The Roman Theater’s massive exterior wall, partially covered in scaffolding. Right: Buildings painted in traditional Provençal hues. Left: Our first glimpse of the Roman Theatre at the corner of this streetscape. Recognized for its fine architecture long before the 1981 UNESCO inscription, Louis XIV supposedly declared the theater’s backdrop wall as “the most beautiful wall” in his kingdom. (If you want to dive deeper into the theater’s history, the Orange Tourism Board’s website details the city’s history from prehistoric to modern times.īoth the theater and Orange’s triumphal arch are UNESCO World Heritage Sites. The theater is said to be one of Europe’s best preserved. Today, only Orange’s theater and arch survive. Like Rome, Orange had temples, baths, an arena, a theater, and an arch. Originally known as Arausio, Orange’s Roman chapter began in about 35 BCE, when a military colony was established there. Once we’d gotten our second wind, we again braved the elements to visit the city’s triumphal arch, which was built around the same time as the theater.Īs the branches of the nearby trees tossed in the wind, I marveled at how the arch’s carvings could look so intact despite being exposed to centuries of the mistral’s abuse. We wrapped our hands around hot cups of coffee, and looked at the theater’s exterior from our sheltered spot. Realizing that we didn’t have enough outerwear to stay warm, Shawn, his parents, and I headed to a café just across from the theater. What props have succumbed to the strong gusts? And what did Roman performance-goers wear to protect themselves from the mistral’s inevitable chilling effect? I’ve read that the mistral wind might make its appearance in Provence about 100 days a year! Realizing how much my hair had been tousled by the mistral in a few minutes’ time, I imagined how this fierce wind had impacted performers the last few thousand years. Weathered columns and niches were still bathed in a golden light, but a statue of Roman Emperor Augustus had already fallen into shadows. The 2,000-year-old theater’s spectacular backdrop wall soaked up the day’s last hours of sunlight. When the wind got to be too much, I sat upon the chilly concrete seats and admired the splendor of my surroundings.
I could taste a grit in my mouth, the dust of limestone ground down over the millennia. Struggling to maintain my footing, I tried to channel lessons learned from years of doing balance poses on a yoga mat. The sky was a clear, brilliant blue on this autumn day, but frigid gusts grew stronger the higher I climbed. Now, I was battling it in the Ancient Roman theater in Orange, France. I’d read about Provence’s unforgiving mistral wind.
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