ALEPPO to PALMYRA

Leaving Aleppo's Citadel, we were struck by the cleanliness and newness of the precinct. It is part of the rejuvenation of the city. Unlike Damascus, Aleppo has a dynamic mayor who is determined to modernize his city while also preserving what is valuable from the past. Some fine, modern hotels have opened up, and traffic congestion is being eased by road widening. The place has a vibrant air.

The arches on the right led into a glorious souk. We spent the best part of the afternoon and the morning of the following day wandering in wonder through a wealth such as it is difficult to describe. It was also incredibly busy. A crush of people coming and going eventually spat us out onto the streets through the original walls of the city.

A good museum, with lots of artefacts from the ancient sites, but No Photographs everywhere. Then we found our way into the old quarter, and had a great dinner in a truly wonderful restaurant. Again, we were struck by the excellence of the food, fresh ingredients, well prepared and served, and with a wide range of new and interesting flavours to restore the travellers.

The next day we were off, south to Hama and Homs then east across the desert to Palmyra. The great north-south road had its moments - probably the wildest was when there were three cars abreast (on a two-lane highway) and a motorbike appeared travelling the wrong way up the emergency lane. Then a lorry cut across the road and also headed up the emergency lane the wrong way in order to turn down a farm road. There wasn't room for the motorcycle to pass between us and the lorry, so he headed for the tiny gap between us and the car overtaking us. As he shot through the gap with millimetres to spare I counted five people on the machine - one child on the tank in front of father, mother riding pillion and feeding an infant, and a third child behind his mother, apparently standing on the exhaust. Crash helmets? There was no room!

The road from Homs to Palmyra crossed Real Desert, grey-white and dusty, and we got lost and had to read Arabic signs to find our way. Fortunately our guidebook had place names in Arabic, and after haggling whether it was that word which had the two squiggles in the middle or that one, we managed to get there. Life is not made any easier by the variety of orthography of Arabic.

In the strange desert light of the late afternoon, when the dust turns the sunlight to grey, the view from our hotel room was ‘interesting.’ Looming over the palmery was the huge Sanctuary of Baal, built over the period 0 to 120AD.

Further west, there were Roman ruins and strange towers on the hillside, which we later found out were tower graves.

Yes, that really is the sun, struggling to find its way through the dust that seemed to be everywhere! We went to bed, excited at the prospect of exploring the site the next day.

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.

FROM KRAK TO ALEPPO

We left our castles on a beautiful morning, and drove westwards to the Mediterranean coast and the town of Tartus. There we bore south towards the Lebanese border, in search of the Phoenician ruin of Amrit. There had been clear signposts in Tartus, but there the trail ended, and we had to retrace our footsteps as Lebanon came in view. We explored several side roads leading towards the coast, and finally found one which then turned northwards along the coast. It was a tiny, tarred road in a poor state of repair, and the Traveller was duly nervous. But coming over a low rise, we passed a bit of new tarmac on the right, and glancing down it, saw some notices in French. Yes, it was Amrit.

This remarkable temple, dating to before 1500BC, was set in a large pool and could only be reached by boat. Water was led into the pool through ornamental lions heads, some of which could be seen on the floor of the pool:It was extraordinary to think that this had established a tradition that has lasted for at least 3500 years. Further on, there was a stadium with seating for about 2000.The stadium was exactly the same size, to within a small part of a metre, as the standard Olympic stadium used by the Greeks nearly a millennium later. The entrance was near the far end, on the right-hand side. The Traveller stands where hundreds of athletes must have passed over the years. Leaving the stadium, on our way back to the car, we passed through fields of asphodel, which scented the air sweetly all around. Leaving Amrit, we returned to Tartus, then drove north along the coast, very Mediterranean except for great Crusader castles on crags overlooking the sea. Some 15km north of Latakia, we searched for the great site of Ugarit. After the tenth loop through a village that was supposed to be near the site, we found a previously unexplored turning. It led through lush fields on one side and a military-looking fence on the other. The fence turned out to be the latter-day fortifications of Ugarit!

