Via Appia Antica still carries its Roman paving, and no other Roman road can be walked for hours on its original stones. Walk south and the city thins out behind you. Past the tomb of Cecilia Metella the modern surface ends and the black blocks take over, curved higher in the middle and uneven underfoot. Stone pines stand over the boundary walls, and brick tomb cores, cypresses and long green fields follow for miles. The road has never stopped being a public road: on ordinary days cars use the inner stretch, and there is no pavement to step onto.
The censor Appius Claudius Caecus began it in 312 BC to move armies south, and it was later pushed on to Brindisi at the heel of Italy. Roman law forbade burial inside the city, so families bought ground along the first miles and raised tombs where every traveller would read the name. The poet Statius called it the queen of roads. Then the country around Rome emptied, because malaria made it unlivable for centuries, and the tombs were left standing in bare fields. That is why so many of them survive.