The Historic Town of Riga

Today, I want to write about a city that left a lasting impression on me. I visited it twice, each time under completely different circumstances – and maybe that’s exactly why it stayed with me so strongly. I had the chance to walk around with my camera at various times of day – and even at night – over the course of several days. Most of my walks took place within a space of less than one kilometer in length and about 700 meters in width, covering the historic city center. Once or twice, I wandered a bit further in different directions to explore other corners. For work-related reasons, I also visited other districts, but I’ll leave those aside for now. What really mattered was that during one of my visits – actually while on a business trip – our organizers booked a hotel whose back entrance opened directly onto the Old Town. Just a few minutes outside and you could already feel the atmosphere of the place.

The city I’m writing about is Riga – the capital of Latvia, one of the Baltic States located in Northern Europe. The history and identity of this place turn out to be far more complex than they might seem at first glance, even though it lies over 2,000 kilometers away from the most popular destinations in Europe.

Riga was founded as a small settlement in the late 12th century by German merchants, and officially established as a city in 1201 by Bishop Albert of Buxhövden, who came to the region from northern Germany (specifically, Lübeck). Albert initiated the city’s development under German town law and laid the foundations for its urban structure.

In its early days, Riga had a commercial and missionary character.

Its location on the Daugava River, with direct access to the Baltic Sea, opened trade routes deep into the continent. At the level of the Old Town, the Daugava is about 500 meters wide and lies roughly 14 kilometers from the Baltic coast. Thanks to this, Riga quickly became one of the key ports on the Baltic. By the 13th and 14th centuries, it had joined the Hanseatic League – a network of trading cities that shaped the economic landscape of Northern Europe for several centuries. A typical medieval Hanseatic city structure emerged, with German elites, fortified walls, and a guild-based order.

The founding of Riga was closely tied to the Northern Crusades – a series of Christianization campaigns targeting pagan Baltic and Finnic tribes. This is a lesser-known, but highly significant chapter of medieval European history. Unlike the crusades to the Holy Land, these campaigns aimed at expanding Christianity (as well as political and trade influence) into the lands of present-day Latvia, Estonia, Lithuania, and Finland. Their goals were both religious and strategic: converting local populations, securing military control over Baltic trade routes, and strengthening the power of the Church and German states. Pope Innocent III granted these expeditions the status of a crusade – participants received indulgences and papal support, just like in the Holy Land. Riga became the seat of an archbishopric, and in 1202, Bishop Albert founded the Order of the Livonian Brothers of the Sword (Fratres Militiae Christi de Livonia) – a new, local military order created to protect the Christian mission in Livonia (modern-day Latvia and Estonia). Riga thus became a strategic base for further missionary and military campaigns toward Estonia and Lithuania. In 1236, the Livonian Order was defeated by the Samogitians, a tribe inhabiting the southern part of present-day Latvia and northern Lithuania. After this defeat, the order was absorbed into the Teutonic Order, a powerful organization established by German crusaders active in areas that today form northern Poland and Lithuania.

The Teutonic Order and the Hanseatic cities, including Riga, shared common interests for a long time. Both sides aimed to stabilize trade in the Baltic Sea, secure maritime and river routes, and promote the Christianization and “civilization” of the pagan regions along the eastern Baltic coast. Riga actively benefited from the military protection provided by the Order, while the Order relied on the trade network and infrastructure of the Hanseatic League. Over time, however, tensions began to rise. The Order was a feudal and military structure, focused on centralizing power, whereas the Hanseatic League represented the interests of autonomous cities and merchant guilds. The Order attempted to interfere in city affairs – for example, by installing its own mayors or limiting the independence of guilds. This led to growing conflicts and friction between the two sides, despite their earlier cooperation.

The Teutonic Order lost much of its influence after the Battle of Grunwald in 1410. However, its state survived – though weakened and reorganized. It’s important to note that Riga was not part of the Order’s main territory, but was located in Livonia – a region administered by the Livonian branch of the Teutonic Order. While formally dependent on the Order’s central authority, in practice this branch operated with a fair degree of autonomy. That’s why the defeat at Grunwald didn’t have as direct an impact on Riga as it did, for example, on Malbork. Still, it created a new political landscape. Riga seized the opportunity and began to assert its independence more actively.

During the period of Teutonic dominance, up until the late 15th century, Riga was formally divided between the Archbishop of Riga, the Livonian Brothers of the Sword, and the City Council. These three centers of power competed for influence, but the city gradually gained more independence, especially in economic and municipal matters. By the end of the 15th century, Riga entered a phase of open conflict with both the archbishop and the Order. Between 1491 and 1520, the city was effectively engaged in a local war for autonomy. There were sieges, street fights, and constant struggles for control. In the end, the City Council retained authority over internal affairs, laying the foundations for a self-governing city. The turning point came during the Reformation – in 1522, Riga officially adopted Lutheranism. This marked a final break from the previous church-feudal structure and a major step toward spiritual, political, and economic independence.

From that point on, Riga became a de facto free Hanseatic city – self-governed, with its own administration, religion, and direction of development. Although it was still formally part of the Archbishopric of Riga and subject to various external influences, its autonomy was real and lasted well into the early modern period. However, this era also coincided with the decline of the Hanseatic League. The geography of trade routes began to shift, as this was also the age of geographical discoveries. At the same time, emerging nation-states were becoming more interested in controlling economic flows, especially in the form of taxes and customs duties. After the Teutonic Order’s decline and the collapse of its power in Livonia, Riga entered new phases of dependence – no longer under the Order, but now under the influence of state powers. The merchant elites continued to fight for their position, but the opponents had changed.