The site covers about 60ha, and is only partially excavated. It was occupied as long ago as the 7th Century BC, but most of what you can see today dates from the 3rd and 2nd Centuries, when Ugarit was a centre through which copper was traded with the rest of the world. About 1800BC there emerged at Ugarit the first real alphabet, with 'letters' standing for individual sounds rather than different symbols for different words. This was the ancient entrance to the city:

A river used to flow alongside, and connect to a port about 1km away, so this was once a landing stage. Entering the city, you were struck by its huge size, evident from ruins scattered across the landscape as far as you could see, with unexcavated swathes in between which clearly awaited the archeologists attentions:One of the most impressive aspects was the reticulation of water throughout the city. The picture below is of a basin in one of the houses, with the tap missing from the spout above.Significant points in the ancient town were marked with huge urns carved from solid rock. The Traveller inspects one from the safety of her umbrella - the sun was really powerful that day.

From Ugarit we turned back through Latakia, and then headed east over the hills. Our road was narrow and winding, and huge lorries hurtled down in the opposite direction. The countryside was beautiful, lush and green, but the driver had his work cut out staying away from trouble. It was all the more frustrating that a magnificent modern highway, almost complete, swooped gaily over the hills, often just a few metres away. Dust from the construction added to the hazards of the drive.

On the far side we dropped down into the valley of the Asi river, which was the Orontes of classical times, flowing down from Antioch. We passed a huge nuclear reactor, which I recognised as being of Russian design, and which drew its cooling water from the river. Onwards over rolling hills through Idlib, and finally we joined the marvellous highway that runs north to south through Syria, linking its main towns. Towards sunset we reached Aleppo. Would we find our hotel in the dusk? We did.

KRAK DES CHEVALIERS

First thing, our car was delivered - a very battered Renault, with 190 000km on the clock, barely a drop of petrol, but it was the best Hertz could do! We spent 10 minutes documenting all the dents and dints, and checking that the thing actually started, with the renter saying "Careful, it hasn't got much fuel!"

Leaving Damascus was stressful, not because of the traffic (which was bad) but because we had to travel about 20km before we came to the first filling station. All my experience as a rally driver came into play. Economy runs had nothing on this!

Then we were on our way, along a broad double carriageway over rolling hills. The further we got from Damascus, the drier it seemed to get, yet the denser the newly planted trees. This was a surprise. Acacia and eucalyptus were prominent. For several hundred metres either side of the road, there were young trees, perhaps 2m high at the most, planted about every 5m. But as we came closer to Homs, about 100km north of Damascus, the countryside grew greener.

The ring road round Homs carried us westwards, away from what was clearly a thriving industrial city. After about 40km, we spied a castle on a hill to the north.

Now this was clearly a castle of distinction. Krak des Chevaliers, one of the greatest of the crusader castles in the Middle East. A road wound up the hill, through pleasant villages, until we came to the entrance, behind the highest tower in the picture above.

The entry to the castle led up a steep ramp, with broad steps showing the wear caused by hundreds of horses. One of the first rooms we came to was the stables, with room for at least 100 horses. Beyond the stables, there was a huge reservoir sufficient to keep 3 000 men alive through a siege of several years, even if no rain fell.

Water was reticulated throughout the castle. The picture below is of one of the wash basins. I am still puzzled by the second tap-hole. The Traveller was quite certain they had running hot water!A Gothic walkway ran along one side of an inner courtyard:

Doorways on the left led to the kitchens, and next to the rose window at the end was the entrance to the dining room. The kitchen had one of the largest pizza ovens I have ever seen - the chimney at the back was 1.8m high. The roof of the oven has collapsed, but the oven would have cooked enough meat for 3000 diners.

The dining room was, naturally, spacious!

Then we came to a strange structure with four alcoves next to each other, and looking into the alcoves, found they had no floor - just a view down the walls to a defensive moat far below. We asked a guide - "Latrines" he said laconically.

