Bulla Regia is a Roman ruin near the town of Jendouba, a four hour trip from Sousse by louage. While not as large as El Jem or Dougga, Bulla Regia has two unusual features. Some of the houses there were built underground, similar to the troglodyte pit dwellings of Matmata, but with Roman columns in subterranean plazas. And though some of the best mosaics from Bulla Regia are now on display at the Bardo Museum in Tunis, many of the surviving houses still have their mosaic floors in situ.

First I entered the House of the Hunt. It doesn’t look like much from the outside, though in its day there was probably a structure above-ground too.

Then I descended the stairs.

What I saw at the base of the stairs amazed me. It was a plaza defined by columns and brilliantly lit by sunlight streaming in through unusual hexagonal windows.

There were various rooms adjoining the underground courtyard, most of which still had their original mosaic floors.

I went back up to ground level and peered into other ruins in the neighborhood.

Eventually, I came to the House of Amphitrite, a place that made my entire trip worthwhile.

Amphitrite was waiting for me there. There was no one else in the house — indeed, during my three hours in Bulla Regia I saw only two other tourists. So I had the goddess all to myself. She was beautiful. And unusual. The halo seems like it might be a nod to the emerging Second Century Christian aesthetic

Below her was Cupid riding a dolphin while admiring himself in a mirror. Having just been to Thailand, I recognized the impulse here: this is every Thai girl I saw riding a motorscooter while taking selfies.

Poseidon and some other dude were there too, but I think Amphitrite had eyes only for me.

There was also a picture of the owner of the house. Lucky guy.

There were various rooms adjoining Amphetrite’s chamber, most with relatively intact mosaic floors.

I know very little about the classical world, but couldn’t help but wonder what will remain of our civilization in two thousand years. Somehow I doubt it will be as beautiful and enduring as what I saw in Bulla Regia.

Fish out the Dylan, put John Wesley Harding on the platter, and drop the needle on track three:

I dreamed I saw St. Augustine,
Alive as you or me,
Tearing through these quarters
In the utmost misery
With a blanket underneath his arm
And a coat of solid gold,
Searching for the very souls
Whom already have been sold.

Augustine was here, in Bulla Regia, in 339. He took the stage on a stormy day and chastised the citizenry for selling their souls. He imagined the people greeting a visitor to the town: “What have you come for? Theatrical folk? Women of easy virtue? You can find them all in Bulla.”  

(Theatrical folk? Women of easy virtue? Yes, please. Those are my people.)

Augustine may have looked down from the stage at this mosaic of a bear and wondered what he’d gotten himself into.

And when his preaching was done, he might have wandered around town, met some of those moral reprobates, and been tempted to return to the wanton behavior of his younger days.

Augustine and I were here:

“Arise, arise,” he cried so loud,
In a voice without restraint.
“Come out, ye gifted kings and queens
And hear my sad complaint.
No martyr is among ye now
Whom you can call your own.
So go on your way accordingly,
But know you’re not alone.”

And nearby, a different kind of shepherd looked after an errant member of his flock.

I dreamed I saw St. Augustine

Alive with fiery breath,

And I dreamed I was amongst the ones

That put him out to death.

Oh, I awoke in anger,

So alone and terrified.

I put my fingers against the glass

And bowed my head and cried.