Romance in Ancient Rome - a Quiz

Cupid on a crab

I) St Valentine was most probably
a) a Jewish priest
b) a Roman soldier
c) a Greek freedman
d) a Byzantine emperor

II) The Lupercalia was a mid-February Roman fertility festival. Which of these was NOT a feature?
a) setting doves free
b) half-naked youths
c) goat sacrifice
d) striking people with leather thongs

III) In first century Rome, the most popular month for marriage was
a) April
b) May
c) June
d) July

14 yr old Miriam the bride

IV) Who was Cupid's mother?
a) Minerva (Athena)
b) Venus (Aphrodite)
c) Juno (Hera)
d) Helen of Troy

V) When Pliny the 'Younger' was older he married
a) a besotted 14-year-old girl
b) his niece
c) the Emperor Domitian's niece
d) Cleopatra's niece

VI) The Romans believed the best finger for a wedding ring was
a) the middle finger of the left hand
b) the middle finger of the right hand (the left was unlucky)
c) the fourth finger of the left hand (like today)
d) the fourth finger of the right hand (the left was unlucky)

VII) The legal age for a girl to marry in first century Rome was
a) 10
b) 12
c) 14
d) 16

The Sirens of Surrentum

VIII) The legal age for a girl to become betrothed (engaged) in first century Rome was
a) any age
b) not younger than 6
c) not younger than 8
d) not younger than 10 (decreed Augustus)

IX) The most common cause of death among young women in ancient Rome was
a) malaria
b) measles
c) Latin
d) childbirth

X) The word 'genuine' comes from the Latin
a) genu 'knee' - because the father took his newborn on his knee to acknowledge it was his.
b) genus 'noble birth' - because if you were of noble birth you were a genuine aristocrat.
c) gens 'family' - because only the genuine members of the family could inherit.
d) genius 'guardian spirit' - because this spirit only protected the genuine family members.

Flaccus gives Flavia a love-poem

Bonus fact: Did you know the words 'Roman' and 'Romance' are linked? Also, Roma backwards is amor!

[If you want to learn more about Roman romance, read The Roman Mysteries, especially The Sirens of Surrentum, which has kissing from the very first line. You might also want to check out a blog I wrote about Romantic Roman Artefacts. Some of the pictures in this blog are from the Roman Mysteries TV series, available on iTunesUK. Carrying on from the Roman Mysteries, the Roman Quests series set in Roman Britain launched in May 2016 with Escape from Rome.]

P.S. The answers: 1 (b); 2 (a); 3 (c); 4 (b); 5 (a); 6 (c); 7 (b); 8 (d); 9 (d); 10 (a)

Tinker Tailor Votive Willies

Caroline Lawrence with the artefact

It is a snapping cold day in February and I am hot on the trail of a Roman artefact from Rome's ancient port of Ostia, the setting of most of my Roman Mysteries series of books. The artefact – a small marble relief of four women and a baby – first came to my attention when someone posted it on an Ostia Facebook Group. We were all very excited because none of us had ever seen it before! A few quick emails told us that it was part of the Wellcome Trust Collection with the Science Museum. It was in storage at a museum repository in West London. As the only member of the Ostia Group based there, I volunteered to go and have a look. My motive was not unselfish: as an author of historical detective stories this is exactly the sort of object that can give me an entire plot line!

East Wing of Blythe House 1924

So on 2 February 2012, I take the train from Clapham Junction to Kensington Olympia, then walk to 23 Blythe Road. I've been to this part of London many times, (and even done a couple of book signings at Brook Green Books), but I never knew about the Victorian treasure box that is Blythe House. Built around the year 1900, its original purpose was to house the Post Office Savings Bank. At one time over a thousand female clerks worked here, segregated from their male counterparts for propriety's sake. They all used to enter via the East (i.e. back) Wing.

East Wing of Blythe House 2012

In 1979 the British Government bought part of Blythe House to use as extra storage space for the British Museum, the Victorian & Albert, and the Science Museum with the Wellcome Trust. The late Sir Roy Strong, director of the V&A called Blythe House "a marvellous building" and said it "should be not just a dumping ground but an exciting new complex for the public." It is a marvellous building. Still attached to the West Kensington Postal sorting office and minus the smokestacks visible in earlier photos, the distinctive red and white brickwork makes it look like a glorious confection of Lego blocks.

