A diamond in the desert
Trip Start
Feb 22, 2007
1
20
38
Trip End
Jul 19, 2008
Palmyra,
Syria
Saturday, April 21, 2007
Dating back to AD217, and torched in 271 following the defeat by Rome of its ambitious ruler Zenobia, then finally destroyed by an earthquake in 1089, this ancient Roman city still stood with effortless majesty in the heart of the desert. To one side of it lay the infinite flatness of the stone desert, while to the other lay in the semi-distance an oasis of green palm trees, and behind them the brooding heights of lifeless brown mountains that stretched to the horizon. Atop the nearest mountain stood the Arab Castle, quietly watching over the ancient desert city
a. Palmyra 1
. Arriving at the ruins, the first thing I noticed was their sheer scale. The endless columns and arches seemed to stretch out in every direction as far as my eager gaze would reach. It was difficult to know where to begin, so we picked a random direction and set about our exploration. The stone from which this city was built was tinted a rose-gold, but a lifetime shared with the asperities of the desert produced a marriage of colours, as if the city were born of the desert itself.
Much of the ruins were a series of colossal columns and arches that would once have formed magnificent colonnades. Amid them stood a number of more complete structures, most notably the city's theatre and the Temple of Bel. The former, extensively restored I think, was very elegant. A semi-circle of seating looked on to the stage below, and behind it, upon a raised platform, stood a wall of columns whose central doorway was its attractive focal point. The Temple of Bel was immense both in size and vision. It was not difficult to imagine this as the grand centrepiece of this once great city, standing tall at the eastern reaches and looking out on to the Great Colonnade. Inside, the immense walls and columns were tempered by a series of intricate symbols and pictures carved into them, which leant them subtlety and finesse
a. Palmyra 2
. We made our way across to the western reaches of the city where, at the top of the nearest hill, stood the 'Qala'at ibn Maan' (known as the Arab Castle). We scaled the slippery gravel half-trail of its precipice by (hand and) foot - most folk choose to get a bus to the top via the road - until, out of breath and sweating profusely, we reached the castle. There, as if like a mirage in a baking desert, we came across two poshly-dressed waiters standing over a table full of champagne, wine, soft drinks and nibbles. Upon asking if we could buy a drink from them, they informed us it was for a soon-to-be-arriving-by-bus tour group from the local upmarket hotel. This came as a crushing blow, as our thirsts were rabid following our exertions. The fact that the lazy tour group were arriving by bus seemed to add insult to injury from our point of view. Seeing our desperation, however, they gave us a much-needed glass of water each, and with that we headed on in to the castle.
The castle itself was a bit of a disappointment, as it had clearly been almost entirely rebuilt; and, though effort had clearly been made to keep to the original look, it lacked charm and authenticity. The views from the top of the castle, however, were worth the trip up there. One could look out in every direction, from the deserts flats to the oasis greens and on to the bare mountains; and before it all, the wonder of Palmyra
a. Palmyra 3
. We sat perched on the castle's ledge, gazing down upon the ruins, waiting for the setting sun to play magic with the sky. From up high, it was easier to gauge the scale of the ruins, and to gain one's bearings as to the relative positions of its various structures. As I sat there I tried to conjure in my mind an image of this dead city in its vibrant heyday: it did not take much imagining. As the sun slowly dipped it painted the ruins in different shades, first yellow, then a lazy orange, then finally a soft pink. Alas, actual sunset was stolen from us by a blanket of low-lying cloud that swallowed ungratefully the sun.
With a sense of anti-climax we headed back down to the castle entrance where, feeling suddenly bold, Julian asked the waiters for a glass of wine. They looked tentatively over to the immaculately-suited boss-man who seemed to be too busy schmoozing with his guests to return their gaze. So, with a cheeky smile, the waiter poured us both a very passable glass of Lebanese red. It's certainly one of the more memorable locations where I've drunk wine!
Having been robbed of sunset, I decided I would get up early and climb to the castle once again for sunrise
a. Palmyra 4
. Julian snored like a trooper that night and so, when the 5am alarm woke me, I'd only been asleep for about an hour or so. Unperturbed, however, I got up and headed out into the chilled darkness of the pre-dawn, leaving Julian and his sinuses to themselves. Outside was perfectly peaceful and I strolled contentedly in the hushed blue of the early morning sky, the lambent flicker of the fading stars guiding my path past the ruins and up the gravely precipice to the castle once more. Before long the stars had vanished, and the sky became violet with the arrival of dawn. I stopped short of the castle, as I felt I was high enough already and the sun was threatening to rise. As I sat in anticipation on a rock the sun finally appeared, its brilliant, glowing shape distorted by the horizon, making it seem impossibly large. As it rose, its true size and shape took form and it threw the sky into a brilliance of pink-orange light.
Looking down upon the ruins I saw that they were totally devoid of tourists at such an early hour - if I had one complaint of this wonderful place, it would be the hordes of annoying tourists, and the even more annoying faux-bedouin who try to sell camel tours to you. So, I headed back down to the ruins for another look around, keen to have it to myself before the tour buses started to arrive. It seemed even more impressive second time around, the morning sun painting it a kinder tone than the cloudy afternoon sky of yesterday's arrival.
And that brought an end to my little three day jaunt to the Tigris, the Euphrates and Palmyra. The pictures that will eventually accompany this entry will never do justice to the ruins, partly because it is just too vast to capture in one perfect shot, and partly because I'm a rubbish photographer. So, doing my bit for Syrian tourism, I implore each of you to come and visit it for yourselves.
Comments
Excellent
Good entry. Like the photos a lot, especially 23, 27-30. I felt the same when I went to Egypt. I appreciate that they have to make their money from tourism, but there were so many of the bastards! Plus the folks trying to grab hold of you to sell you 'genuine' bits of egyptian architecture and alabaster things. You describe things in a very adept way. Top marks fella.