I wanted to find some shade. The fall sunshine shone as brightly as light refracted through a magnifying glass. The bus we’d just exited pulled away from the bus stop. Hot-smelling fumes coming from the vehicle’s exhaust pipe made me turn away from it and cough. My daughter Tammie said, “The map said it’s just a ten-minute walk from here.”

Ten minutes later, there seemed to be no end to the street ahead of us. I complained, “When maps say things like, ‘It’s an easy walk,’ they aren’t talking about people with a walking disability. We walk too slowly and frequently stop to rest for that estimate to be correct.”

Tammie ignored my rant and stated, “It isn’t much further. We’re looking for a gate.” She was right; at the street’s end was a gate to a park. Walking through the gate, I glanced around at the trees, lawns, and paths before questioning, “I thought you said we were visiting Nero’s palace today.”

My daughter confirmed, “We are. It’s his Domus Aurea, which means golden house. The subsequent emperors and his subjects hated Nero so much that after he killed himself, they stripped the house of valuables and buried the building.”

To my surprise, we had to descend several flights of stairs to reach the huge, excavated dwelling. I murmured to Tammie, “The people must have really, really hated Nero! Burying a place this big, even with modern-day backhoes and scoop shovels, would be a huge job. Back in the first century AD, all they had were buckets and baskets! What did he do to be so despised?”

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