Architectural Geology of Segovia, Spain, Part 1: The Segovia Aqueduct (ca. early 2nd Century AD)
This oblique view was taken on the Aqueduct's western side, in the Plaza de Azoguejo, looking southeast.
There was a time in my life when I lived and traveled on landscapes replete with ancient Roman works. But nothing ever quite produced the visceral impact on me that the Segovia Aqueduct did.
From a practical standpoint, it was just built to be the most reliable means of supplying water to one of the empire's smaller and most far-flung outposts. And yet it's one of the Mediteranean world's most staggering demonstrations of civil engineering.
And, in terms of the shudder of astonishment it provides anyone still capable of wonder, it's a masterpiece of artistic design as well. The American poet Walt Whitman wrote, "All architecture is what you do to it when you look upon it." What I do to this miraculous bridge of stone is thank it for giving me a flush of pride in what our own murderous hominid species can actually do in a positive sense.
Of course most of the visual punch the Aqueduct delivers is due to its masonry. Giant ashlar blocks of Guadarrama Granite stand there, and have stood there for nineteen centuries, without any mortar holding them together.
The igneous intrusive rock on display here takes its name from the mountain range (Sierra de Quadarrama) that flanks Segovia to its east. The granite dates to the very late Carboniferous period (ca. 300 Ma), and comes from a mass of magma that was emplaced in the upper crust during the Variscan (Hercynian) Orogeny and the assembly of the supercontinent Pangaea.
I'll discuss the local bedrock geology and how the Roman engineers dealt with in photos to follow. But one last thing to note here: if you look closely, you'll see that many ashlar units have small but discernable circular holes in them. These indentations were where the massive blocks were held in pincerlike grips while they were hoisted into position by cranes. That's pretty fancy technology for a culture that had no electrical or steam power—just human and animal muscle aided by the clever use of rudimentary force-multiplying machines.
Oh. I lied. There's one more talking point, too. See the Seventies-era cars parked right along the foot of the Aqueduct's piers? That practice is no longer allowed—to preserve the structure from unnecessary traffic vibrations and from the direct effects of automotive exhaust.
To see the other photos and descriptions in this series, visit my Architectural Geology of Segovia album.
Architectural Geology of Segovia, Spain, Part 1: The Segovia Aqueduct (ca. early 2nd Century AD)
This oblique view was taken on the Aqueduct's western side, in the Plaza de Azoguejo, looking southeast.
There was a time in my life when I lived and traveled on landscapes replete with ancient Roman works. But nothing ever quite produced the visceral impact on me that the Segovia Aqueduct did.
From a practical standpoint, it was just built to be the most reliable means of supplying water to one of the empire's smaller and most far-flung outposts. And yet it's one of the Mediteranean world's most staggering demonstrations of civil engineering.
And, in terms of the shudder of astonishment it provides anyone still capable of wonder, it's a masterpiece of artistic design as well. The American poet Walt Whitman wrote, "All architecture is what you do to it when you look upon it." What I do to this miraculous bridge of stone is thank it for giving me a flush of pride in what our own murderous hominid species can actually do in a positive sense.
Of course most of the visual punch the Aqueduct delivers is due to its masonry. Giant ashlar blocks of Guadarrama Granite stand there, and have stood there for nineteen centuries, without any mortar holding them together.
The igneous intrusive rock on display here takes its name from the mountain range (Sierra de Quadarrama) that flanks Segovia to its east. The granite dates to the very late Carboniferous period (ca. 300 Ma), and comes from a mass of magma that was emplaced in the upper crust during the Variscan (Hercynian) Orogeny and the assembly of the supercontinent Pangaea.
I'll discuss the local bedrock geology and how the Roman engineers dealt with in photos to follow. But one last thing to note here: if you look closely, you'll see that many ashlar units have small but discernable circular holes in them. These indentations were where the massive blocks were held in pincerlike grips while they were hoisted into position by cranes. That's pretty fancy technology for a culture that had no electrical or steam power—just human and animal muscle aided by the clever use of rudimentary force-multiplying machines.
Oh. I lied. There's one more talking point, too. See the Seventies-era cars parked right along the foot of the Aqueduct's piers? That practice is no longer allowed—to preserve the structure from unnecessary traffic vibrations and from the direct effects of automotive exhaust.
To see the other photos and descriptions in this series, visit my Architectural Geology of Segovia album.