Layering

When walking around the old town of Antibes, it is important to remember the archaeological principle of layering. Over time, the level on which we walk has benefited from layer after layer of deposits, whether rubbish or paving or tarmac. Thus, the Chapelle du Saint Esprit, where the conseil municipal meet, has a doorway where the sill actually represents the lintel of the original structure. The past lies somewhere beneath our feet, measured in depth as well as age.

One of the structures which marked the old town was the result of a perennial concern over water supply. The Greeks, coming from a parched part of the world, knew all about cisterns and rainwater collection. A safe bet, considering the deluges of the autumn and spring here.

Next to the cathedral, in the heart of the old acropolis, I was walking across the newly laid cobble-stones. A manhole was open, with electricians trying to draw cable, accompanied by grunts of effort, through an underground passageway. Having read the account of archaeological digs by Clergues in the 1960s, I knew that there was a Greek cistern or reservoir near there. Looking down the manhole, there it was, a good eight metres deep, still in working order, with regulation gravel over the waterproofing, though not, for the moment, used by the water authorities. The octagonal pillar supporting the roof could have been made yesterday. It has survived its makers by well over two millennia.