The Aqueduct at Amasya in Pontus

1993 ◽  
Vol 43 ◽  
pp. 143-146
Author(s):  
Oliver ◽  
Caroline Nicholson

Amasya, wrote a visitor at the turn of this century, is “the most picturesque town of all Anatolia, the Baghdad of Rûm”. Another called the city “l'Oxford de l'Anatolie”. One of its principal charms is the River Iris, the Yeşil Irmak, which runs through the town. Beautiful but not potable: “Tokat dumps in it, Amasya drinks it” is a Turkish proverb at least as old as Evliye Çelebi, who visited the town in the first half of the seventeenth century.In ancient times the city would seem to have taken its water from a source in the neighbouring hills. It was carried along an aqueduct cut, for the most part, into the face of the cliffs which form the side of the river valley south and west of the town and on the right bank of the river (Fig. 1). The castle of Amasya, on the left bank, had its own arrangements for water supply described by the geographer Strabo, a native of the city, and these should not be confused with the aqueduct on the right bank.

Author(s):  
Cheryl Colopy

I first heard of Bel Prasad Shrestha five years before I met him. An article in the Nepali Times lauded his efforts to establish a water system in the town of Dhulikhel while he was its mayor. I clipped it and set it aside. Fifteen miles from Kathmandu was a municipal utility that put Kathmandu’s to shame. I wanted to know more. Perhaps I saved Bel Prasad for last, expecting the visit to Dhulikhel to be a pleasant excursion—a hopeful encounter that would show me that the break down of urban management I saw every day in Kathmandu was not an inevitable part of development in Nepal. After all those discouraging discussions about Melamchi and about Kathmandu sewage and water supply problems, perhaps I was going to meet a Newar who had a gift for water like his ancient forebears. I went to Dhulikhel the day before May Day, 2010, when Nepal’s Maoists were planning to outdo their usual May Day celebrations with protests all over the city. They were massing their cadres in Kathmandu, ostensibly to pressure the prime minister of another party to resign. On a Friday morning I set out with my friend Ram, a Kathmandu taxi driver who was always available when I needed to venture out on a longer excursion. The shocks on his little white Maruti Suzuki were shot, as they were on most taxis in Kathmandu, but Ram was a good driver who knew all the roads and backroads. Aside from worries about being able to return to the city in the face of demonstrations and roadblocks—or perhaps the complete countrywide shutdown that the Maoists were threatening—Dhulikhel was a green and quiet escape, a fine place to wait out urban riots if any were to materialize. And I found a charming host in Bel Prasad, a unique and now elderly gentleman who had straddled the wide gulf between the rural Nepal of his childhood and the world he had seen in visits to Europe, America, and Japan.


2021 ◽  
Vol 3 (1) ◽  
Author(s):  
Barbara Ferman ◽  
Miriam Greenberg ◽  
Thao Lee ◽  
Steven C. McKay

Over the last fifty years, institutions of higher education have served as anchor institutions in cities’ broader neoliberal efforts to generate new economic sectors, attract the creative class, and build amenities that stimulate market-oriented redevelopment. These activities, combined with universities’ own neoliberal restructuring, including diminishing housing support for students and staff, have contributed to gentrification and displacement in neighborhoods surrounding universities, creating the context for interrelated struggles for the right to the city and the right to the university. Using Temple University in Philadelphia, and University of California Santa Cruz as case studies we examine how students, faculty, and other university actors are joining with organizations and movements in surrounding communities to resist restructuring and displacement. In doing so, these emerging coalitions are transcending the more divisive town/gown narrative, forging new solidarities that are reimagining more just and equitable futures for both the city and the university.