In the following period, during the Livonian Wars of the 16th century, Riga came under the authority of the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth. In 1581, it was officially recognized as a free city under the protection of King Stephen Báthory. The arrangement turned out to be fairly liberal. Riga retained full economic autonomy, its own judicial system, Protestant faith, and self-governing structure. In practice, its obligations to the king were minimal. Over time, however, tensions grew. Attempts at Catholic Counter-Reformation, supported by the monarchy, were not welcomed by the Protestant bourgeoisie. The City Council sought to resist religious interference, and the city began to explore closer ties with Sweden, which offered protection without religious pressure.

In 1621, during the war with Sigismund III Vasa, King Gustavus Adolphus of Sweden captured Riga, marking the beginning of a new chapter in the city’s history. Riga became the second-largest city in the Swedish Empire, after Stockholm. Although it was subject to the Swedish crown, it enjoyed a high degree of autonomy. The municipal structure was preserved, as was the dominance of the German bourgeoisie, the city’s Protestant identity, and its well-developed education system. For merchants, this was a time of stability, commercial freedom, and growth. Riga played an important economic and administrative role within the Swedish state. While tensions with royal officials occasionally arose, they were not destabilizing. It was a golden age of self-governance for Riga’s Protestant bourgeois society.

In 1710, during the Great Northern War, Riga was captured by the Russian troops of Tsar Peter I. Along with all of Livonia, it was incorporated into the Russian Empire. Although Riga had been part of Russia since 1710, a certain degree of local autonomy was initially preserved, and the German bourgeoisie continued to dominate the city’s administration, commerce, and culture. Over time, however, Russia gradually introduced its own official structures, changed the legal system, and reduced the influence of the German elite. Russification policies were supported, and the Russian presence in the city began to grow. Despite these changes, Riga remained one of the empire’s most important ports and a major industrial center, especially during the 19th century. The merchant autonomy was eventually curtailed by the centralization of the imperial administration. The German bourgeois class, which had shaped Riga’s identity for centuries, gradually lost its influence. Still, until the 20th century, the city retained a distinctive cultural and commercial continuity rooted in its Hanseatic, Protestant, and urban traditions – though now subject to the wider interests of imperial powers. Each of these historical phases left its mark – not only in architecture, but also in language, religion, culture, and the urban fabric. Riga was a truly multiethnic metropolis, home to Baltic Germans, Latvians, Jews, Poles, Russians, and other communities, where Eastern and Western influences coexisted and intertwined on many levels.

In the interwar period, after gaining independence in 1918, Riga became the capital of a young and ambitious republic. After World War II, it was incorporated into the Soviet Union and went through a difficult phase of intense Sovietization, which left a mark on both the urban fabric and the lives of its residents. Today, Riga is the independent capital of a European country that has been a member of the European Union since 2004.

Riga’s wealth, accumulated over centuries thanks to its strategic location on the Daugava River and its role as one of the region’s major trading ports, has always been reflected in the city’s architecture. Every period of prosperity left behind its mark in the form of representative buildings – both religious and secular. During its time in the Hanseatic League, Gothic merchant warehouses, churches, and guild halls were constructed. Under Swedish rule, new public buildings and schools were added, often supported by the crown. Then, in the 19th century, during the period of Russian rule, Riga experienced a true economic boom as an industrial and port hub of the empire. This sparked rapid urban and architectural growth, resulting in the construction of dozens of buildings in eclectic, neo-Renaissance, and especially Art Nouveau styles. Walking through its streets, you get the feeling that everything exists side by side – old and new, monumental and intimate, Western and Eastern. And maybe that’s exactly why it’s a place you want to return to.

Let’s take a look at a piece of the Old Town and a few spots nearby. This will be a somewhat subjective walk. From the hotel where we were staying, using the side entrance, it took just about five minutes to reach the Gothic rear wall of St. Peter’s Church. There’s a tiny square there where you can sit for a moment, and the nearby streets lead straight into the busiest part of the Old Town, filled with tourists, cafés, and restaurants. This spot is easy to recognize thanks to a small but distinctive sculpture featuring four animals stacked on top of one another: a donkey, a dog, a cat, and a rooster. It’s a direct reference to the fairy tale The Town Musicians of Bremen by the Brothers Grimm. The animals are arranged in a pyramid, just as described in the story, in which four abandoned animals set off together for Bremen to become musicians. The sculpture was installed in 1990 as a gift from the city of Bremen to Riga, as a gesture of partnership and solidarity between two Hanseatic cities.

When you stand behind St. Peter’s Church and look to the right, you’ll notice an unassuming building with a beautiful bas-relief. This is one of the structures that belong to the Konventa Sēta complex – or monastic courtyard. The fact that it forms a cohesive complex only becomes fully visible when you look down from St. Peter’s tower. The origins of this site go back to the 13th century. It was originally founded as a Dominican monastery, brought to Riga by Bishop Albert as part of establishing church and urban structures in the newly Christianized region. The Dominicans, a preaching order, played a significant role in shaping the city’s religious, educational, and social life. At the heart of the complex was a monastery with a chapel, which in the 14th and 15th centuries was expanded and transformed into St. John’s Church. The building has retained its Gothic character, including a stepped gable with vertical pilaster strips and copper details. Around the church, cloisters, convent houses, utility buildings, workshops, and warehouses were built, forming a self-contained and functional urban quarter. After the Reformation in the 16th century, the Dominicans left the monastery. St. John’s Church was handed over to the Lutheran community, while the remaining buildings came under the administration of the city authorities and were used as storage spaces, residences, and workshops. Despite these changes, the original spatial layout was preserved. In the 19th and early 20th centuries, some buildings were rebuilt. After World War II, the complex was placed under heritage protection, and in the 1970s and 1980s, it was restored and unified under the name Konventa Sēta. Today, it includes St. John’s Church, former monastic buildings, courtyards, and parts of the medieval city walls.

