{"product_id":"pagan-holiday-isbn-9780375756399","title":"Pagan Holiday","description":"The ancient Romans were responsible for many remarkable achievements—Roman numerals, straight roads—but one of their lesser-known contributions was the creation of the tourist industry. The first people in history to enjoy safe and easy travel, Romans embarked on the original Grand Tour, journeying from the lost city of Troy to the Acropolis, from the Colossus at Rhodes to Egypt, for the obligatory Nile cruise to the very edge of the empire. And, as Tony Perrottet discovers, the popularity of this route has only increased with time.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIntrigued by the possibility of re-creating the tour, Perrottet, accompanied by his pregnant girlfriend, sets off to discover life as an ancient Roman. The result is this lively blend of fascinating historical anecdotes and hilarious personal encounters, interspersed with irreverent and often eerily prescient quotes from the ancients—a vivid portrait of the Roman Empire in all its complexity and wonder.“Perrottet is a nearly unflappable traveler and a terrifically funny writer; this history-cum-travelogue is as enjoyable as it is informative and twice as quirky.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Boston Globe\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“An appealing...mix of the zany and the arcane, juggling an energetic account of ancient Roman travel habits with a witty record of [the author’s] own modern journey.” —\u003ci\u003eThe New York Times\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“Required reading...a charming popular history of ancient Roman sight-seeing.” —\u003ci\u003eForbes FYI\u003c\/i\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e“A splendid trip...a whimsical trek through classical history, famous sites and arcane trivia...provides a rich cache of information about ancient Roman life.” —\u003ci\u003eThe Washington Post\u003c\/i\u003eTony Perrottet has written for The New York Times, Esquire, Outside, Civilization, Islands, and The Sunday Times (London), among other publications. He is Australian and lives in Manhattan with his wife and son.\u003cb\u003eChapter 1\u003cbr\u003eJupiter's Panorama\u003cbr\u003e\u003c\/b\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt must have been like a film premiere at Cannes. Throngs of excited  spectators filed their way into the heart of Rome, shamelessly ogling  the latest fashions and pointing out the celebrities in their midst.  An impatient crowd was soon milling outside the venue-an elegant,  column-lined arcade called the Vipsania Colonnade, expressly built as  a sort of open-air art gallery-where a sensational new opus was about  to be unveiled. White-robed priests were busy sacrificing animals to  guarantee the ongoing favor of the gods. Choruses of youths sang  patriotic anthems. Silver fountains burbled in nearby gardens, while  food vendors and beggars noisily worked the crowd. At last, this  colorful audience of ancient Romans-everyone from perfumed  aristocrats in their silk gowns and brilliant togas to impoverished  slum dwellers in their grimy tunics-jostled to the foreground, all  trying to have their observations heard above the cacophony.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLooming above them was a dazzling spectacle-a map of the world as  large as a drive-in movie screen, showing the three known continents,  Europe, Africa, and Asia.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTwo thousand years later, it's easy to imagine the frisson of that  heady scene-especially if you happen to be, as I was, piecing it  together in the fabulous halls of the New York Public Library in  midtown Manhattan, a modern-day Roman temple whose interior gleams  with marble and ceilings swarm with depictions of the pagan gods. I'd  fled there to escape the first heat wave of summer-steam was rising  from the sidewalks like the fumes from Hades-and besides, New York  reality was starting to close in on me, in more ways than one. But in  that silent refuge, surrounded by piles of musty, leather-bound  volumes, I found myself easily transported back to that moment in  Imperial Rome, circa 5 b.c., when the world's horizons suddenly  opened.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFew ancient citizens had even seen a street map before that day, let  alone a chart of such divine ambition. The image would have been as  futuristic then as the first satellite photos from NASA.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eExhaustive research for the map had been orchestrated by a man named  Marcus Agrippa-a Roman war hero who must qualify as one of the great  anal retentives of history. In order to measure the world's  dimensions, Agrippa had summoned the leading scientists to Rome and  provided them with archives full of field coordinates accumulated by  the Imperial Army. An elite corps of land surveyors was dispatched to  plot every uncharted corner of Rome's domain; in addition, the  captain of every ship was required to file charts of the coastlines  he had navigated. This new geographical database was then applied to  the accepted mythological model of the earth. (Ancient geographers  knew the world was round, but believed that terra firma occupied only  the northern hemisphere, and was surrounded by the uncrossable river  ocean.)