Zaragoza’s Roman Name Remains Untapped

Why Caesaraugusta isn't Zaragoza's tourist brand

Can a city bear its founder's name yet fail to capitalize on it? Zaragoza does. Founded as Caesaraugusta by Augustus, this link—the emperor's name embedded in the toponym—is cited as the region's most underutilized tourism asset. The trigger is an image: a large statue of Augustus inside a shopping center, whose artistic merit is debated.

It is not alone. The city's Roman heritage exists but is fragmented and lacks prominence. Some note that another Augustus statue stands near the Roman walls, a gift from Mussolini, while the original of the most famous piece is reportedly held in the Vatican Museums. In short: the capital boasts less of Rome than its name promises.

Where are Zaragoza's statues of Augustus?

The debate centers on three locations. First, the oversized statue within a commercial complex, described by some as a copy larger than life and dismissed by others as a reproduction with no heritage value. Second, the one accompanying the Roman walls, very modest—one meter high, tucked in a corner according to critics—and thus nearly invisible to visitors.

Third is the star piece never installed: the one that, in the initial proposal, should preside over a central square. The reference is the Colossus of Rhodes, with a proposed figure of a 50-meter statue dedicated to Augustus as a global tourist landmark. Today, nothing similar exists.

The second forgotten figure: Ferdinand the Catholic

The diagnosis extends to another historical figure. Ferdinand the Catholic has a statue in Plaza de San Francisco, at the start of the promenade bearing his name, and was born in Sos del Rey Católico. Nevertheless, it is argued that his role—the dynastic union of Castile, Aragon, and Navarre, partly articulated through papal bulls—does not antiestéticature strongly enough in the urban narrative given his historical weight. The largest monument to an Aragonese monarch is instead that of Alfonso the Battler in Parque Grande.

The underlying thesis is cultural: the city has bet on a devotional and folkloric imaginary, sidelining grand identity markers—Rome, the Empire, the Monarchy—that could project itself to tourists.

Is it waste or a scale problem?

The contrast is clear. Against those seeing systematic disregard for the Roman legacy, there is a technical objection: a reproduction commissioned by a shop is not a historical piece, and only copies exist of the original. On this basis, building heritage around a mall statue means constructing identity on plaster.

And here lies the knot: Caesaraugusta as a brand sounds like gold but currently remains in a parking lot showcase. Fascinating.