1994 ◽  
Vol 26 (1) ◽  
pp. 55-77 ◽  
Author(s):  
R. A. Houston

Political participation in eighteenth-century Scotland was the preserve of the few. A country of more than one and a half million people had less than 3,000 parliamentary electors in 1788. Scottish politics was orchestrated from Westminster by one or two powerful patrons and their northern clients—a fact summarized in book titles like The People Above and The Management of Scottish Society. The way Edinburgh danced to a London tune is well illustrated in the aftermath of the famous Porteous riots of 1736. After a government official was lynched the Westminster government leaned heavily on the city and its council. And the nation as a whole was kept under tight rein after the Jacobite rising of 1745-46.This does not mean that ordinary people could not participate in political life, broadly defined. Burgesses could influence their day-to-day lives through membership of their incorporations (guilds) and through serving as constables and in other town or “burgh” (borough) offices. Ecclesiastical posts in the presbyterian church administration—elders and deacons of kirk sessions—had also to be filled. Gordon Desbrisay estimates that approximately one in twelve eligible men would be required annually to serve on the town council and kirk session of Aberdeen in the second half of the seventeenth century. With a 60% turnover of personnel each year, distribution of office holding must have been extensive among the middling section of burgh society from which officials were drawn. For burgesses and non-burgesses alike, other avenues of expression were open. In periods when political consensus broke down or when sectional interests sought to prevail townspeople could resort to riot.


1976 ◽  
Vol 1 (3) ◽  
pp. 157-178 ◽  
Author(s):  
J. E. Varey

The town of Madrid was first chosen as the permanent seat of the Court in 1561; for a few years, from 1601 to 1606, Valladolid challenged Madrid's supremacy, but in that year Madrid was confirmed as the capital of Spain. The years from 1561 saw, as a result, a rapid growth in Madrid, an explosion of population and of size which was not to have its counterpart again until the 1870s and, more recently, the 1950s and 1960s. Inevitably, the growth of Madrid sucked into the town a great number of peasants and, by the early decades of the seventeenth century, a significant part of the population must have consisted of first- and second-generation town-dwellers, imbued, to judge from the evidence of the plays performed in the commercial theatres, with a nostalgia for the country-side, a nostalgia which was reinforced by and expressed in terms of the old literarytoposof the dispraise of life in the city (or at Court) and the praise of country life.


Ethnohistory ◽  
2018 ◽  
Vol 65 (1) ◽  
pp. 1-23 ◽  
Author(s):  
Manuel Medrano ◽  
Gary Urton

Abstract This article focuses on a linked pair of “documents” from mid-seventeenth-century coastal Peru. The analysis first examines a revisita (an administrative “revisit”) carried out in 1670 in settlements around the town of San Pedro de Corongo, in the lower Santa River Valley. The revisit describes a census of the population of what are described as six pachacas (“one-hundreds”) administrative/census units that usually coincided with ayllus (the Andean clanlike sociopolitical groups). The document identifies 132 tributaries distributed across the six ayllus, all but two of whom are identified by name. Tribute is assessed on this new census count. The information in the revisit is then compared to the organization of a group of six khipus (knotted-string recording devices) that were said to have been recovered from a burial in the Santa Valley. The six khipus are organized into a total of 133 color-coded groups of six cords. The knot values on the first cords of the six-cord groups total the same value as the tribute assessed in the revisit document, and it is argued on these grounds that the khipus and the revisit document pertain to the same administrative procedure. The attachment knots of the first cords of the six-cord groups vary in a binary fashion by attachment type (i.e., tied either “verso” or “recto”). It is argued that this construction feature divides the tributaries identified in the revisit into moieties; therefore, the khipus constitute a gloss on the social organization of the population identified in the revisit document. It is suggested that the names of the tributaries may be signed by color coding in the khipus.


Author(s):  
José Ignacio Andrés Ucendo

AbstractThis article deals with the relations between taxation and prices levels in seventeenth century Castile through an analysis of the influence of royal and municipal taxes on the retail prices of cheap wine in Madrid between 1606 and 1700. First part describes the taxes levied on cheap wine by the Castilian Crown and the town council in Madrid. Both kinds of taxes provided the Royal and the City Treasuries with the most important part of their tax revenues. Second part analyzes how the Royal and the city authorities estimated the monetary value of the taxes and excises levied on this beverage. Lastly, third part shows that the burden of the royal and municipal taxes levied on a litre of cheap wine rose during the period. If in 1606-10 both types of taxes amounted to around 30 per cent of the retail prices of a litre of cheap wine, in the last third of the century this percentage had risen to 60-65 per cent.