When you first approach St. Peter’s Church in Riga from the rear, you’re convinced you’re about to enter a magnificent Gothic structure. The red-brick apse, stepped gables, and pointed arch windows all speak to its medieval origins and architectural coherence. But as you walk around to the main entrance, you’re met with a completely different façade – one that unmistakably belongs to a later period. Baroque portals, sculpted figures, and curving volutes mark a shift in style and fashion. It becomes immediately clear that at some point, only the front of the church was rebuilt to reflect the aesthetics of a newer era. This contrast is the result of centuries of reconstruction and adaptation. St. Peter’s Church (Svētā Pētera baznīca) is one of Riga’s oldest churches, with origins dating back to the 13th century, when the first wooden building was erected. In the 14th century, it was rebuilt as a Gothic brick basilica, with a three-aisled interior and a prominent tower. Over the centuries, the church was repeatedly damaged by fires – most notably in 1666 – leading to significant structural changes. The greatest transformation occurred in the 17th and 18th centuries, when the main façade and the tower were redesigned in the Baroque style. The tower, after collapsing in 1721, was rebuilt in its current form, and the western entrance took on its ornate appearance, in line with architectural trends of the time. Despite these changes, much of the medieval layout and Gothic detailing – especially in the eastern part of the church – remains intact.

Upon leaving St Peter’s Church, if you turn left and walk in the direction of the Daugava River, you will arrive at Town Hall Square (Rātslaukums). This square is home to the Riga Town Hall, which was rebuilt after the Second World War, and also to two strikingly ornate, interconnected buildings now commonly referred to as the House of the Blackheads. Although they now form a unified architectural complex, their origins and original functions remained separate until the late 19th century.

The House of the Blackheads (Latvian: Melngalvju nams) is the older of the two. It was originally built in 1334 as the “New House of the Great Guild”, used by local merchants for ceremonial and representative purposes. From the mid-15th century, it was rented by the Brotherhood of Blackheads – an elite association of unmarried merchants and shipowners who held meetings, balls, concerts, and charitable events there. Over time, the Brotherhood became the building’s owners. Its façade was rebuilt in a mannerist style (notably in 1615), with rich ornamentation and the addition of the famous clock in 1626. The building was destroyed during the Second World War and was fully reconstructed between 1996 and 1999. Immediately to the left of the House of the Blackheads stands a smaller building now known as the Schwabe House. It originated in the medieval period as an independent burgher’s townhouse, whose exact function is no longer clearly known (likely residential and commercial). In 1889–1891, the house was thoroughly rebuilt to a new, representational design by architect Karl Felsko for the Schwabe trading company, which gave the building its name. During that time, it was also functionally and structurally integrated with the House of the Blackheads, forming a coherent ensemble with aligned stylistic and practical purposes.

Today, the two buildings are regarded as a single complex, commonly referred to as the House of the Blackheads. In addition to their architectural and historical significance, they now serve as a prominent venue for official events, exhibitions, and tourism, and form one of the key landmarks of Riga’s Old Town.

The Brotherhood of Blackheads was a historical association of unmarried foreign merchants, most of them of German origin, who were active in Riga from the 14th century. The Brotherhood functioned as both a commercial and semi-military organisation, playing a key role in the economic, social, and ceremonial life of the city. Members helped protect merchant convoys, financed civic projects, and organised important public celebrations. The name “Blackheads” might appear unusual at first glance, but it has a clear origin. The guild’s patron saint was Saint Maurice — a Roman legionary commander of African origin, who is traditionally depicted in medieval European iconography with a black head. It is from this iconographic image that the Brotherhood took its name. A small statue of a dark-headed man, referencing St Maurice, still adorns the entrance to the House of the Blackheads.

Also drawing attention on the square is an independent townhouse with a dark – almost black -façade, separated from the House of the Blackheads by a small side street. It is not connected to, nor historically part of, the Blackheads complex. This is an ordinary burgher’s building, most likely constructed in the 19th century as part of a row of administrative or commercial properties lining the square. Due to its strikingly dark façade and proximity to the well-known House of the Blackheads, it is often mistakenly associated with the complex. Its distinctive appearance stems from the deep, shadowy colour of its exterior, which stands in sharp contrast to the bright red bricks of the adjacent buildings.

At the centre of the square stands the statue of Roland, the medieval knight and legendary paladin of Charlemagne. His presence symbolises the city’s medieval legal independence and civic pride, in keeping with similar Roland statues found in other Hanseatic towns.

Approaching from Town Hall Square and heading towards the central parts of Riga’s historic old town, one arrives at Riga Cathedral (Rīgas Doms) – the largest medieval church in Latvia and one of the city’s key landmarks. Construction began on 25 July 1211 at the initiative of Bishop Albert. From the outset, the cathedral was intended to serve as the spiritual centre of the new diocese.

The original church was built in the Romanesque style, but by the 13th and 14th centuries it had already undergone significant extensions in the Gothic style. In the 15th century, the tower was added and the chancel enlarged. Along with adjoining cloisters, chapter buildings, and an enclosed courtyard, the cathedral formed a self-contained complex of great religious and intellectual significance – home to schools, scribes, and early missionary work.

After Riga adopted Lutheranism in 1522, the cathedral – like many other churches in the city – was transferred to the Evangelical Lutheran congregation. Over the following centuries, it suffered repeated damage: partial destruction in the 16th century, and again during Swedish and Russian sieges. In the 18th century, the tower was topped with a Baroque spire, which for a time became the tallest structure in the city. At the turn of the 19th and 20th centuries, the building underwent substantial restoration in the spirit of historicism, with efforts to recover some of its Gothic features. The monumental pipe organ installed at this time was for many years considered one of the largest in Europe.

During the Soviet period, the cathedral was secularised and used as a concert hall, which, despite the loss of its religious function, helped ensure its preservation. Following Latvia’s independence in 1991, the building was returned to the Evangelical Lutheran Church and gradually reinstated as a place of worship.

