Salona

Listen first. Out here, the loudest sound is often the cicadas. They fill the pine trees above the ruins. Under your feet the ground is dry and stony, and pale limestone blocks lie in the grass. Some blocks are carved, some are cracked, and some are simply stacked where archaeologists left them. A few kilometres from the busy waterfront of Split, this hillside at the edge of modern Solin holds the remains of Salona. It was once one of the largest cities on the eastern shore of the Adriatic.

Salona began long before the Romans arrived. An Illyrian community lived here first. The Illyrians were the peoples who held much of the western Balkans in antiquity. Greek traders from the islands also knew this harbour well. The site made sense. A sheltered bay opened to the sea, and the short, clear river Jadro gave fresh water. Mountains behind the town gave protection. Rome took control step by step, and over time Salona became the capital of the Roman province of Dalmatia.

At its height, this was a real metropolis. Historians usually estimate that tens of thousands of people lived here. Picture paved streets, public baths, temples, a forum for business and politics, and a theatre. Ships from across the Mediterranean unloaded wine, oil, and pottery in the harbour below. Today the modern town has grown over much of the old street plan. What you walk through now is the part that survived, scattered across fields, olive groves and gardens.

Here is the first surprise for most visitors. Split, the city you probably came from this morning, exists because of Salona. The Roman emperor Diocletian came from this region. According to tradition, he was born in or near Salona itself. When he gave up power in the early fourth century, he retired to a huge fortified palace on the coast nearby. That palace now forms the heart of old Split.

Walk to the city walls and look closely at their line. The defences ran for a long distance around the town, and you can still trace sections of them. Rectangular towers stood along the walls at intervals. They were added and rebuilt over several centuries, as threats from beyond the frontier grew. On the eastern side, the remains of a city gate still stand. It is often called the Porta Caesarea. Look for grooves worn into the stone threshold by cart wheels — the marks of ordinary traffic, repeated for generations.

At the northwestern corner of the city stands the amphitheatre. It was built in the Roman imperial period for gladiator fights and animal hunts. Even in ruins, you can read its oval shape and the curve of the seating. It was large enough to hold many thousands of spectators. Stand in the arena floor and look up. The tiers have fallen, but the scale is still clear. This was the loudest place in the city on a show day.

The amphitheatre has a second, stranger story. It did not collapse only with age. In the seventeenth century, this land was a frontier between the Venetian Republic and the Ottoman Empire. The Venetians feared that the solid Roman walls could shelter an enemy army. So they deliberately pulled much of the structure down. A building that survived the end of Rome was finally destroyed for a war that came over a thousand years later.

Salona also matters deeply to the history of Christianity in this region. Under Diocletian, Christians were persecuted across the empire. Several were executed here. The best known is Domnius, a bishop of Salona. He is now the patron saint of Split, where locals call him Saint Duje. Pilgrims came to the graves of these martyrs, and over time large cemeteries grew outside the city walls.

One of these burial grounds is Manastirine, just outside the northern walls. Here you can walk among the foundations of an early Christian basilica built over the graves of martyrs. Stone sarcophagi lie open in the grass, their heavy lids pushed aside. Some carry crosses or simple inscriptions. It is a quiet place. The pines give shade, and the stone stays cool even on a hot afternoon.

Inside the walls, look for the episcopal centre. This was the seat of the bishops of Salona. Archaeologists have uncovered churches, a baptistery, and the bishop's residence here. The baptistery was the building where new believers entered the church. Floor mosaics and low walls show how much building took place here in late antiquity, as the city turned from temples to churches.

Then the city ended. In the early seventh century, Avar and Slavic raids swept through the region, and Salona could no longer hold. Survivors fled to the coast and moved inside the strong walls of Diocletian's old palace. They built homes in its halls and corridors. Later, the bones of Saint Domnius were carried there too. In a real sense, the people of Salona became the first citizens of medieval Split.

We know so much about this site largely because of Frane Bulić. He was a Croatian priest and archaeologist who led excavations here in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. Near the entrance, look for the small stone house called Tusculum. Bulić built it as a base for his research. Ancient fragments are set into its walls and garden. Today it serves as a small museum and visitor point for the site.

As you leave, pause for a moment and look back across the field. You will see broken columns, low walls, and the tops of sarcophagi among dry grass. Beyond them, apartment blocks and red roofs climb the hills of Solin. The modern town carries on around the old one. Listen once more to the cicadas, and feel the uneven stone under your shoes. People walked on these same stones for centuries before Split even existed.