There was even a church, with a truly wonderful stone pulpit:I just had to climb up it - "Hear me! Noble knights!" - and it echoed and resonanted as a good church should.

We had a late lunch in a charming cafe built on the ramparts, and then set forth in search of our hotel. It was supposed to be quite near the castle, but round and round we went, and kept on getting directions to carry on, and after about 15km found it. And it was worthwhile. A modern castle, conceived by an ex monk from a nearby monastery, with one of the most comfortable rooms we found, and a view of two castles from the front window:

The turrets in the foreground belong to the changerooms for the swimming pool!

DAMASCUS RAMBLES

Some of the morning was spent hunting for the Historical Museum. Reputed to be off a side street, we combed the side streets in the approximate location, and were directed back to the main street, where it finally appeared. Across an unpreposessing courtyard, through an even less encouraging doorway, but then it all became worthwhile.

Once the house of an ‘Azem who had been prime minister of Syria, it was now kept as an example of how life had once been lived.

This was one of the reception areas. There was marvellous tiling on the floor and walls - it was almost an embarrassment of decoration. Even the ceilings were rich with adornment.

The light was a riot of beadwork, and slight drafts made it move, which was both slightly hypnotic and slightly cooling.

Almost every room had a tinkling fountain, and this beautiful water maze made me realize that my own living room lacked a certain something!Even the iwan opening off the central courtyard was spectacularly tiled, and the cool pool in the centre of the courtyard ensured that, as the sun set, the air would be cooled and welcoming.

From the Historical Museum it was a short walk to the National Museum. Sadly, photography was NOT ALLOWED. Not only was one reminded of this fact at every turn, but guards, often carrying surprisingly heavy arms, were at pains to remind you. This was a pity, because the collection is spectacular and very well displayed. Syria has many sites through while the development of civilization can be traced, going back to the earliest signs of agriculture, and I would have liked to have acquired some images for use in lectures. We tried fruitlessly to buy some postcards, but all the really interesting ones were sold out. We did finally find our way into a display of yet another 'Azem palace, moved here to preserve it. A local joined us, and had no objection to our taking just one picture!

We had now been museuming for nearly seven hours, and were fully sated. We tottered back through the crowded streets, to a delicious dinner at our hotel, and a fight over whether to turn on the air-conditioner - it was very noisy - or to open the windows and get a breath of fresh air - the night was filled with the sound of hooting. Damascus is rather like Paris used to be, where every vehicle announces its movement by blowing its horn. Eventually the air-conditioner won!

SOUKS AND MOSQUES

A lazy start to the day, with minor chores that took much of the morning, and then we were off exploring Damascus again. We passed through the Souk to reach the great Umayyad mosque about lunchtime. The Traveller was required to rent a monkish habit, all enveloping with a grey hood, and we had to leave our shoes at the front entrance, but we were welcomed everywhere.
This is a view across the courtyard in front of the mosque. If it looks a bit like a cathedral, that’s because it was. First, it was the site of an Aramean Temple of Hadad, 9th century BC. Then about the 1st century BC it became the Roman Temple of Jupiter. In the 4th century AD it was converted into a cathedral. And having been a cathedral for 400 years, it was sold to the Muslims in the 8th century AD. 2 800 years of the worship of four different deities. Richard Dawkins, your people have need of you!The northern basilica, clearly Christian in origin, is decorated by marvellous mosaics with visions of heaven. In the courtyard, a wonderful fountain allows the worshippers to wash before entering the mosque. The Koran teaches that one should only wash in, or drink from, running water, which helps to explain the prevalence of fountains, and also, perhaps, the absence of bath plugs! (We later searched the Souk, and finally found a street devoted to plumbing works, and in a back room, after a long search, the owner found a plug that we carried off with happiness).Within the mosque, there is a shrine to John the Baptist, sacred to Islam as well as to the followers of Christ. He is reputed to be buried within, one of three such tombs in the Middle East. When we entered the mosque, we were welcomed by someone who seemed to be just an ordinary worshipper. He insisted I follow him, and that The Traveller go through the women's section with a female guide whom he found, so that he could show us the sacred shrine. I wondered what might happen if a couple of Muslims strolled into a cathedral at the height of the Christmas season (it was Ramadaan in Damascus).Back in the entrance courtyard, we admired the extraordinary mosaic work on the walls of the Treasury, a strange structure on six legs with no visible means of entrance. Nearby, above the colonnaded walkway, there was a huge mosaic with a paradise of palaces by the side of a flowing river, shaded by tall trees, dating from the 9th century AD.The walkway led on round the courtyard, offering some escape from the burning heat, and back into the Souk. One of the many alleyways we explored was devoted to fabrics. Normally they would have bored me, but these were definitely different. The hand-embroidered beadwork turned the display into an art gallery!In the southern end of the Souk was the Street Called Straight, famous since biblical times but very boring(!). Off to one side was another narrow entrance, inside of which was the Khan As’ad Pasha, now housing a museum celebrating the spread of Islam in South America. Then exploration was over for the day, and we tottered back to our hotel and coolth. The streets were full of vendors, and we stopped and bought a kilo of nuts, mainly pistachios, to keep us going till dinner. The nuts were fresh and crisp, and very cheap by any normal standard.