Shivering in my down parka, I arrive at the east wing of Blythe House, the same entrance used by all those female clerks. I go to a turnstile called Gate A and press the call button. Anyone can visit, but you have to make an appointment first. I have been put in touch with Ms. Katie Maggs and she has kindly agreed to meet me and show me the artefact. The place is maze-like even before I get inside, but I manage to find reception up some outside stairs. I check in with a porter behind a window. He gives me a yellow plastic pass. Katie meets me a few minutes later. She is young, warm, friendly and informative. With a degree in Classics from the University of Warwick followed by two MAs from University College London, one in Museum Studies and one in History of Medicine, she is the perfect person to tell me about the unusual artefact I'm about to examine.

As Katie leads me down a succession of corridors, stairs and passageways, I get a strong sense of deja vu. I've never been here before, but it seems terribly familiar. There is an odd 1970s institutional feel; it reminds me of the recent film version of Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy.

'This place has an odd 1970s institutional feel,' I say. 'It's like something out of Tinker, Tailor, Soldier, Spy.'

'That's because they filmed it here,' says Katie. 'They spent four days here last September.'

Toby Jones (Alleline) & Ciarán Hinds (Bland) on the roof of Blythe House

As a film buff and big fan of the movie, this is an added bonus to my visit! I learn that other movies and TV series were filmed here, (e.g. Minder and The New Avengers). You can also see an atmospheric short film called The Phantom Museum set in the maze of corridors, stairwells and storerooms at Blythe House.

Katie points out the willies

Our first stop is a nondescript door in one of those corridors. Katie has taken me here to pick up gloves, but really - bless her generous heart - she wants to show me some of the ancient treasures stored here. Henry Wellcome, an American adventurer and medical archaeologist, collected over a million objects to do with ancient life and especially medicine. The cream of his collection is on show in a permanent collection called Medicine Man at the Wellcome Collection near Euston, but there are plenty more goodies here in Blythe House. This particular room is full of shelves of clay body parts. These are the objects Romans dedicated to their gods if they wanted healing for a specific part of the body. I see dozens of heads, hands, feet, wombs, babies, breasts, & willies.

Yes, willies. If you couldn't wee or do other useful things with your dangly bits, or if you had some sort of boil or spot, you would dedicate a clay model of the appendage to the appropriate god. And you would pray very, very hard.

Votive eyes (& lead slingbullets?)

On the shelves I also see plaster casts of objects, e.g. a big bunch of votive intestines and the famous Babylonian divination liver in the British Museum. There are a couple of charming pigs. Why pigs? It was an agrarian society, deeply concerned with food and survival. If a farmer had a sick pig, he would offer a votive to the god. In addition to the large and medium objects on shelves, there are also drawers with smaller objects: grotesque faces, wooden nit combs, Etruscan false teeth, a flint knife, marbles, tiny votive statues and votive eyes, some of which look suspiciously like lead sling-bullets.

funeral slab with plug and hole

One funerary object in particular captures my attention: an inscribed slab with a plug over a carved hole into which the mourner could pour a libation of wine to refresh the ashes of the dead lying beneath. I knew about this custom but never realised that there was a special type of slab to make this easier. (I told my hairdresser about these libation slabs the day after my visit and she said a friend of hers often goes to his dad's grave with two beers. He drinks one himself and pours out the other in slurps for his father. I guess we're not so different from the Romans, after all.)

Henry Wellcome in Indian headdress

Henry Solomon Wellcome had a fascinating life. Born in a frontier log cabin in Almond, Wisconsin in the year 1853, his interest in archaeology was sparked by the find of an Indian arrowhead when he was only four. Five years later, his family moved west in a covered wagon and were caught up in a bloody Sioux uprising in Minnesota. Nine-year-old Henry helped his pharmacist uncle Jacob tend those wounded by arrows and tomahawks. These two incidents sparked his abiding interest in "primitive" peoples. Henry gained his love of medicine from working in his uncle's pharmacy. Later, he studied medicine, grew a moustache and went on an expedition to South America in search of quinine bark. In 1880 he moved to London to set up a pharmaceutical business with a friend. From then on, England was his base for travel all over the world. He met famous explorers, associated with cultured socialites and married the beautiful daughter of Dr. Barnardo. But his main fame is for all the artefacts he collected himself and through others, over a million during his lifetime. He was finally knighted and died at the ripe old age of 83, leaving his collection to the Wellcome Foundation, the Trust he himself established.

My three passions are the Romans, the Wild West and movies. In the oft-filmed Blythe House with its many Roman artefacts collected by an American born in the Wild West, those passions have come together in a delightful way. At the end of my hour with the charming and generous Katie, I am excited and enthused. And I haven't even told you about the object of my visit. That I must leave for another blog (which you can find HERE.)

P.S. You can find hundreds more fascinating objects on the Science Museum's great interactive website, Brought to Life. There is also a superb site devoted to Henry Wellcome. And, oh, all right! As you've made it to the end of this post, here is a picture of some votive willies. If you want to make your own investigation, start here.