As you continue exploring the streets of Riga, you’ll notice that the spirit of its historic past lingers well beyond the major landmarks. Many smaller buildings, side streets and architectural details still echo the city’s former grandeur – even if their façades have been altered or rebuilt in later centuries. The layers of time are visible everywhere, and even outside the main tourist routes, the Old Town reveals corners that speak of Riga’s medieval and early modern identity. Below are a few more impressions from the very centre of the historical city.

If we cross to the other side of the historic Old Town, moving away from the Daugava River and heading northeast from Town Hall Square, the cobbled lanes begin to open up, and the dense architecture gives way to greenery. Eventually, we reach a more spacious area where the old town begins to taper off, and in front of us appears a park. This is Bastejkalns Park – a narrow strip of greenery that follows the city canal, a quiet place filled with footbridges, benches, and low trees. Despite its central location, the atmosphere here is calm, almost intimate. It’s clearly a space not just for tourists, but also for locals – some strolling, others reading on benches, while a few simply pass through on their way home or to work.

At the edge of this park stands the Freedom Monument, impossible to miss – a tall, slender obelisk. Unveiled in 1935, the monument commemorates the soldiers who died in the Latvian War of Independence, fought between 1918 and 1920. It was a turbulent time, as the newly declared Latvian republic defended its sovereignty first against the Red Army, and later against German paramilitary formations operating in the region. After several key battles – including those at Riga and Cēsis – Latvia succeeded in securing its independence and signed a peace treaty with Soviet Russia. During the Soviet occupation, the monument became a quiet site of resistance – despite restrictions, people would still lay flowers at its base, often under the cover of darkness. Today, it remains the setting for national ceremonies, parades, the daily changing of the Honour Guard, and moments of quiet reflection.

The monument, designed by sculptor Kārlis Zāle is a carefully composed narrative in stone and bronze. At its base are sculptural groups depicting scenes from Latvian history – peasants at work, Latvian riflemen, allegories of sacrifice and spiritual freedom, and a grieving mother. In total, the monument features 13 sculptural groups and 56 individual figures, symbolising both the past and the ideals on which the Latvian state was built. At the very top stands the female figure known affectionately as Milda, holding aloft three golden stars representing Latvia’s historic regions: Kurzeme, Vidzeme, and Latgale.

Facing the monument, to your right, is a pale, elegant building – the Latvian National Opera. This neoclassical structure, built in the 19th century, is home to the country’s main opera and ballet stage and continues to serve its original cultural purpose. Designed by German architect Ludwig Bohnstedt, the building is known not only for its harmonious proportions but also for its excellent acoustics. On sunny days, you’ll often find people relaxing on the steps or nearby in the park – some awaiting a performance, others simply enjoying the atmosphere.

After a quiet moment by the National Opera, it’s worth turning and continuing along Brīvības iela, heading northeast. This is the main thoroughfare that connects the Old Town with the more modern parts of the city. As we walk, we pass through Esplanāde Park – a well-maintained green space with broad paths and sculptures, offering a welcome contrast to the cobbled streets and close architecture of the old centre. The route is straightforward – just keep going, and soon the first hints of Art Nouveau architecture begin to appear on the horizon.

After about fifteen to twenty minutes on foot, we arrive in the heart of Riga’s Art Nouveau District. This part of the city is renowned for its exceptional collection of turn-of-the-century buildings – especially along Alberta iela and Elizabetes iela, where ornate facades, sculptural details and decorative flourishes catch the eye at every step.

I’ve already written extensively about this district in a separate post – where you’ll find background on the architecture, historical context, and a guide to the most noteworthy buildings. You’ll find the link to that post below, after the photo gallery.

It’s difficult to capture Riga in a single post – a city so rich in history, architecture and symbolism. In this piece, I’ve taken you on a walk through time – from the city’s Hanseatic roots and Lutheran heritage to the powerful symbolism of the Freedom Monument.

Along the way, I’ve left out a few prominent sites – not because they aren’t worth seeing, but because they didn’t quite belong to the route I followed. One of them is Riga Castle, the city’s historic fortress on the banks of the Daugava. On each of my visits, it’s been under renovation – inaccessible and wrapped in scaffolding, impossible to photograph. Another is the Nativity of Christ Orthodox Cathedral, whose golden domes rise above Esplanāde Park. Majestic and unmistakable, it represents a very different strand of the city’s spiritual and architectural heritage – one that stands apart from the Lutheran skyline of the Old Town, yet very much belongs to Riga’s layered identity. And then there’s the striking Latvian Academy of Sciences – a towering Soviet-era structure built in the 1950s. With its heavy, symmetrical design and sharp verticals, it stands as a clear expression of Socialist Realist architecture. Locals refer to it with a mix of irony and familiarity, and it remains one of the most recognisable silhouettes on the city’s skyline. Today, it houses a scientific institution and offers a viewing platform from its upper floors – a vantage point that looks out across the rooftops of the Old Town and beyond. For more photos, follow the link to my RIGA photo gallery.

The Historic Town of Riga

Colosseum in Rome. A Place That Still Echoes With the Past

Today I’m writing about what is probably one of the most iconic ancient places in Europe. As strange as it may sound, I used to play among the ruins of Leptis Magna and Sabratha when I was a child, and ever since then, visiting historical places has really stayed with me. But when I finally stepped inside – on one of my many trips to Rome – walked through the passage under the arches and looked up, I actually got goosebumps.

The Colosseum in Rome, also known as the Flavian Amphitheatre (Amphitheatrum Flavium), is one of the most recognisable monuments of the ancient world and a lasting symbol of the power of Rome and the Roman Empire. From antiquity to the present day, it has survived in surprisingly good condition for its age – standing as a reminder not only of Roman engineering skill, but also of how power could be exercised through public entertainment.