DAMASCUS HERE WE COME!

It was an early arising in Amman to make certain we caught the Damascus bus. Fortunately the bus station was not far from our hotel, and soon we were bowling along a broad, double-carriageway highway linking Jordan and Syria.

Crossing into Syria was ‘interesting.’ First, there was the sheer familiarity of it all - it was just like entering the old USSR, with suspicious looking military characters at every turn, huge pictures of local heroes everywhere, and a sense of decay. Abandoned cars stood around, thick with dust - but under the dust you could see recent model Mercedes, Porsches, Ferraris. I never did find out what they were doing there. Then there was a two hour delay while the immigration authorities sorted out a Palestinian girl whose papers didn’t seem quite in order. Finally we were off and rolling towards Damascus. Lush green fields, all irrigated, and lorries laden with fresh produce heading for town.

Arriving in Damascus was a shock. Perhaps it was the bus station, a sort of used car lot in the south of the town. The street was lined with grimy, single storey buildings, many with a load of scrap iron and old tyres on their roofs, and a sense of deep decay everywhere. The taxi to our hotel was old and battered, and the traffic was horrendous. Particularly ‘impressive’ were the 150cc motor bikes of Indian or Chinese manufacture, which seemed to be the wheels of choice for most of the population. They were driven with absolute abandon. The drivers were often seen chatting via mobile phones as they swerved in and out of the traffic, hooting incessantly. One or more passengers seemed obligatory. Crash helmets were conspicuously absent.

We went for a walk after settling in to our hotel. I got lost - my map was 90 degrees out of kilter. Some kindly souls from the Department of Tourism put us straight, and we found our way to Damascus’ pride, the Souk or covered market. The holes in the roof were bullet holes - from the 1927 revolution against the French, we were proudly told!

There were tiny open shops with an amazing range of goods. Whole streets were devoted to gold and silver. Narrow alleyways led in every direction, and often opened out into courtyards or even mosques.
A typical shop sold herbs, spices, turtle shells, medicines, crocodiles, snakeskins, and sticky sweets. The women generally wore headscarves and all-covering robes (remember, it was hot when this picture was taken!) But the Syrians were quite relaxed about the Traveller’s flowing locks.


Down one little alley we came across a doorway where the guardian invited us in. Nervously we followed him, and found ourselves in the gracious courtyard of the ‘Azem Palace.
After the bustle of the Souk, it was a haven of peace and tranquillity. Cool archways held divans on which you could sprawl and listen to the tinkling of water in the fountains. The iwan, or formal reception area, was beautifully decorated, complete with its own fountain set into the marbled floor:
We wandered through the gardens and in and out of the buildings, until the guardian warned us of closing time. Sadly, we left the fountains and returned to the press of the Souk and Damascus' streets.