A Romantic Ten Roman Artifacts

Flavia admires herself in a bronze mirror   

by Caroline Lawrence

(this is a special "Americanized" version of an article I wrote for the Classical Association Blog)

Last month I blogged about a dozen of my favourite Roman artifacts. I love Roman artifacts because they are the talismans for my "Hero's Journey" back in time to first century Rome. Also, I use them as clues in my Roman Mysteries series for children aged 8+.

Here are another ten of my favourite artifacts. They are all replicas, but so skilfully made that they could be the real thing. Most of them are made by three clever re-enactors: Romano-celtic medicus Nodge Nolan, scribus peritus Zane Green and Steve Wade AKA Audax the gladiator. In addition to making high-quality replica Roman artifacts, these three talented guys all visit schools to talk about their Roman roles and participate in re-enactment events.

These ten artifacts are all linked to love, beauty or romance.

I. Bronze mirror

In Roman times there weren't many opportunities for seeing yourself very clearly. Maybe if you were mega rich you would have a polished silver mirror, but it wouldn't be as good as even the cheapest pocket mirror today. Considering all the skin diseases and sun damage it might have been a mercy in many people's cases. This wonderful bronze mirror is based on a real one from Pompeii. It partly inspired a scene from the BBC TV adaptation of The Pirates of Pompeii where Flavia wants to impress an older man and imperiously orders her slave girl Nubia to do her hair. In the picture above you can see her admiring the effect in a bronze mirror like this one.


II. Blown glass perfume bottle

Did you know that Romans sometimes added perfume to their wine to sweeten their breath? Ugh. But in that day before mouthwash and deodorant, scent was important. The Roman poet Martial has several epigrams about a perfume-maker called Cosmus. He was obviously the Calvin Klein of first century Rome. I had fun researching poison and perfume for my 11th Roman Mystery, The Sirens of Surrentum. I discovered the ingredients for the most expensive ancient perfumes. I found out which scents men would have worn. I scoured museums for perfume bottles and found one shaped like a little bird. I loved it so much that I worked it into my most romantic Roman Mystery, The Sirens of Surrentum. At a symposium, a woman named Annia Serena begins a story thus: One day when I was seven years old, my mother received a new perfume in the shape of a bird: a delicate blue glass bird that fit in the palm of her hand. You had to snap off the tip of the beak to release the perfume. Serena goes on to tell the shocking result of what happened when she crept into her mother's bedroom to have a sniff and accidentally broke the perfume bottle. (You'll never guess.)
This replica perfume bottle from the Roman site of Empúries in Spain is not shaped like a bird, but I love it anyway.

III. Club-of-Hercules earring

The delightfully-named Nodge Nolan made this earring for me when I was working on my sixth Roman Mystery, The Twelve Tasks of Flavia Gemina. Again, it is based on a Roman or perhaps Scythian original. Why a club? Not very romantic, you say.

Oh, but it is. It's a love club. A club of lurve.

This is the female equivalent of the cave man clubbing his desired cave girl and then dragging her by the hair to his cave. There is even a myth that as punishment for a crime, Hercules had to wear women's clothes for a year and serve a nymph called Omphale and SHE got to wear his lion skin and wield his club.

Cartilia flushed slightly. 'Well,' she said. 'I do have to admit I find your father very attractive. Plus, he still has all his teeth.' Flavia giggled and reached up to touch one of Cartilia's silver earrings; it was a pendant shaped like a tiny club of Hercules. (from The Twelve Tasks of Flavia Gemina)

IV. Beauty Set

I can't remember which re-enactor made me this beauty set, but he kindly engraved the name FLAVIA on the tweezers. Crude but useful, this would have been a poor person's kit for personal grooming. Designed to be worn around the wrist, it consists of (left to right) an ear-scoop, a fingernail cleaner and tweezers. Tweezers were used to pluck hair from underarms etc. Yowtch! The fingernail cleaner is self-explanatory. Ear-scoops were very popular in ancient Rome. Quite rightly, too. The alternative consists of something I saw when I was in Italy a few years ago: an old man who kept his pinky nail long for the express purpose of scooping out ear wax! Yuk.

The Roman poet Martial wrote a slightly naughty Saturnalia gift-tag epigram about an ear-scoop.

Auriscalpium - Si tibi morosa prurigine verminat auris, arma damus tantis apta libidinibus. 

Ear-scoop - If your ear-hole craves a good seeing-to, I've got a little tool that will satisfy such desires. (Martial XIV.23) Ew.