Construction of the Colosseum began around AD 72, during the reign of Emperor Vespasian, the first ruler from the Flavian dynasty. He came to power after a series of violent assassinations and uprisings during the chaotic succession crisis that followed the death of Nero, who had been deeply unpopular with much of Roman society. Nero, the last emperor of the Julio-Claudian dynasty, ruled from AD 54 to 68 and is remembered as one of the most controversial leaders in Roman history. Though he started out with promise, he soon became a symbol of tyranny, driven by his artistic ambitions and obsession with control. His most notorious project was the Domus Aurea – the Golden House – a lavish palace built in the heart of Rome on land cleared by the great fire of AD 64. Whether he actually started the fire is still debated, but the image of an emperor playing the lyre while the city burned has remained firmly in the public imagination. Nero died by suicide in AD 68, leaving behind a city in turmoil and a legacy that later emperors were eager to leave behind.

In his efforts to restore authority and bring stability back to the empire, Vespasian made a number of decisions aimed at regaining the trust of Roman citizens. One of the most symbolic was the decision to build a massive public amphitheatre on the site of a former artificial lake that had been part of Nero’s Domus Aurea. This move carried strong propaganda value. Where once there had been a private garden of imperial luxury and excess, there was now to be an open space for public entertainment. Vespasian quite literally took the land back from Nero’s hated palace and handed it over to the people of Rome.

Vespasian died before the Colosseum was completed, and it was his son Titus who saw the project through to the end. Tens of thousands of people took part in the opening celebrations, which lasted an impressive 100 days. During that time, the public enjoyed gladiator fights, displays of wild animals, and staged battle re-enactments.

The Colosseum in Rome was mainly used for gladiator fights and wild animal shows, but also for public executions. In its early years, around AD 80–90, it is thought – though not historically confirmed – that it may have also hosted mock naval battles. At that time, the arena had no underground structures, which meant it could be flooded relatively easily with water.

The Colosseum in Rome was built in an elliptical shape, measuring about 189 metres long and 156 metres wide. The outer façade rose to a height of 48 metres. Its four storeys of arcaded walls were supported by a system of arches and pillars. The structure was made using stone, brick and concrete – materials that, in Roman times, represented the height of engineering and construction technology. The outer walls were built from large blocks of travertine, held together with iron clamps and lime mortar. The interior was filled with lighter materials: brick and what we now call Roman concrete (opus caementicium) – a mix of lime, water and volcanic ash (pozzolana), which made the structure remarkably strong and resistant to moisture. Thanks to this, the Colosseum has survived earthquakes, fires and nearly two thousand years of erosion. The use of arches and vaults helped to evenly distribute the weight of the building, allowing the Romans to create something spacious and monumental without needing internal supports.

The interior of the amphitheatre consisted of the arena, the seating area, and a complex underground system known as the hypogeum.

The arena of the Colosseum was the heart of the whole structure – an elliptical, flat surface measuring about 87 by 55 metres, covered in sand (called harena, which is where the word arena comes from). The sand was used to soak up blood and make it easier for fighters to move. Underneath was the hypogeum, now exposed but once hidden beneath a wooden platform. This surface was often decorated with artificial trees, rocks, columns or ruins to create the right setting for the shows. For specific events, the look of the arena could be completely changed overnight, which shows how efficient and well-organised the technical and backstage teams must have been.

Surrounding the arena was the seating area, or cavea, which could hold between 50 and 60 thousand spectators. The seats were arranged in tiered levels, reflecting the strict social hierarchy of ancient Rome. Closest to the arena were the boxes reserved for senators and elites, who sat on marble benches with their names engraved. Behind them sat the equites, a wealthy social class just below the senators, and above them, the ordinary citizens. The top tier was set aside for women, slaves and the poor. Each section had its own entrances and corridors – called vomitoria – which allowed tens of thousands of people to enter and exit the amphitheatre within minutes. The seating was designed with impressive acoustic and visual precision, so that every spectator, no matter where they sat, could clearly see and hear what was happening in the arena.

The two-level hypogeum was added to the Colosseum during the reign of Emperor Domitian – the same one the Senate later tried to erase from memory for his tyranny. It served as the technical and logistical backstage for organising the shows. The underground area included corridors, holding cells for gladiators, enclosures for wild animals, storage rooms, workshops, and a system of lifts and ramps that allowed for fast and dramatic entrances onto the arena floor. The hypogeum stretched beneath the entire arena and included around 30 lifts, operated manually by teams of workers and slaves using a complex system of pulleys, ropes and counterweights. These lifts connected to trapdoors or cunei which could suddenly open at arena level, allowing animals or fighters to appear in a striking and theatrical way.

Above the entire amphitheatre stretched a massive sail-like canopy known as the velarium, which provided shade for the audience on sunny days. It was operated by sailors from the Roman navy, who used a complex system of ropes and rigging anchored to the outer pillars of the building.

Gladiators were among the most recognisable figures of ancient Rome, and their presence in the arena was central to the spectacular shows staged for the crowds. Although often associated with violence and blood, they were also highly trained fighters whose lives were shaped by discipline and combat. They were not ordinary soldiers or random slaves – they were people who spent months, sometimes years, in training, living under strict rules imposed by the owners of gladiator schools.

Most gladiators were slaves, either sold into combat or captured and then placed in special training centres known as ludi. There, under the guidance of experienced instructors – often former gladiators themselves – they learned fighting techniques, how to handle different weapons, and how to behave in the arena. Their goal wasn’t just to survive, but to put on a show, gain the crowd’s approval, and increase their value. But not all gladiators were slaves. Some were free men who volunteered. Their reasons varied – fame, debt, desperation, or even fascination with the life of a fighter. These volunteers signed contracts in which they gave up their citizen rights for the duration of their service, becoming the legal property of the training school’s owner.

Gladiator fights followed strict rules. Opponents were not paired at random – different fighting styles and weapons were matched to create a show full of tension and drama. For example, a lightly armed and fast fighter with a trident and net might face a heavily armoured opponent with a large shield and sword. Their clashes were almost like theatrical duels, where not just strength and technique, but also strategy and an understanding of the opponent’s weaknesses, played a key role. Gladiators were categorised by their weapons and fighting style, and each type had its own name, equipment and way of moving in combat.