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe result was, not surprisingly, a map of unprecedented accuracy.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe emperor Augustus was presented with a miniature version for his  palace; it was engraved in solid gold, with the provincial capitals  marked by precious gems. But it was the monolithic image erected in  the public colonnade that was the true triumph of Roman ingenuity.  Sadly, not a single scrap has survived, although the tantalizing  remarks of Latin authors allow us to speculate that it stretched  sixty feet along the arcade and rose to thirty feet in height. The  details may have been applied in pigment, but quite possibly it was  one of the fabulous \"paintings in stone\" then fashionable in Rome-an  interlocking pattern of polished marble, amethyst, and alabaster,  with each piece carved in topographical relief by Greek craftsmen.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTo the crowd gathered in the colonnade that day, nothing could have been more enlightening.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFor a start, Romans discovered that the land masses of the earth  together formed an oval shape. The three continents, Europe, Africa,  and Asia, all clustered around the Mediterranean-which was then a  Latin lake, identified simply as Mare Nostrum (our sea). In fact,  Roman hearts must have swelled with pride to see the sheer size of  Caesar's domain: The imperial eagles flew all the way from the  Pillars of Hercules (Gibraltar) to the seven mouths of the Nile.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eRome had been chosen by the gods to rule over all of creation. One  glance at Agrippa's Map (as it was known) proved that the task was  largely complete.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eDespite its distortions-remote lands like India were drawn largely  from hearsay, while the frontiers were roamed by legendary Amazons,  Troglodytes, and Lice-Eaters-the Map marked a revolution in the  Western perception of the world. Carved onto that sprawling stone  canvas was every known river, every mountain range, every port, and  every city (one Roman pedant consulting it in a.d. 70 was even able  to identify an obscure provincial outpost named Charax, a mile and a  quarter from the Persian Gulf). But what made the image strikingly  modern-and truly compelling for that Roman audience-was its practical  application. The Empire's glorious highway system-Rome's pride and  joy-was chiseled across its surface, the routes spreading like  hardened arteries to the farthest corners of civilization. Major sea  lanes could be identified, crisscrossing the Mediterranean blue. And  just for good measure, the showboating general Agrippa had written a  geographical commentary to accompany his masterwork, with the entire  voluminous text inscribed on marble tablets along the nearby walls of  the arcade. A library of facts and figures was now placed at  citizens' disposal-handy data like the lengths of important rivers  (Danube: 560 Roman miles), the physical dimensions of provinces  (Illyria: 325 by 530 miles), circumferences of prominent islands  (Sicily: 618 miles), and the distances between cities.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFor the first time in history, a population had the world laid out  before it like a buffet. Not only could viewers locate a famous  site-the Colossus of Rhodes, say, or the ruins of Troy-but they could  determine its exact distance from Rome and the best travel route to  reach it.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd with every inch of the route under Caesar's protection, the Map's  message was clear: The world was the Romans' oyster. Plan your  holiday now.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe first age of tourism had begun.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eROMANS ON THE ROAD\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEnsconced in the library, with a mountain of arcane texts piling  around me, I delved more deeply into the ancient travel bug. And in  fact, for centuries after Agrippa's Map was unveiled, legions of  Romans were inspired to follow its exotic allure. The most surprising  thing was how familiar their journeys were: As their memoirs, plays,  and letters home revealed, these trailblazing sightseers sought out  many of the same attractions, enjoyed many of the same pleasures-and  suffered many of the same indignities-as modern travelers do today.