V. Broken oil flask

This broken (replica) oil flask is proof of why it would have been impractical to take a ceramic jar to the baths. Oily fingers are more liable likely to drop it on the mosaic or marble floor. For this reason some bath sets (see above) had little bronze flasks attached for scented oil. It wasn't just women who used scented oil, but men, too. Opobalsam, for example, was the ancient Roman version of Calvin Klein for men. Also known as 'balm of Gilead', its main ingrediant is juice from the exotic balsam tree. According to Pliny this tree is only found in Judaea, modern Israel. My pal Martial has a little epigram about this, of course:
Opobalsam. Balsama me capiunt, haec sunt unguenta virorum: delicias Cosmi vos redolete, nurus. 
Balsam captivates me! This is the oil for men! Gather round, girls and have a sniff of Cosmus's best.
(See? I told you Cosmus was the most famous perfume-maker in Rome...)
Hmm, I wonder if Flavia's groom wore opobalsam on their wedding day?

VI. Hair Pins

Roman women loved hair pins. You can get them in gold, silver, bronze, ivory, ebony or wood. They often have little objects carved or cast at the non-sharp end. Some represent feminine beauty and power: Venus or an empress. Some represent fertility: an apple or pomegranate. Some are apotropaic (they turn away evil) like a hand giving the mano fico, a gesture representing lady bits. (Don't ask) The hair pins shown here are from left to right, a brass hand holding an olive, a simple bone hairpin, a silver hairpin with decorative knob and a bronze stylus, which of course is not a pin but could stand in for one at a pinch.
Martial has a sweet epigram about a gold hairpin:
Acus aurea  - Splendida ne madidi violent bombycina crines, figat acus tortas sustineatque comas. 
Gold hairpin - Lest damp hair spoil brilliant silk, let this hairpin fix and hold up your twisted locks. (Martial 14.24)
I love that poem because I can see the girl fresh from the bath, doing up her hair in the Roman version of a chignon.

VII. Lead Curse Tablet

Steve Wade's beautiful replica curse tablet is made of lead, heavy and smooth and easy to bend. Defixiones, as they are called, have been found throughout the Roman world. You wrote a suitable curse on the lead (sometimes backwards or in code for extra power) and then you rolled it up and nailed it to a tree or door post near the person to be cursed, (hence the name defixio). However archaeologists have found curse tablets tossed in fountains or buried, especially as gods of the underworld were often evoked. Curses could be as mundane as cursing the person who stole your socks (like this one) or as vicious as wishing the death of a charioteer and all four of his horses. But the nastiest curse tablets must have been written by lovers against their rivals. Spirits of the underworld, I give you Ticene of Carisius. Whatever she does, may it turn out badly. I curse her limbs, her complexion, her figure, her head, her hair, her shadow, her brain, her forehead, her eyebrows, her mouth, her nose, her chin, her cheeks, her lips, her speech, her breath, her neck, her liver, her shoulders, her heart, her lungs, her intestines, her stomach, her arms, her fingers, her hands, her navel, her entrails, her thighs, her knees, her calves, her heels, her soles, her toes... (CIL 10.8249 edited)

Curse tablets make a guest appearance in my twelfth Roman Mystery, The Charioteer of Delphi.

VIII. Nubia's Flute

Music was an important part of Roman life, just as it is an important part of our lives. But we don't really know what it sounded like. Some clever scholars, like Susanna Rühling of Musica Romana, have done careful research to recreate the instruments and songs of ancient Rome. You can listen to samples on her website and see some of their beautiful reconstructions, like the double aulos, a twin flute. My replica flute is a monaulos (single pipe) from Egypt. It is just a cheap tourist version. In my books, Flavia's freed slave-girl Nubia is deeply musical and deeply romantic. Her flute is her most prized possession and she always wears it around her neck.  Nubia's handsome young Greek tutor Aristo plays the lyre and she realises she is in love with him when they are playing music together one day during the Saturnalia, in my sixth Roman Mystery, The Twelve Tasks of Flavia Gemina. (I wanted them to cast Robert Pattinson for the role LONG before he appeared in Twilight, so when you read my books, imagine RPatz as Aristo!)
Martial has a naughty epigram about a flute.
Tibiae. Ebria nos madidis rumpit tibicina buccis: saepe duas pariter, saepe monaulon habet. 
Flutes. The tipsy flute girl blows us with her moist mouth, sometimes two together, sometimes just one. (Martial 14.63)
Of course Nubia is not a tipsy flute girl. She is a good girl!