Although the fights were brutal and carried a real risk of death, they didn’t always end with one of the fighters being killed. Gladiators were expensive to train and maintain, so organisers were reluctant to let them die without a clear reason. Often, the decision about a defeated fighter’s fate was made by the person in charge of the show, based on the crowd’s reaction, how the fight went, or even financial concerns. A loser who fought bravely and with honour could be spared and sent back to training. Gladiators who became popular could enjoy a level of fame – they were tattooed, painted on pottery, mentioned in inscriptions, and sometimes treated like celebrities. In some cases, they even gained their freedom after many victories, or by receiving a symbolic wooden sword called a rudis, which marked the end of their service.

Public executions were a regular part of the games held at the Colosseum in Rome, although they were often overshadowed by the more spectacular gladiator fights or animal shows. But these executions were not only about punishment. They were also seen as a form of entertainment, often staged in a theatrical way that combined death with performance. The brutality of these executions was not accidental – it was meant to show the power of the state and the strictness of Roman law towards those who broke it. At the same time, it reinforced the idea of Roman order, where punishment was quick, unavoidable, and made into a spectacle.

Those most often sentenced were common criminals, slaves, and prisoners of war – especially those not considered worthy of fighting as gladiators. One of the most brutal and humiliating forms of execution was damnatio ad bestias, or condemnation to the beasts – the victim was sent out, unarmed, into the arena where lions, tigers, leopards or bears were waiting. Sometimes, to make the scene more dramatic, the condemned were dressed up or the execution was staged to imitate mythological stories. In such cases, death became a performance – someone might be made to play Orpheus, torn apart by wild animals, or Icarus, falling from the sky, only to die for real.

Another method of execution was beheading, crucifixion, or burning alive. These forms were less theatrical, so they usually took place outside the Colosseum in Rome, but during larger celebrations they were sometimes included in the arena programme. Some games also featured mass executions -especially after wars or uprisings – as a show of power aimed at rebels or conquered peoples. On some occasions, thousands of people were killed in a single day.

From the Middle Ages onwards – and especially during the Baroque period – Christian tradition began to associate the Colosseum with the martyrdom of the early followers of Christ. Stories started to circulate about Christians being thrown to the lions right there. By the 19th century, the Colosseum had become a symbol of Christian suffering, particularly for the Catholic Church. Popes began holding Stations of the Cross there, and in 1749, Pope Benedict XIV consecrated the site by placing a cross in the centre of the arena. This Christian narrative carries religious and cultural meaning, even though it doesn’t fully align with historical evidence. Today, most historians agree that Christians may have been executed in the Colosseum in Rome, but there is no proof that it was a place specifically used for their persecution, or that mass, systematic executions of Christians happened there.

After the fall of the Western Roman Empire in 476 AD, the Colosseum gradually stopped serving its original purpose and began to fall into ruin. Parts of the structure collapsed during earthquakes -especially in 847 and 1349 – and over the centuries, stone from its walls was taken for use in other buildings across Rome. Still, despite the damage, the Colosseum was never completely abandoned. In fact, over time it was given new roles. As early as the early Middle Ages, it was used as living space, workshops, and even for religious purposes.

Small chapels and even tiny churches were built inside the Colosseum in Rome. In the 11th century, a chapel dedicated to Saint Mary of the Martyrs was built within the structure. It was linked to the memory of Christian martyrs, although as said before there is no clear historical evidence to confirm that connection. In the 15th century, more chapels appeared, often sponsored by craft guilds and religious brotherhoods. One of them was built by the Archconfraternity of the Holy Cross, which held prayers and penitential processions inside the Colosseum. In the 18th century, a cross was placed inside the arena, and a Way of the Cross was created – some of its stations still survive today as part of the site’s religious symbolism.

It wasn’t until the Renaissance that people began to recognise the historical and artistic value of the Colosseum in Rome as a relic of ancient times. Artists, scholars, and architects started to see the ruins not just as a convenient source of stone, but as a reminder of Rome’s former glory. Still, for a long time, dismantling the structure remained common practice – huge travertine blocks from the Colosseum were used in the construction of Renaissance palaces and churches, including the Palazzo Venezia and St Peter’s Basilica. Even in the 16th century, popes – though increasingly aware of its symbolic meaning – still allowed it to be used as a quarry. This attitude began to change gradually, as interest in antiquity grew and historical and archaeological studies developed. In the 18th century, Pope Benedict XIV declared the Colosseum a place of Christian martyrdom and consecrated it by placing a cross inside. From then on, the building was treated as sacred ground, which helped protect it from further destruction.

In the 19th century, with the rise of modern archaeology, the Colosseum became the focus of serious scientific study. Archaeologists, architects, and engineers began systematic measurements, excavations, and restoration work. Rubble was cleared, damaged walls were stabilised, and the underground structures were documented and analysed. This period saw the creation of the first modern records of the Colosseum as a site of cultural heritage. Even today, the Colosseum still holds many secrets. The hypogeum, the network of underground passages, had been buried and inaccessible for centuries. Thanks to modern technologies such as laser scanning and 3D photogrammetry, archaeologists are now uncovering new details about how shows were organised and how the arena functioned behind the scenes. Ongoing research is also revealing fragments of wall paintings, inscriptions, and graffiti, which help us understand the everyday life of the people who worked there. Some elements, like the elevators or water systems, still aren’t fully understood, leaving room for further discovery and interpretation.

Today, the Colosseum in Rome is one of the most visited landmarks in Italy, attracting millions of tourists each year. It’s also one of the most important UNESCO World Heritage Sites. At the same time, it remains a focus of ongoing conservation and restoration efforts, aimed at protecting it from further damage. The Colosseum still plays a role in cultural and religious life. Every Good Friday, the Pope leads the Stations of the Cross here, turning the ancient arena into a place of reflection and ceremony. For centuries, the site has also inspired artists, writers, and filmmakers. It features in classic films such as Quo Vadis?, Ben-Hur, and Gladiator, which helped shape its image as a place of epic battles and sacrifice. In literature and popular culture, it often appears as a symbol of both Roman glory and cruelty.