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAcross the entire Mediterranean world, an elaborate tourist  infrastructure, anticipating our contemporary version, emerged to  cater to the Romans' distinctive needs. They stayed at roadside inns,  complained about hard mattresses and bad service, ate at dubious  restaurants, got drunk in smoke-filled taverns, and wrote poems about  their hangovers. The ancient sightseers visited lavish temples-the  equivalent of our modern museums, crowded with wondrous artifacts-and  handed over hefty donations to shyster priests for a glimpse of a  Gorgon's hair, a Cyclops' skull, or Ulysses' sword. Just like us,  they sought out celebrated historic landmarks like the Parthenon and  the Pyramids. But inspiring far more enthusiasm from these ancient  wanderers were the sites of mythic lore-the spot where the god  Jupiter had come to earth, Venus had bewitched a mortal, or the hero  Achilles had killed Hector in the Iliad.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe parallels became even more striking within the tourist enclaves,  I discovered. Clustering around these growing tourist attractions  were hordes of professional tour guides-called mystagogi (those who  show sacred places to foreigners)-and it seems that the Romans were  just as exasperated by their endless prattle as we are today.  (\"Jupiter, protect me from your guides at Olympia!\" prayed a roving  academic named Varro, \"and you, Athena, from yours at Athens!\") The  pioneering tourists bought cheesy souvenirs wherever they went, such  as painted glass vials showing the Lighthouse of Alexandria or  miniature statues of Apollo, and they commissioned portraits by local  artists, with famous sites in the background. They pored over  guidebooks written on papyrus scrolls, and even etched graffiti onto  their favorite monuments. It's still there, alongside more recent  efforts such as brig-general maugham 1820 and harry potter rules  2001. (The erudite ancients often preferred to inscribe Homeric  verse, although the most popular shorthand scrawl was the rhapsodic i  was amazed.)\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd the Romans gladly paid for a good floor show. Crowd-pleasing  Egyptian priests kept crocodiles in a pond and at scheduled times fed  them morsels of flesh, squirted wine into their mouths, and then  hand-polished their sharp teeth. Spartans showed off their macho  prowess,\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003esorcerers conjured, oracles pronounced. In Aswan, Egypt, enterprising  boatmen took tourists on rides along the Nile, rather as they do  today-if the price was right.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs for the reviews, many of the ancient travel experiences echo down  the ages-particularly one Roman traveler's comment about the locals  of Alexandria: Unus illis deus Nummus est. \"They worship only one god  there-Cash!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd just like today, the irritations of the road were forgotten on  the return home. The happy voyagers would then boast about their  trips at banquets, show off their art and souvenirs-and so inspire  still more eager sightseers to explore a world saturated by magic and  myth.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs for me, I had my own dark reasons to catch that ancient travel bug.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBy the time I was on the subway back downtown that night, I was  carrying a modern version of Agrippa's Map, with a thin red line  scrawled from Rome to Egypt's frontier.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt was time to revive a great tradition.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe Pompeii\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eMcDonald's\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eScusi,\" my girlfriend, Lesley, was asking anyone who would listen,  \"where are the penises?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eA valid question in many situations, no doubt, and here in the back  alleys of Pompeii, it was being urgently repeated in every known  language.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Los penes?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Die Pimmel?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Les baïonettes?\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSoon there were dozens of us scouring the walls for ancient etchings  of male genitalia, which had once directed drunken sailors to the  local brothels. It's now a key ritual for visitors to this fabled  Roman port, which was buried under volcanic ash in a.d. 79, and I  wasn't going to miss out. Dazed by summer heat, Les and I had already  inspected the famous plaster casts of petrified Pompeiians who'd died  with expressions of agony and disbelief. We'd wandered the  chariot-rutted avenues and admired the fresco-covered villas of  gluttonous millionaires. Now we were following the phallic trail into  a dark, cramped \"wolf house,\" where above each narrow bed stall a  crude painting still survived, of prostitutes graphically advertising  their repertoires.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Sessantanove,\" explained the old Italian guard gleefully. \"You  understand? Sixty-nine!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe pagan ghosts were putting on quite a show. But somehow, vivid as  it all should have been, the ancient magic felt strangely elusive to  me.