IX. Blank papyrus (because I don't have ivory tablets!)

Non est munera quod putes pusilla, cum donat vacuas poeta chartas, writes the poet Martial.
Don't consider it a small thing when a poet gives you blank sheets. (Martial 14.10)
One of my re-enactor friends, Zane Green, is skilled at preparing papyrus and ruling it and writing on it. But sometimes people gave blank stationery, especially if they were hoping for a letter in return. Here is Zane pumicing some papyrus to make it smooth. He has already ruled lines, ready for someone to write a love poem (or letter) on it. Papyrus comes from the famous Egyptian reed pounded flat and laid in two layers, one lengthwise and one widthwise. When my husband and I visited Egypt to research The Scribes from Alexandria, (in which Flavia and her pals go on a quest up the Nile to find Nubia) we were lucky enough to visit a papyrus factory and see a demonstration of how real papyrus is made.

Martial writes about other writing material and what it signifies. For example, small ivory tablets called Vitellian tablets are for love poetry.
Nondum legerit hos licet puella, novit quid cupiant Vitelliani.
A girl does not have to read these Vitellian tablets to know what they want! (Martial 14.8)

Flavia, 15, gets married

In my final Roman Mystery, The Man from Pomegranate Street, 12-year-old Flavia Gemina (now of a marriageable age) gets one of these Vitellian tablets from an admirer.
‘Who gave you the love-tablet?’ asked Tranquillus.
‘What?’
‘That.’ He pointed at the ivory booklet in her lap.
‘Why do you call it a love-tablet?’ she asked, aware that all the others were watching her, too.
‘Because it’s a love-tablet!’ he said. 
‘How can you tell?’
‘He’s right, Flavia,’ said Aristo gently. ‘It’s a love-tablet.’
‘Stop calling it that–’ she spluttered. ‘How can you possibly know–’
‘He knows because it’s small and dainty and made of ivory,’ said Tranquillus. ‘Did it come wrapped with a ribbon?’
Flavia nodded.
‘It’s the latest fashion,’ said Aristo. ‘For a man to give a woman he loves an ivory tablet with a poetic declaration of his feelings inside.'

X. "Carpe Diem" Scroll

Flavia's favourite motto is Carpe diem! Seize the Day! (Even though her father says her motto should be "Look before you leap!") The famous phrase comes from a Latin love poem by the famous poet Horace. This scroll is on papyrus, beautifully written out by Zane Green.

Tu ne quaesieris, scire nefas, quem mihi, quem tibi finem di dederint, Leuconoe, nec Babylonios temptaris numeros. ut melius, quidquid erit, pati. seu pluris hiemes seu tribuit Iuppiter ultimam, quae nunc oppositis debilitat pumicibus mare Tyrrhenum: sapias, vina liques et spatio brevi spem longam reseces. dum loquimur, fugerit invida. carpe diem, quam minimum credula postero.

Want to know the translation? Here's my slightly free version:

You should not ask, my love - for it is forbidden to know - what the gods have decreed for me or you. Don't even check your horoscope. Much better to embrace whatever happens, whether the gods have granted us many more winters or whether this is our last, which even now dashes the Tyrrhenian sea upon the rocks we gaze out upon. Relax, pour the wine, and put your dreams on hold for just a little. Even as we speak, jealous time speeds past. Seize the day, and do not put your hope in tomorrow. 

Test your knowledge of Romance in Ancient Rome with this easy QUIZ.

[If you want to learn more about Roman artifacts and Roman romance, read my books. The 17 books - plus supplementary titles - in the Roman Mysteries series are perfect for children aged 9+, especially those studying Romans. Americans will only be able to view DVDs of the TV series on computers but there is an interactive game.]

Serendipity in Surrentum

'How I discovered the Villa Limona' by Caroline Lawrence

Villa of Pollius Felix from the Roman Mysteries Treasury

'Let's go on a holiday to Rome and Naples,' said my sister one day, on the phone. It was 2000. I was living in London with my husband Richard, she was raising two boys in California.

'OK,' I said. 'You book the hotel in Rome, and I'll try to find a villa near Pompeii.'

This would fit perfectly with my research. My next books - The Secrets of Vesuvius & The Pirates of Pompeii - would be set before, during and after the eruption of Vesuvius. I had decided that the uncle of Flavia, my main character, owned a farm in Stabia. I chose Stabia because it's near Pompeii, but not too near.

I phoned a travel firm that specialized in Italian villas.

'I'd like a villa big enough for six people near Stabia,' I said.

Silence. Then 'Do you mean Castellammare di Stabia?' she said. 'We don't have villas there.'

'Or anywhere near Pompeii,' I said. 'I want to be in the plain near Pompeii.'

