THE BARON - ALEPPO

The hotel we floated into in Aleppo was frozen in time, staggering on under the same family who had established it in the 1920's. It had a warm, cosy feeling like grandmother's fireside. The bar so arrowed was eqully frozen in time:

At sundown an extraordinary collection of colonial chaps arrived, and enjoyed a quiet peg or two, reclining in the comfortable armchairs. If it got too hot, there was always a breath of fresh air on the verandah:Even the dining facilities were delightfully ancient:Bentwood chairs, linen tablecloths, wrinkled retainers hiding behind a screen, waiting anxiously for the next imperious summons. And behind the Traveller, a large white machine. Is it an automated rat catcher? No, THAT is one of the original air conditioners, still functional, still noisy! The kitchen was dysfunctional, but there were enough take-away cafes in the nearby streets to make good the lack. Even coffee was brought in.

The entrance hall, with its chequerboard floor, and the gracious flight of steps led up to the bedrooms. History was redolent even there - Lawrence of Arabia graced our bedroom walls, a gift from a British Military Attache:When our hotel had yielded all we could desire, we staggered out into the heat. Our first call was the Museum of Popular Arts. "From the street it looks like nothing at all," said the Guidebook, "But once you cross the threshold, you enter a different world." Indeed it was:A shady iwan managed to appear cool even as the heat built up. But for real coolth, one headed underground, where there was access to the deep well from which the house used to draw all its water: Back in the lanes, we hailed a cab and headed for the Citadel. The entrance was truly huge:

The bridge carried a long flight of steps, at the top of which was a large portal:

Yes, those are people standing in the entrance, and you can see a band of Kufic writing running round the walls. The Citadel was built in the 12th Century by the Ayyubid Al-Zaher Ghazi, who was Saladin’s son. Sadly, much of the rest of the Citadel is rather over-restored, and after the glory of Krak, a bit of a disappointment. There is, however, one very special treasure:Within the Citadel is the mausoleum of St George. "It is singular that the Moslem Arabs share this veneration for St. George, and send their mad people to be cured by him. But they commonly call him Al Khidr—The Green" No dragons here, and no red crosses, but the same man, just a different set of followers. Sometimes one must just suspend belief.