Colosseum in Rome. A Place That Still Echoes With the Past

Constantine the Great. The Emperor Who Changed the Course of History

Over the past few years – roughly the same period during which I’ve been writing this blog – I’ve repeatedly come across traces of Emperor Constantine, often in places far apart from one another. Sometimes it happened by chance, other times more deliberately. The first encounter was in far-off York, in northern England. I was busy taking photos and probably wasn’t paying full attention to the guide, but the statue of Constantine didn’t surprise me. After all, who hasn’t heard of this emperor? He was the one who founded Constantinople – the eastern capital of the Roman Empire, named in his honour.

Later, in the Vatican, I visited the Room of Constantine in the Raphael’s Rooms, richly decorated with frescoes illustrating scenes from his life. A few years on, during another visit to Rome, I took close-up photos of the Arch of Constantine – by then already aware that my next journey would soon take me to Istanbul, once known as Constantinople, and home to the famous Hagia Sophia. Even though the great basilica has seen better days, it still houses remarkable Byzantine mosaics, including one of Constantine offering his city as a religious gift.

And so, the time has come for a post about the emperor and visionary – Constantine the Great. He was one of the most significant emperors in Roman history. Under his rule, Christianity ceased to be persecuted. He was not only a brilliant military strategist but also a far-sighted leader. It was Constantine who moved the capital of the empire to Byzantium, renaming it Constantinople – today’s Istanbul. Although he was only baptised towards the end of his life, his impact on the development of Christianity was profound. He also convened the first ecumenical council – the Council of Nicaea – which played a crucial role in shaping the doctrine of the Church.

By the end of the third century, the Roman Empire was plunged into chaos: civil wars, economic crises, and external threats had seriously weakened the state. In response, Emperor Diocletian introduced a new system of rule – the tetrarchy – a model of shared power involving four emperors: two Augusti (senior emperors) and two Caesares (their junior partners and designated successors). The system was designed to ensure more effective administration of the vast empire and prevent succession conflicts. In 293 AD, Diocletian established the original tetrarchy as follows: Diocletian – Augustus of the East; Maximian – Augustus of the West; Galerius – Caesar of the East; and Constantius Chlorus – Caesar of the West. The tetrarchy functioned relatively effectively for about 10 to 12 years (293–305), but the following decade was marked by escalating succession crises and power struggles.

In 305 AD, an unprecedented event occurred in Roman history – Diocletian and his co-ruler Maximian voluntarily abdicated, stepping down from imperial power. Diocletian, weakened by illness, retired from public life and withdrew to his palace in Spalatum (modern-day Split), aiming to set a precedent: that imperial authority should not be lifelong or hereditary, but rather serve the stability of the state and operate on a principle of orderly transition. Maximian also relinquished his office, though unlike Diocletian, he struggled to let go of power and would later attempt to return to politics.

Upon their abdication, the senior emperors did not promote their own sons but instead selected trusted associates as the new Caesars – Flavius Severus (Severus II) in the West and Maximinus Daza in the East – both loyal military officers, particularly to Galerius. This deliberate sidelining of imperial sons broke with traditional expectations of dynastic succession. Among those overlooked were Constantine, son of the newly appointed Augustus Constantius Chlorus, and Maxentius, son of the retired emperor Maximian. Although the tetrarchy was based on merit rather than bloodline, this decision sparked unrest. When Constantius died in 306, his troops in Britain unilaterally declared Constantine emperor. Not long after, Maxentius seized power in Rome. Over the next several years, the empire descended into civil wars as multiple claimants fought for control. The final struggle for sole rule played out between three rivals: Constantine, who commanded support in the western provinces; Maxentius, who held power in Italy and the capital, Rome; and Licinius, who governed the eastern territories. It was between these men that the future of the Roman Empire would ultimately be decided.

Constantius Chlorus, the father of Constantine, embarked on a military campaign to Britain in 305 AD as the western Augustus, aiming to suppress Pictish raids and secure the northern frontier of the Roman Empire. This was a strategically significant operation: earlier barbarian attacks had unsettled the region, and the emperor sought to reaffirm his authority. At the time, Constantius was seriously ill. His son, Constantine, was then at the court of the eastern Augustus, Galerius – likely as a political hostage. Upon learning of his father’s condition and impending campaign, Constantine either escaped or was granted permission to join him. He travelled rapidly across Gaul to reunite with his father. Once in Britain, Constantine participated in the campaign against the Picts, though likely not on the front lines. His exact tactical role remains unclear, but sources confirm his presence alongside his father in military operations.

As Constantius’s condition deteriorated, he withdrew to Eburacum (modern-day York), where he died shortly thereafter. In response, the legions stationed there, impressed by Constantine’s leadership and involvement, proclaimed him emperor. This was a typical instance of military acclamation, with strong precedents in Roman history (e.g. Septimius Severus, Claudius). Although technically illegal – violating the tetrarchic succession system – the army viewed Constantine as the natural heir, being both a commander and the son of the deceased Augustus. Nevertheless, other claimants remained, and Constantine spent the following years consolidating power and defeating rivals.

Nearly two millennia later, to commemorate Constantine’s proclamation as emperor in York in AD 306, a bronze statue was unveiled in 1998 near York Minster. Commissioned by the York Civic Trust and created by sculptor Philip Jackson, the monument highlights the city’s Roman legacy and its role in a turning point of imperial and Christian history.