Another pause. 'Most people stay in Sorrento if they want to visit Pompeii.'

'Do you have villas in Sorrento?'

'Of course.' She went on to describe a big house called the Villa Citrona. Not only was it luxurious, with stunning views, but it had lemon groves and an outdoor swimming pool. And was available for mid-October. The only drawback was that it was up in the hills and we would need to rent a car in Naples. But apart from that, it sounded blissful. The lady asked if I would like to book it. (above: not the swimming pool of the Villa Citrona, but a set from The Roman Mysteries TV series)

'Yes,' I said excitedly. 'But I have to ring my sister and confirm it with her. I'll phone you straight back.' I phoned my sister and told her about the Villa Citrona.

'Sure. Book it,' she said.

Villa of Pollius Felix today

I phoned the travel agent. 'I'm sorry,' she said. 'Someone else has just reserved the Villa Citrona. But I can give you the Villa Magnolia, on the Capo di Sorrento.'

'All right,' I sighed, dejected. 'I suppose I'll take that.'

As soon as we arrived in Naples and took the Circumvesuviana train to Sorrento, I realised several things.

First, the area around Pompeii is flat, industrial and ugly. It may have been lush and beautiful in Roman times, but today it's covered with factories and a pall of smog. I'm glad we didn't book a villa in Stabia.

Secondly, it's suicide to rent a car and drive in that part of Italy. Here is a joke the Italians tell: In Milan, traffic lights are the law. In Rome, traffic lights are a suggestion. In Naples, traffic lights are Christmas decoration. I'm glad we didn't get the Villa Citrona after all; we would have had to drive everywhere.

Third, being shunted to the Villa Magnolia was one of the best things that could have happened.

The first day we arrived I wandered down to the coast road to explore. I saw a yellow sign: Ruderi Villa Romana di Pollio Felice 1sec d.C. (The first century ruins of the Roman Villa of Pollius Felix) I had never heard of any Roman ruins here on the Capo di Sorrento. I followed it down and soon I caught glimpses of the blue sea through the olive trees on my right. Then I came to the end of the road. Before me lay the headland and the clear remains of an ancient building. When I saw the secret cove, I knew this had to be the setting for the pirates’ base in The Pirates of Pompeii.

Pollius Felix from The Roman Mysteries TV series

Back in England I discovered that Pollius Felix had been a powerful patron – probably of Greek origin – who lived exactly during the time of Flavia and her friends. Even more exciting, his wife may have been Polla Argentaria, the widow of Lucan, a poet who was implicated in a plot against Nero and forced to kill himself. A poem by a Roman called Statius describes Felix's villa and a shrine to Hercules on the Cape of Surrentum.

Millie Binks as Pulchra

Pollius Felix and his wife Polla and their eldest daughter Pulchra (right: from The Roman Mysteries TV series) became some of the most important characters in my books, and two of my favourites in the series - The Pirates of Pompeii and The Sirens of Surrentum - are set at the Villa of Pollius Felix. There are still people in the area with the name Pollio and the beach next to this headland is called Puolo.

If we hadn't been shunted to the Villa Magnolia, I might never have learnt of the Villa of Pollius Felix in Sorrento.

By the way, SERENDIPITY is when you make an unexpected, lucky discovery.

P.S. Two of my Roman Mystery books are set at the Villa of Pollius Felix: The Pirates of Pompeii and The Sirens of Surrentum. And don't forget the Roman Mysteries Travel Guide. 

Fun Things about Turkey

Saturday 24 May 2008

It’s our last day in Turkey - and my birthday! - and we are enjoying a day off after a grueling schedule of ancient sites. We have been upgraded to the five-star Korumar Hotel overlooking the bay of Kusadasi. Once Kusadasi was a collection of little white houses on a brown hillside overlooking a blue harbour. Now it’s a major centre of tourism, with luxury hotels stretching out along the coast on either side. In the tourist season, between May and October, it is visited by up to seven massive cruise liners every day. They come in at dawn, disgorge tourists on coaches to Ephesus then depart in the late afternoon. A few months ago one got stuck in the harbour and it took the efforts of several hard-working tug-boats to dislodge it. Just as well it wasn’t high season.

Originally I had intended hiring a taxi to retrace Flavia’s route from Halicarnassus to Ephesus, but I am just too tired. Instead I go into town early to take some photos. I get a nice one of a collared dove at an old caravanserai, now a hotel. But it’s too early and only a few shops are open. There are even fewer tourists about, making me easy prey. ‘Hello, Lady,’ say the shopkeepers. ‘Where you from?’ ‘You alone?’ ‘You want jewelry? Turkish delight? Minaret?’