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003ePompeii, it hardly needs saying, is today's prime destination for  anyone even vaguely interested in communing with the Romans, which is  why we'd come here on a day trip as soon as we'd arrived in Italy. In  fact, its discovery had single-handedly reshaped the modern  fascination with antiquity. Before excavations began here in 1748,  scholars paid attention only to the Empire's dead white-toga  males-all those generals, senators, and poets who ended up as busts  in dusty museums. But when Pompeii was uncovered, we were introduced  to the far more compelling human details: the Romans' cuisine, décor,  hairstyles, perfumes, winemaking, dentistry, sex lives (especially  the latter-an undying point of human empathy). Nineteenth-century  painters conjured scenes from Roman life based on Pompeiian  artifacts, all redolent of decadent sensuality; later, Hollywood took  up the banner, in immortal epics such as Ben-Hur, Quo Vadis, and  Gladiator.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWith actual Romans frozen in such excruciatingly recognizable  situations, Pompeii is still celebrated as that thrilling place where  time dissolves-an open doorway onto the past, where one can gaze upon  the classical world, unmediated and direct.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThere was only one problem-and it seemed a quintessentially modern  one: the hordes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTour groups from every nation on earth were storming down the cobbled  streets, their guides waving yellow flags like military mascots and  bellowing facts in a babel of tongues. Each time we paused at  something of interest, another group would charge toward us, pointing  frantically, cameras whirring. Pompeii is Italy's most popular  attraction, bigger than Venice's Grand Canal, the Leaning Tower of  Pisa, or Michelangelo's David. It receives over two million visitors  a year, making it feel less like an archaeological site and more like  Pompeii World.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEven the lecherous old brothel guard had to keep the human tide moving.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Signori-out!\" he crisply ordered. \"Koreans-in!\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTourism itself has come a long way since the unveiling of Agrippa's  Map. It is now officially the world's biggest industry-and the  Mediterranean world is still squarely on the front line. At Pompeii,  I almost wanted Vesuvius to erupt again, just to freeze in time the  mad vignettes-\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003efrom the twenty-eight air-conditioned coaches lined up by the wire  fence (\"We'll beat the crowds,\" I'd predicted) to the virtual riot in  the ticket lines (a dozen different currencies were accepted, so  arguments over the exchange rates had ground progress to a  standstill). Once inside the site, every nation indulged its foibles.  There were the drunken Aussies playing rugby in the Roman arena. The  French matrons in the amphitheater, testing the acoustics with a  rondel of \"Frère Jacques.\" The Japanese mysteriously posing for  photos in front of stray dogs. The terrifying German guides bellowing  \"Achtung! Raus!\" Not to mention a Pasolini-esque Italian guide, silk  jacket hanging debonairly over his shoulders, somehow separated from  his group. Unruffled, he was wandering the crowds singing: \"Where are  my children? I have lost my angels, my children.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eLes was doing a sterling job at rising above the hysteria. She  valiantly joined the fray, briskly leading the brothel hunt, head  down, elbows out.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBy the way, Les happened to be three months pregnant. I could only  put this uncharacteristic Zen temperament-this newfound ability to  ignore crowds-down to her new condition.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs for me, the chaos was stealing from my longed-for Pompeii all its  vaunted imaginative power. I was feeling no closer to the ancients  here than when I looked at their statues in museums, cold marble  busts with eyes hollow and blank, and not a shred of personality.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOf course, I'd expected the Mediterranean to be popular, particularly  in summer-but the reality was still a shock. The ancients were simply  part of a production line whose gears were deafening.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFor hour after hour, Pompeii-O-Rama ground on. And then, in  midafternoon-just when I thought things couldn't get much worse-Les  had a hunger attack.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"I want something's flesh!\" she announced-one of her million movie lines.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThis was the last straw. We were at the farthest end of a vast site,  miles from any museum café. Was there some sort of conspiracy against  me? I feverishly wondered. Was this whole trip a dreadful mistake? Of  course, one of the few things I'd actually learned so far about being  pregnant is that getting something to eat-fast-is a nonnegotiable  demand.