Following the death of Constantius Chlorus, his son Constantine was proclaimed emperor by the legions. However, the eastern emperor Galerius recognised him only as Caesar, not Augustus. Constantine, nonetheless, began to consolidate his power in the western provinces, successfully defending the Rhine frontier, battling Germanic tribes, and securing the loyalty of the army, while avoiding direct conflict with other tetrarchs. In 307 AD, he formed an alliance with Maximian, the former Augustus and father of Maxentius, marrying Maximian’s daughter Fausta. However, relations with Maxentius, who ruled Italy, deteriorated in the following years.

After Galerius’s death in 311, Constantine declared himself Augustus, abandoning all pretence of adhering to the tetrarchic order. In 312, he launched a military campaign against Maxentius, culminating in a decisive victory at the Battle of the Milvian Bridge near Rome. According to tradition, on the eve of battle he saw a vision of the cross in the sky with the words In hoc signo vinces (In this sign, you will conquer), marking the beginning of his alignment with Christianity.

After taking control of Rome, Constantine solidified his rule over the western Roman Empire. In 313 AD, together with Licinius, co-emperor of the East, he issued the Edict of Milan, which granted religious freedom to Christians and brought an end to their persecution. However, the alliance with Licinius soon collapsed. In 316, a first military conflict broke out between them, culminating in Constantine’s victory at the Battle of Cibalae, which extended his influence over the Balkans. Yet, the final resolution of their rivalry would come only later. In 315, to mark the tenth anniversary of Constantine’s reign, the monumental Arch of Constantine was erected in Rome. It celebrated his triumph over Maxentius and symbolically affirmed his status as one of the empire’s leading rulers.

Constantine now faced a decisive confrontation with his final rival, Licinius, who ruled the eastern part of the empire. The conflict ended in 324 AD, when Constantine secured a decisive victory in battles at Adrianople, Chalcedon, and Chrysopolis (modern-day Üsküdar in Istanbul). This triumph made him the sole ruler of the Roman Empire – for the first time in several decades.

After seizing complete control of the empire, Constantine deliberately distanced himself from Rome, which he found politically and symbolically problematic. The city remained dominated by a pagan Senate, closely tied to the traditions of the old Republic. Though Constantine never converted during his lifetime, he increasingly aligned his rule with Christianity and sought a new centre of power that reflected the ideological and strategic realities of his reign.

From 324 AD, Constantine began spending more time in Asia Minor, particularly in Nicomedia, Diocletian’s former capital and a key eastern administrative hub. It was here that he established his imperial office and began preparing for the foundation of a new capital. That same year, he selected Byzantium – a historic Greek city on the Bosphorus – as the location for his new seat of power. Strategically placed between Europe and Asia, easily fortified, and with excellent maritime access, Byzantium offered both symbolic and logistical advantages. Today, Istanbul remains one of Europe’s largest cities, with a population three times that of greater Rome.

Meanwhile, in 325 AD, Constantine convened the First Ecumenical Council of the Christian Church in nearby Nicaea (modern İznik). Although unbaptised, he presided over the council and sought to enforce religious unity across the empire.

During this period, Constantine pressed ahead with the transformation of Byzantium into a grand new capital. From 326 AD, the city underwent a major reconstruction. The imperial palace was built alongside with a new forum, temples, baths, Christian basilicas, city walls, and harbours. The city was formally inaugurated on 11 May 330 AD as Nova Roma (New Rome). Yet it was almost immediately referred to as Constantinople – City of Constantine, a name that would endure for centuries. The new capital symbolised a break with Rome’s pagan past, the emergence of a Christian empire, and the rise of a centralised imperial monarchy. Constantine relocated part of the administration there, and in time, Constantinople would fully assume the role of the eastern imperial centre – later the heart of the Byzantine Empire.

After founding his new capital, Constantine continued to strengthen his rule and pursue his vision of a reformed empire. Constantinople quickly rose to prominence as the chief imperial centre – the emperor relocated the court, officials, and part of the army there, making the city not only a symbolic seat of power, but also a functional hub for managing the increasingly important eastern provinces. As Constantine resided less frequently in Rome, Constantinople emerged as its full-fledged successor.

At the same time, Christianity, though not yet the official state religion, was becoming an integral part of imperial identity. Constantine supported the Church, funding major basilicas – including the Church of the Holy Sepulchre in Jerusalem and St Peter’s Basilica in Rome – and granting the clergy privileges and property. Though unbaptised for most of his life, his policies consistently favoured Christians.

After 330 AD, Constantine focused increasingly on consolidating the changes he had introduced. He completed Diocletian’s administrative reforms, restructured the army, centralised power, and began to portray imperial authority in quasi-sacred terms. The emperor came to be seen not only as a ruler, but as a “divinely appointed” leader, protector of the Church and supreme religious authority. His ideological programme rested on uniting imperial power with Christianity, while rejecting the pagan institutions of the old order.

In the final years of his life, Constantine prepared for succession. His three sons – Constantine II, Constans, and Constantius II – were granted the title of Caesar and designated to divide the empire between them. In 337 AD, while preparing for a planned campaign against the Persians, Constantine fell ill near Nicomedia, where he received baptism. It was a symbolic yet belated act – although a lifelong supporter of the Church, he only formally became a Christian on his deathbed.

He died on 22 May 337 AD, and his body was transported to Constantinople, where he was buried in the Church of the Holy Apostles – a site he had chosen as the imperial mausoleum. The church, though rebuilt several times, survived for centuries. However, during the Fourth Crusade in 1204, when crusaders captured and plundered Constantinople, it was destroyed and looted. Constantine’s sarcophagus was broken, and his remains were likely desecrated or lost.

After Constantine’s death, his three sons assumed power, dividing the empire among themselves. Soon after, a wave of purges swept through the imperial family, resulting in the murder of many of Constantine’s relatives. Although the empire would remain formally united for decades, its spiritual and political centre had permanently shifted eastwards—to the city that would bear Constantine’s name for the next thousand years.

Constantine the Great. The Emperor Who Changed the Course of History