I smile and try to politely rebuff them but they have answers for everything. They employ a very sophisticated blend of ironic honesty and humour, and they capitalize on the British hatred of being impolite.

Shopkeeper 1: ‘Come here, Lady. I need your money.’

Shopkeeper 2: ‘Look, Lady. I sell genuine fake watches.’

Shopkeeper 3: ‘You want carpet? Very nice carpets here.’
Me: ‘I don’t have room.’
Shopkeeper 3: ‘I give you free suitcase.’
Me: ‘I mean I don’t have room in my apartment.’
Shopkeeper 3: ‘I give you new apartment. Free with carpet.’

Shopkeeper 4: ‘Hello, Lady. You want to buy something?’
Me (smiling): ‘Just looking.’
Shopkeeper 4 (smiling): ‘Just selling.’

Shopkeeper 5: ‘Hello, Lady. You alone? You married? You want nice husband?’
Me: ‘No, no, no.’
Shopkeeper 5: ‘Yes, yes, yes.’

Shopkeeper 6: ‘Hello, Lady. You from ship? Hello! Lady! LADY! Why are you being rude to ignore me?’

At least they are not as bad as the Egyptian shopkeepers, who physically grab hold of you and practically wrench the wallet from your hands.

I return to the hotel for their wonderful buffet breakfast and have yogurt with honeycomb so fresh that you can eat every bit of it.

Later Richard and I go back into the old part and he does some water colour sketches as an excuse to sit and have a Turkish coffee (before noon) or an Efes Bira (after noon). Kusadasi is still pretty empty. The six massive cruise boats must have sent all their passengers to Ephesus today. We buy Richard a couple of shirts made from Denizli cotton and I get a small shoulder bag with camels on it.

We walk up to the fort on Pigeon Island and find most of the people from our tour have had the same idea. In the fort there is a crafts market and the skeleton of a whale that once beached itself here.

At a café Richard does a watercolour and I watch a beautiful young Turkish couple eat lunch. They seem very much in love. I ask if I can take a photo and they tell me they are engaged.

I also observe an interesting difference between the Turks and the British. The local cat gang is watching a Turkish family eat. The family is not happy. They hiss at the cats, trying to shoo them away. The handsome fiancé from the next table gets up and chivalrously throws some of his bottled water at the cats. The gang of cats flee. How romantic! If the group having lunch were British they’d be feeding and petting the flea-bitten creatures.

That evening I we have our final dinner on the terrace of the Korumar as the sun sets. The tour group leader has organized a birthday baklava for me and it’s the perfect end to a great trip.

Here are some fun things I learned about Turkey:
1. The toilets have a little spigot at the back so you can wash your bottom after you’ve been...
2. But you have to put used toilet paper in the bin next to the loo. You are not allowed to flush paper down the toilet.
3. The famous Apple Tea (Elma Chai) is just apple juice with hot water added, served in pretty glasses.
4. You get covered with warm puffy bubbles in the hamam (Turkish Baths).
5. In olden times a man in the female part of the hamam would be executed.
6. Today, chances are a burly Turk will give a woman her puffy bubble massage in the hammam!
7. They splash you with lemon cologne on the buses.
8. Children only go to school for half a day, either morning or afternoon.
9. The Turks love a sour cherry drink called 'vishne'; it is delicious
10. Turkish spelling of English words is very efficient. Group is ‘grup’ and toast is ‘tost.’ Who needs those extra vowels anyway? My favourite is ‘oto’ for auto.

Baths of Baia

The Sirens of Surrentum

It is mid-summer of 2005. I am on the Bay of Naples to research my most romantic Roman Mystery, The Sirens of Surrentum. It has taken me three days to find an internet cafe here in Campania and it's not even an internet cafe, just a video/DVD shop with a computer by one wall. Plus it's down in Sorrento, not in the hill village where we're staying. Our package tour has put us in a little village 'only seven kilometres' from Sorrento. Problem is it takes ages to get the bus down to Sorrento. That's what happens when you book cheap last minute holidays sight unseen. Anyway, the Hotel Delle Palma in Sant'Agata is a very charming three star hotel with pines, palms, magnolia and plane trees. Our room has a balcony overlooking the pool and a bit of the gulf and Capri. (Later on I discover there IS an internet café, only a hundred metres from the hotel!)