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"No, no,\" the guard warned sternly, as we stood uncertainly at the  back exit, gazing at what appeared to be a modern street-if an  unusually desolate one.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"If you go there\"-he swept his arm like a guardian of the  underworld-\"you can not come back.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd yet, we went-onward, into the shadowy netherworld of New Pompeii.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNew Pompeii is the depressed town that lurks on the fringes of its  ancient namesake, referred to only in hushed whispers like some mad  and unsavory relative locked in the belfry. Its populace has provided  the Roman ruin with guards and laborers since the site was discovered  250 years ago, but ancient Pompeii's popularity has not rubbed off.  Corrupt and crime-ridden, New Pompeii's existence is not even  mentioned in most guidebooks.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTo be honest, as we slunk through the sepulchral streets, I could  understand why. It was 4 p.m., and the town looked like an abandoned  back lot for a spaghetti Western.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eComing so recently from New York, we found the all-powerful Italian  siesta still a source of minor culture shock. Needless to say, all  the restaurants in town were firmly shuttered. Waiters peered out at  us as if we were dangerously insane-foreign junkies, perhaps,  dragging themselves out of the gutter for an angry fix. We could have  espresso, by all means; gelato by the tub load; even whole baskets of  gift-wrapped biscotti. But as for real food, as Lesley  demanded-impossible.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWe stumbled on under the merciless sun, past restaurants named  Vesuvio, Amphora, Apollo-closed, closed, every place closed-until we  both sighted the golden arches of the Pompeii McDonald's.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt was open. I hadn't passed beneath the yellow M for fifteen years,  but Ronald's nose was shining like the Holy Grail.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eHeat-struck but trying to maintain our dignity, we took a plastic  booth beside some wax plants and stared up at the glowing menu. I  felt that familiar mixture of relief and sinking gloom. Resorting to  the Pompeii McDonald's symbolized my defeat as a traveler-on a par  with staying at the Hilton in Katmandu. But Lesley was doing her best  to convince me that the place had a certain surreal charm. For a  start, this was clearly the most happening place in town. La  trattoria americana was full of teenage Pompeiians, all in pastel  designer jeans, hanging out for possibly the same reasons we were: It  was cheap. It was air-conditioned. It had food.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"They even have antipasto,\" Les marveled.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eSoon enough, in the spirit of New Pompeii, I was chomping on a  delicate filetto di pesce and waiting for Les to return from what she  would triumphantly declare \"the cleanest toilets in Italy.\" Up on a  giant video screen, a hypnotic music clip began playing. Local  rockers were dressed up as Roman gladiators. One minute they were  stomping across the deck of a sea galley; the next they were riding  the winged horse Pegasus across the sky.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIf you couldn't get some historical perspective in the Pompeii  McDonald's, I thought, where could you?\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt slowly began to dawn on me that the ancient world survived in  strange and subtle ways.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWHEN WORLDS COLLIDE\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNobody admits to being a tourist these days; it's considered a  humiliating, even shameful state (as Evelyn Waugh put it: \"The  tourist is always the other chap\"). And admittedly, seen from up  close, the mechanics of the industry can be pretty appalling.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut from a wider perspective-beneath its boisterous veneer-mass  tourism today is the purest expression of the tradition that began  when Agrippa's Map stood in Imperial Rome.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eFor those first tourists, the whole point of travel was to go where  everyone else was going-to see what everyone else was seeing, to feel what everyone else was feeling. There was a virtual checklist of  tourist attractions as well as an appropriate response to them.  Sight-seeing was a form of pilgrimage.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIt's a modern notion of travel to seek out unique and private visions  of the world-to be the first to climb the Matterhorn, the only  foreigner in Timbuktu. To have mind-blowing adventures, life-altering  encounters. To drive across America on recreational drugs with Neil  Cassady at the wheel. On returning home, the heroic modern traveler,  like some pumped-up porn star, likes to boast of going farther,  harder, deeper. Original experience is worn like a badge of honor.