, it's got to be Alexandria! Only four of us opt for the tour: me, Richard, David and Derek. David is from Edinburgh and Derek from York. They are both easy-going and our small group means we (or rather I) can dictate the places we go and the things we see. I have a checklist of things I'd love to see. Today's guide Walid looks about 18, though he must be in his mid-twenties. He drives a cerise microbus.

Alexandria Toll Gate - coming from the south (Cairo)

A 7.00am start means the road is clear. We pass the Cairo tollbooth an hour after setting out. It is yellow and made to look like a Nile temple with sculptures and hieroglyphics. Advertisements mar this attempt somewhat. After the Cairo tollbooth, the road becomes bumpier and agriculture starts to appear. After 100 kilometers and another hour we reach the Alexandria tollbooth. It is white and blue, (the colours of Greece), with imitation Greek columns and the words ALEXANDRIA in big Greek letters above it. The famous Lake Mareotis has moved, or shrunk. Our guide tells us the water is salt water from the sea. But it gives a good impression of what Alexandria's situation might have looked like. Another half hour or so brings us to the waterfront and the famous 'corniche'.

scene from Ice Cold in Alex

Michael Palin called Alexandria 'Cannes with acne'. We can see traces of its colonial beauty but it is now sadly decrepit and dusty. Still, it has a certain charm helped by perfect weather. After three days of solid rain we have struck gold with a mild blue day. We all talk about the famous scene in a 1958 film Ice Cold in Alex where John Mills and Sylvia Syms and some others have an ice cold beer in Alexandria at the end of a hot and arduous desert adventure. The last scene is famous. The four of them go into a hotel bar and order ice cold beer. For a moment they savour the anticipation and watch moisture condense on the glass. Then they drink it down. According to imdb.com trivia, John Mills was drinking real beer because ginger ale and other substitutes didn't look real enough on film. In the final cut (the 14th take) he actually was quite drunk!

The cerise microbus takes us to the site of the lighthouse first. There is a medieval fort there now. Walid doesn't know much about ancient Alexandria but I try to stay quiet and just take in the surroundings, imagining the great lighthouse rising up above us, like Ostia's only taller and covered in white marble. While we are exploring, some Egyptian girl students (early teens) ask Derek if they can take his photo. We joke afterwards that he should have asked for 'baksheesh'. (Whenever you take someone's picture here in Egypt, they expect you to pay them a tip for the privilege.)

Pompey's Pillar (so-called)

Back in Alexandria proper, the so-called 'Pillar of Pompey' was a pillar re-used by Diocletian in the third century. It may once have been part of the Serapeum, the magnificent and famous annex to the great Museum or "Library" of Alexandria. I think this hill could be the remains of the Paneum, a conical hill which was sacred to the god Pan. We know from ancient writers that you could look out over all of Alexandria from its top.

Next stop are the catacombs of Kom es-Shoqafa – "mound of shards" – which might have been the Alexandrian equivalent of Rome's Mons Testaccio. These Graeco-Romano tombs display a strange mixture of Greek, Roman and Egyptian imagery on them. We go down to a huge catacomb riddled with inner rooms, stone recesses and tunnels. There is even a massive triclinium where the family of the dead person would have a meal in his or her honour.

the "Alexandria Quartet"

Then it's on to the Graeco-Roman theatre. This is very small and I think it's more likely to be a lecture hall. We know that the famous Museum (where the Library was) had lots of famous scholars who gave public talks. Nearby are baths and a 3rd century Roman townhouse called the Villa of the Birds, on account of the pretty mosaics on the floor.

The National Museum in Alexandria is beautifully laid out, with proper lighting and dust-free cases, (unlike it's massive cousin in Cairo). It's also a manageable size. The Pharaonic gallery is downstairs, the Graeco-Roman on the ground floor and Islamic one floor up. Half an hour is long enough for us to look at our preferred sections with a quick glance at one other floor. David raves about the quality of the Pharaonic art downstairs and regrets leaving his camera in the hotel.

Alexandria's eastern harbour

We are delighted to discover that lunch is included in our tour. Our microbus takes us back to the Corniche through dusty roads and crowded traffic to a delightful restaurant called The Fish Market. It has a magnificent view over the brilliant blue sea and reminds me of Sausalito, looking out over the San Francisco Bay, or of Sydney, Australia. For the first time in a week I feel like we are on holiday. The waiter brings a delicious assortment of meze, then a choice of whole grey mullet or tomato pasta for main course.

After lunch we find a decrepit hotel from Britain's colonial period to recreate the famous moment from Ice Cold in Alex. We can't find a bar so we have to make do with a table and we drink Egyptian beer instead of Carlsberg. The hotel staff think we are crazy as Walid and I art direct the scene. (above from left to right: Caroline, Richard, Derek and David at the Windsor Palace Hotel)

the modern Library of Alexandria (in 2007)

Our final stop is the brand new Library of Alexandria. It is on the waterfront, nowhere near the original library, but that doesn't matter. It is really stunning. My favourite bit is a triangular pool at the back which reflects palm trees on the waterfront.

It's 4.30pm and the sun is low in the sky. We start back and stop for a quick 'comfort stop' on our way out of Alexandria. How glad I am that we did. The first part of the trip is quite scary. It's pitch black with no street lights and Egyptian drivers pass on either side. Our driver drives very fast. He's good, but donkey carts and pedestrians wear no lights. What if he hits one? We reach the Cairo toll booth in good time, just over two hours. However, suddenly the road is packed and we aren't moving at all.

recreating the moment from Ice Cold in Alex

This is the Mother of all Traffic Jams. I have never seen anything like it. Three lanes of highway are occupied by five lanes of honking cars, trucks, taxis, cars, minivans and tankers. For most of the trip we are at a standstill or moving at a crawl. Our driver goes on the bumpy shoulder of the highway, when he can move, but another pickup truck is even further to the right on the sandbank. Richard, Derek and David give him the nickname 'Sandbank Sam'.

After an hour or two we see people walking on the dark side of the road. They are easily overtaking us. Trapped by two lanes of traffic on either side, I try not to think about what would happen if I suddenly needed the toilet. I wonder if this is divine punishment for the torture I inflicted on Flavia in The Beggar of Volubilis. I wouldn't be surprised to see a woman giving birth by the side of the road. People are certainly doing other things there. Finally, finally the hotel is in sight. We were hoping to be back by 7.30pm. It is now nearly 10.00pm. It has taken us nearly five hours to get back. I will never complain about London traffic again.

The other members of our group spot us and run out of the hotel restaurant to greet us. They have moved to a big table so that we can join them. None of the four of us feel like eating but we all order beers and for us this is really an Ice Cold in Alex moment. Never has a tall cold beer tasted so good.

[I was researching Roman Mystery 15, The Scribes from Alexandria. It is now available in paperback, Kindle and as an abridged audiobook, and is perfect for primary schools studying Egypt in Key Stage 2.]