Do not ask for mineral water

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Every object tells a story, whether we find it on the street or it appears while we are emptying the apartment of a loved one. But what would happen if, suddenly, we had access to hundreds of thousands of objects ranging from the present day to prehistory?

This is precisely what has happened in Amsterdam: the construction of the North-South metro line has allowed several entire sections of the Amstel river to be dried and half a million discarded items, preserved by the mud, to be unearthed from the canals. For 10 years, a team of archaeologists has been in charge of unearthing and cataloging 19,000 of these objects, and now they have presented the findings on Below the Surface, a spectacular website, and also in an exhibition at the Rokin metro station.

From that unspoiled riverbed emerged thousands of surprises, largely waste, but also objects that accidentally fell into the water. As the metro required digging to great depths, they reached the Pleistocene level (10,000 years ago) and, above that, archaeologists found everything from mobile phones (but no smartphones, as the works began in 2005) to cameras, cassette tapes, and identity cards. But also toys from the twenties, cologne bottles from the 19th century, Victorian shoes, daggers, and remains of medieval armor. Among the findings are 195 keys and 110 padlocks, 13,418 water bottles and 7,354 wine bottles, 713 spoons and 1,394 table knives, and also 154 watches, 908 buttons, 267 belts, a dozen glasses, and two dentures. They have also cataloged 256 bullets from all eras and three from pistols (one of them a toy). And coins, 2,947, from Roman sesterces to the current euro.

Journalist Sophie Haigney has analyzed, in an article in The New York Times, the life of some of these objects. Perhaps the most curious of all is the tube of Luxadont toothpaste, which was produced in the 1930s. This discovery even mobilized the Dutch army, which took the toothpaste tube for dozens of tests, as it was a radioactive toothpaste.

It seems that, during the 1930s, radioactivity had an aura of unbeatable modernity and was used as a hook to attract buyers, in the same way that now everything has to be "green," that we praise organic vegetables (as if they weren't all organic) and glorify bifidus and probiotics as if there were no tomorrow. This toothpaste actually had a small amount of thorium in its composition, and the manufacturers claimed that, with a little radioactivity, teeth would be healthier and whiter. It's not surprising, this was the same era when parties were organized on the rooftops of Las Vegas hotels to watch nuclear tests live.

Diving into La Vanguardia's archive, one of our bibles when it comes to cultural history, I see that in Catalonia we also fell for the trend of radioactive products. Not only with the "radioactive dental cream" Doromad, one of these miraculous toothpastes, which "cleans, whitens, and preserves teeth" (sic), but also with the "radioactive sulfurous thermal cure" offered by the La Puda de Montserrat spa in 1928, which served to treat all kinds of herpes, skin diseases, arthritis, or rheumatism. And of course, radioactive waters were not only good for bathing, they were also good for consumption. From 1925 to 1945 we find advertisements proclaiming "Don't ask for mineral water, ask for Amer Palatin," a table water "digestive, radioactive, and diuretic" that they recommended using daily, especially for preparing herbal teas.

Featured images Illustrations created by different users of some of the objects found at the bottom of the Amstel River. You can make your own here