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut that initial, ancient impulse to share the accepted wonders of  the world has never actually been abandoned, even by those of us who  would rather be buried under burning ash than join a bus tour of the  Mediterranean. It's an underlying point of connection between the  ancient Romans and every traveler wandering the region today. The  difference is that those first sightseers accepted the logic of their  situation. They were never put off by being part of a crowd. In fact,  a certain level of hubbub was an expected part of the project.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAs the philosopher Epictetus said of the Olympic Games, the site was  jam-packed, hot, noisy, and uncomfortable-but that was a small price  to pay for an \"unforgettable spectacle.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThis had been my mistake! There, among fifty thousand other tourists,  the realization hit me with a joyful delirium. Why should I let the  multitudes bother me? On the contrary! I embraced them!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTo paraphrase Mark Twain in The Innocents Abroad: I basked in the  happiness of, for once in my life, drifting with the tide of a great  popular movement.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eEveryone was going to Europe-I too was going to Europe! Everyone was  going across the Eastern Mediterranean! I too was going across the  Eastern Mediterranean!\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBy the time Les rejoined me, I had achieved my own version of Zen calm.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eI, Spectator\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTourism is a delicate flower that needs a certain degree of political  and economic stability to thrive, and the halcyon days of the Pax  Romana-roughly 30 b.c. to a.d. 200-is the longest unbroken period of  peace that Europe has ever managed. In fact, the first two centuries  a.d. form one of Western culture's rare windows of calm-an interlude,  in retrospect, of ghostly serenity. Safe transit around the  Mediterranean was a unique dividend, and Romans came to accept it as  their birthright. In fact, around a.d. 140, when a celebrated orator  named Aelius Aristides announced with Panglossian assurance that  humankind was enjoying \"the best and most perfect times that ever  were,\" he stressed that the ease of travel was one of Rome's greatest  triumphs.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Cannot every man go wherever he wishes, without fear?\" he floridly  mused. \"Aren't all our harbors busy? Aren't the mountains just as  safe as the cities? There are no rivers that have not been bridged,  no ocean gulfs that cannot be crossed. Even the sandy road to Egypt  presents no obstacles; no terrifying mountain pass, no torrents or  savages block the way.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Homer once prayed: 'The world should be open to all men.' That wish  is now realized. To be the Emperor's subject-to be a Roman-is the  only passport one needs.\"\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAristides happily noted that piracy had been stamped out. Highway  robbery was rare; barbarian incursions unthought of; civil  disturbance all but nonexistent. He went on to suggest, rather less  convincingly, that life under Rome was so good that its subjects did  not even mind paying taxes.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eIn some respects, travel has not been so easy since. With the entire  Mediterranean politically united for the first-and, so far in  history, only-time, citizens had no need to carry documents. The  imperial currency (gold aurei and silver sestertii and denarii) was  standard in lands the Euro has yet to penetrate, from the deserts of  Morocco to the border villages in Iraq. Conveniently, the Empire had  two common languages: Latin prevailed in the west, Greek in the east.  Educated citizens were bilingual and could discuss a dinner menu as  easily in Spain as in Syria.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAnd the sheer volume of Roman viatores, or peregrinatores  (wayfarers), would not be equaled until the modern era. The Empire's  great highways, which formed a granite ring road around the entire  Mediterranean coast, were in constant use, their stones worn and  rutted by the ceaseless passage of iron wheels. The waves were just  as busy: \"Look at the sea covered with ships!\" marveled one author.  \"There are more men afloat these days than ashore!\" Students traveled  to famous academies; patients journeyed to health spas; artists were  in perpetual motion, seeking out commissions. Celebrity orators like  Aristides went on long lecture tours, their performances as wildly  popular as those of Wilde and Dickens in the nineteenth-century  United States. Athletes flocked to competitions, actors to theater  festivals, poets to readings.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eBut the most distinctive growth was in travel simply for the sake of  seeing-tourism. For the first time in history, sheer pleasure became  a worthy motive of travel.