1946 ◽  
Vol 12 (2) ◽  
pp. 80-94 ◽  
Author(s):  
Maurice Robbins

Within the town of Norton, Massachusetts, close by the boundary between it and the city of Taunton, lies the beautiful little body of water known to this day by its Indian name of Winneconnet. This lake, fed by a system of streams from the north and west and draining southward through a complicated network of ponds, swamps, and streams into the Taunton River, seems to have been the center of a large area of Indian population in ancient times. Cultivation and other disturbances of the earth surfaces have demonstrated the existence of many sites of former Indian habitation, while numerous items in local tradition point to the fact that many Indians lived and died within the township. Hardly a garden plot that has not yielded its quota of stone implements to the collections of local “relic hunters” exists in this vicinity.


1913 ◽  
Vol 33 ◽  
pp. 50-52 ◽  
Author(s):  
C. C. Edgar

The statue reproduced on Pl. II. was found two years ago in the village of Atfih which lies about forty-five miles south of Cairo on the edge of the eastern desert. Atfih preserves the name and occupies the site of the ancient Per nebt tep aht, the city of the cow-headed goddess Hathor. The Greeks, who identified Hathor with their own Aphrodite, translated the name into Aphroditopolis. The ruins of the town are covered by the modern village, but in the adjoining desert is a large cemetery, mainly of the Ptolemaic period, which Mr. Johnson has recently excavated in search of Greek papyrus.The statue was found accidentally by a labourer digging in the village and was secured for the Cairo Museum by the local Inspector of the Antiquities Department. It is made of a block of rather soft limestone and is considerably more than life size, the height of the figure without the plinth being 2·5 m. Both forearms are missing. The right leg from knee to ankle and parts of the left leg are restored in plaster. The features are badly damaged. There are no remains of paint or gilding on the surface of the limestone.


2013 ◽  
Vol 13 (3) ◽  
pp. 646-655 ◽  
Author(s):  
Kasım Yenigün ◽  
A. Cihat Kürkçüoğlu ◽  
Mustafa S. Yazgan ◽  
Reşit Gerger ◽  
Uğur Ülgen

In this paper, water supply, distribution and storage structures in Şanlıurfa city that were built since the ancient times are investigated and technological details of some water supply structures are given. The city is one of the oldest cities and has hosted many civilizations throughout the centuries, beginning from 11500 BC. The acquired archaeological heritage shows that the city had important water supply practices. Many water structures, which can be categorized as the structures of the pre-Islamic Period (Roman Period) and post-Islamic Period (Ottoman Period), were constructed in the city. Charity structures and cisterns, Turkish baths, aqueducts and dams, water balance facilities, maksems, bridges, wells, fountains and karliks are among these structures. Roman influence is observed in the water architecture of the Ottoman Empire. The influence is best observed in the hayrats of the city, built in the pre-Islamic and post-Islamic Period. During the history of the city, the settled communities have destroyed many of the cultural structures of previous civilizations; however they have protected and developed water structure systems. This situation has meant that water structures have lasted to the present and it is interesting to note that most of these systems are still in use.


2020 ◽  
Vol 7 (1) ◽  
pp. 19-39 ◽  
Author(s):  
Luigi Patruno

During the Peronist years (1943‐55), architect Jorge Sabaté designed several exhibitions and ephemeral installations to be erected in the central streets of Buenos Aires. These interventions were aimed at transforming the face of the city, repurposing its spaces for unprecedented uses and expressing the right ‘the people’ had gained to free time, outings and leisure. In this article, I examine the architectural illustrations that Sabaté appended to the rest of his plans. The incorporation into his drawings of the social practices of metropolitan strolling is one of the ways in which the Peronist exhibitions designed by Sabaté relate to urban culture. By staging the masses in these materials, Sabaté proposes a whole new form of conviviality in public space and depicts the popular sectors aspiring to a new lifestyle made possible by the intersection of technological progress and expanded access to consumer goods.


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