Saturday is our day to explore Baia. It is quite a journey. We catch the little SITA bus from Sant'Agata at 7.10, the circumvesuviana train at 7.40, the metro from Naples-Garibaldi at 9.00, chang trains at Napoli Campi Flegrei to catch the train to Pozzuoli at 9.30 and finally arrive at the Archeobus stop at 10.00am.

pool at the Hotel Della Palma in Sant'Agata near Sorrento

There is so much I want to see here: the site of ancient Baiae (modern Baia), ancient Cumae, where the Sybil lived; Misenum, from where Pliny first saw the volcano erupting; Pozzuoli, with its Flavian amphitheatre and underground Roman city... But my next book is mainly set in Baia so we go there first. The Archeobus is a little bus that makes a circuit of all the major sites to the west of Naples, those around the Campi Flegrei (burning fields), so called because of all the volcanic activity.

We have been standing at the busstop about 10 minutes a gentleman with a cane politely informs us that "the archeobus is finished". Apparently they have stopped running it.

The man tells us to get a little bus which they call pullman. He will show us. Presently the little SEPSA bus comes and we go with the gentleman as far as Lago Lucrino. The Lucrine Lake was the site of Agrippina's house. Agrippina was the mother of Nero and one spring evening in AD 65 he decided to have her murdered. After his botched plan to drown her in a collapsing boat (she swam to shore), some fishermen picked her up and brought her here, where Nero's hitmen finished the job with their swords. The Lake – which was once famous through the Empire for its oysters – is now little more than a stagnant pool, but there is a restaurant on the shore called La Nimphea which overlooks the lake and puts me in mind of Agrippina's Villa.

It is after 11.00am and boiling hot. We haven't had anything to eat, so we dive into a shady cafe for peanuts, espresso and water. Suitably refreshed, we ask the waiter when the trains to Baia run. "Every ten minutes" he assures us in Italian. We go to the little station across the road but when we ask about il prossimo treno per Baia the handful of travellers just shrug.

so-called Temple of Diana at Baia

So we stand in the beating sun to catch another pullman. Mercifully it comes after five or ten minutes and we pile on.

It is only luck that we get out at the right place; the busdriver has no clue where the ancient baths are. But we spot the brown sign with its white letters. A short but exhausting climb up the hill brings us to the site entrance.

These ruins on the hill overlooking the pretty blue bay are of opulent baths. There were many baths complexes here in Baia. The so-called Temple of Diana, a dramatic half dome, that we passed on the way up are baths. So is the Temple of Venus.

From up here we can clearly see the train station of Baia. Its tracks are rusted and wildflowers grow profusely around it. 'Every ten minutes', indeed! This station hasn't been used in at least five years...

The site is hot and deserted. We explore the terrace of an opulent villa and the baths surrounding it. We see the odd black and white mosaic, a headless marble statue in a niche, a patch of frescoed wall with Pompeian red and the even more expensive Egyptian blue. Much of the site is roped off and it is obviously well-off the beaten track. I am hoping we will be able to see the so-called (again) Temple of Mercury.

The Temple of Mercury was a huge dome, as big as the Pantheon and pre-dating it, built in the time of Augustus. It was either the apodyterium or frigidarium of this bath complex. I tend to think the latter as it is the outstanding feature of the baths and this is where people would mainly congregate. I have seen pictures and know it will be amazing. But will we have access? Poor Richard is pouring with sweat, even though he's wearing his straw hat, and he follow me without complaint, occasionally stopping to mop his brow with a handtowel borrowed from the hotel.

I lead him past ruined porticoes and down scrubby paths fringed with fennel, quince, chamomile, dill, sage and other herbs. At last we arrive and it seems to be open! Next to the rectangular entrance is a vault which was once one of the rooms of the baths. And here is something I have never seen in my life; a fig tree growing UPSIDE DOWN from the roof of the vault. It is green and healthy and bearing a good crop of figs. What a marvel!

Then we enter the rectangular room and go through a narrow passage and emerge into another world.

Caroline in the so-called Temple of Mercury

Here is a great dome with a circular open skylight at the top and four rectangular openings on its sides. From somewhere a breeze is funneled through the openings and carresses us with delicious coolness. The high dome amplifies our whispered exclamations and makes them echo. But the most amazing thing is the sunlight which pours almost straight down through the skylight onto four feet of green water, caused by bradyseism or flooding. The surface of the water, barely rippled by the breeze, throws a huge trembling golden disc back up onto the inner surface of the dome.

Then we see the fish swimming in the murky water: huge gold and white carp, languidly drifting through the dark water and avoiding the sunlit patches. A flutter of wings makes us look up to see a dove fluttering through one of the openings. The breeze blows, the water plops, I want to stay in this magical place forever.

[The 17 books in the Roman Mysteries series are perfect for children aged 9+, especially those studying Romans, Greeks or Egyptians as a topic in Key Stage 2. Season One of the TV series is available in Europe and the UK on iTunes.]