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTHE SOPHISTICATED WAYFARER\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eTo visit sumptuous temples full of treasures and relics, we brave the  dangers of land and sea. Greedily seeking the tales of early legend,  we travel through every nation . . . happily reliving ancient times,  gazing at stones which moved great artists to song and string.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eAetna, anonymous Roman poem, first century a.d.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe quest for the marvelous was taken up by Romans as soon as they  had the opportunity, and is entirely recognizable to us today.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Many of us endure all sorts of hardships,\" intoned the philosopher  Seneca in the middle of the first century a.d., \"to behold some  remote sight. For Nature made us born admirers; her jewels would be  lost without an audience.\" Romans had become both \"migratory and  curious,\" noted the scholar Pliny the Younger, setting out en masse  to explore their vast domain. And when the author Plutarch remarked  with some bemusement on \"globe-trotters who spend the best part of  their lives in inns and on boats\"-gadabouts who continuously  \"traverse unknown cities, sail new seas, but are at home  everywhere\"-I felt more than a twinge of familiarity.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eOf course, modern travel is a notoriously democratic pursuit, at  least within the industrialized world, first experienced most often  by near-penniless backpackers. I'd taken my own initial trips during  breaks from college, hitchhiking for weeks at a time with a  twenty-dollar Woolworth's tent. Those original Roman tourists were  often young-in their twenties and thirties-and usually had a  studious, almost pedantic bent. But they were always, by necessity,  quite rich.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThese first lucky wanderers were drawn from what historians refer to  for convenience as \"the imperial elite.\" This group, at the peak of  the Empire's elaborate social pyramid, included both the traditional  Roman blue bloods and aristocrats from the provinces-the well-born  peers of Ephesus, Cádiz, Athens, and Marseilles, who had often  studied in Rome and lived there for much of their lives. These  imperial Brahmins formed a tight-knit, homogeneous caste, immediately  recognizable-by their choice of dress, their eloquence, their  bearing, their hauteur and refinement-to one another and to their  inferiors.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eNever before had such a large class enjoyed such incredible wealth  relative to the rest of society, or such extravagant personal (if not  political) freedom as these ancient scions.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThe spectatores (sightseers) came from every subset of this elite.  There were refined youths combining tourism with foreign study (\"It  is a young man's duty to see the world,\" pronounced one pagan holy  man). There were feisty Roman women-art lovers and socialites-who  longed to see the Empire. Lawyers, poets, and generals taking a break  from their routines. Middle-aged philosophers. Elderly antiquarians.  For these ruling-class swells, running into a fellow tourist on the  road was always a pleasure: They all knew one another's families, had  gossiped about their peccadilloes, and may even have dined together  back in Rome. As a group, they moved confidently through the cities  of the provinces, taking their enormous privileges for granted.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eWealthy Romans were the first true \"citizens of the world\"; they were  conquerors on tour.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003eThese aristocrats had no real need to work; leisure in ancient times  was cultivated as an end in itself. Many ardeliones happily frittered  their lives away, keeping up a hectic social calendar of drunken  banquets like foppish P. G. Wodehouse characters. But for the more  intelligent and cultivated Romans, faced with an unprecedented amount  of downtime, ennui could actually be a genuine problem.\u003cbr\u003e\u003cbr\u003e\"Idleness is wont to make men hate their lives,\" sighed Seneca. Even  at the most debauched parties, wrote the poet Lucretius, Romans  suffered attacks of melancholy-\"a bitterness arose, a pang among the  flowers.\" \"Carpe diem,\" said the poet Horace. But for some, seizing  the day meant more than a relentless regime of wine, roast flamingo,  and song.[quote]--The Boston Globe Originally published as Route 66 A.D.","brand":"Random House Trade Paperbacks","offers":[{"title":"Default Title","offer_id":46304630833381,"sku":"NP9780375756399","price":20.0,"currency_code":"USD","in_stock":false}],"thumbnail_url":"\/\/cdn.shopify.com\/s\/files\/1\/1842\/7735\/files\/9780375756399.jpg?v=1767734425","url":"https:\/\/k12savings.com\/es\/products\/pagan-holiday-isbn-9780375756399","provider":"K12savings","version":"1.0","type":"link"}