Amphitheatre of El Jem

Put your palm flat against the stone. It is a warm, honey-coloured limestone, rough and pitted, and on a sunny afternoon it holds the heat like a bread oven. Above you, arches rise in three tiers. Around you, the low white houses of a quiet Tunisian town go on with their day. This is the Amphitheatre of El Jem, and very little in the town around it prepares you for its size.

Take a moment before you go inside. Notice how the building sits on completely flat ground. Many Roman theatres were cut into a hillside, so the slope did half the work. Not this one. Every row of seats here stands on vaults and walls that builders raised from the plain, block by block. It is a freestanding structure, like the Colosseum in Rome, and that choice tells you something about the ambition, and the money, behind it.

That money came from olives. In Roman times this town was called Thysdrus, and it sat in the province the Romans simply called Africa. The plains around you produced olive oil in huge quantities, and the oil travelled across the Mediterranean. Wealthy landowners lived here in fine villas with mosaic floors. A city this rich wanted a monument to match, and an arena for public games was the way a Roman city showed its status.

The amphitheatre is usually dated to the early third century, often to around the year 238. Its construction is traditionally linked to Gordian, a Roman governor of the province. In 238 he was proclaimed emperor in a revolt that began right here in Thysdrus. His reign lasted only a few weeks before it ended in defeat and his death. Historians still discuss how directly he was connected to the building. But the link between this arena and that short, dramatic year is part of its story.

Now walk through one of the ground-floor arches and climb toward the upper seats. Scholars estimate that the arena could hold around thirty-five thousand people. That number puts it among the largest amphitheatres the Romans ever built, usually counted just behind the Colosseum and the arena at Capua in Italy. Think about that for a moment. A provincial olive town in North Africa built something to compete with the capital.

From up here, look down at the oval floor. This is where the games took place. Gladiators fought here. Wild animals, many of them captured in Africa, were brought into the ring. Criminals were sometimes executed in front of the crowd. It is uncomfortable to imagine, and it should be. These games were entertainment, politics, and public punishment all at once, and the seats you are standing on were arranged by social rank.

Here is something many visitors miss. Go back down and find the steps that lead below the arena floor. Under the oval, two long galleries run in a cross shape, lined with small vaulted cells. Animals and fighters waited here in the dark. In the centre of the arena floor, an opening allowed cages or performers to be lifted up into the light. Stand in the passage and listen. The sound of the town disappears, and the air is cool and still.

Back above ground, look carefully at the outer wall. On one side, you will see that a large section is missing. It looks like a giant took a bite out of the oval. This damage is not from an earthquake or simple age. In the late seventeenth century, during Ottoman times, local rebels used the amphitheatre as a fortress. Government forces opened a breach in the wall with cannon fire to drive them out. The gap you see today is the result.

The arena has a much older story of resistance too, though this one sits closer to legend. Locals say that al-Kahina, a Berber queen who fought the Arab armies at the end of the seventh century, took refuge inside these walls. Some versions add a secret tunnel running all the way to the sea. No one has found such a tunnel. But the tale shows how this building has stayed in local memory as a place of shelter and defiance, not only of Roman spectacle.

After the Roman period, the amphitheatre slowly became part of the town in a very practical way. Over the centuries, people took cut stone from it for houses and other buildings. That was common across the old Roman world. Even so, an unusually large part of the structure survived. In 1979, the amphitheatre was added to the UNESCO World Heritage list, which recognises places of outstanding value to all of humanity.

The building is not only a ruin. In summer, the arena becomes a concert hall again. A music festival brings orchestras and soloists to perform here, and audiences sit on the old stone tiers under the night sky. Imagine the sound of violins carried by the same curved walls that once carried the roar of a Roman crowd. The acoustics that served the games still work.

If you have time after your visit, the story continues a short walk away. The town has an archaeological museum with mosaics recovered from the Roman villas of Thysdrus. They show animals, gods, and scenes from daily life, in small cubes of coloured stone. Seeing them helps you picture the people who sat in these seats. These were families who lived well from the olive harvest and wanted beautiful floors under their feet.

Before you leave, stand still for a minute on one of the upper levels. Look out through an arch toward the rooftops, the minarets, and the flat land beyond. The light on the stone changes quickly here, from pale gold at midday to a deep orange near sunset. Swallows dart through the arcades. As you walk back down the steps, run your hand along the worn edges... thousands of people touched this same stone, and now you have too.