An elderly Arab calls out as I wander past a cafe, where men smoke sheshasas others sip shay -tea. I don’t know this man, nor he me, but all the same I’m invited to join his street-front table, to drink tea.
His hospitality is typical of my time in Syria.
Forget the television news: the negative represents only 10% of the reality. For sure, the Syrian Government has sponsored terrorism and waged war against Israel, but things are changing and as a tourist you have nothing to fear. And while the Syrian military have dominated government since independence from the French in 1946, the current President, Hafez al-Assad, who seized control in 1970, has in recent years brought stability to this country of 17 million. Syria’s population is 86% Muslim, with a literacy rate around 70%.
Syria is a small country about half the size of New Zealand, bordered by Turkey in the north, Jordan and Iraq in the south and east, with Israel and Lebanon on the south and west. Within Syria lie four geographical regions: a narrow Mediterranean coast, mountains and farmland in the west, but most of the country is flat, stony desert. Forming part of Arabia’s fertile crescent, Syria across the centuries has seen the invading presence of many great civilizations.
The main reason for a visit to Syria is it’s wealth of historical sites. You can spend weeks seeking Hittite sites or Crusader castles along the coast, or exploring the ruins of Mesopotamian, Byzantine or Roman towns in the desert; discover the Ottoman and Arab Muslim heritage amid the mosaic of history in Damascus, whether it be one of the gems of Islamic architecture, the 8th century Omayyad Mosque, or the Mausoleum of Saladin, the Muslim conquer who defeated the Crusaders and retook Jerusalem. In the fertile Orontes Valley you find the giant, medieval waterwheels of Hama and in Syria’s second city, Allepo, you wander back in time amid one of the great markets of the Middle East.
There is so much to see and experience in Syria; it is said there are 20,000 archaeological sites in the country.
Syria’s main attraction – and one of the world’s greatest historic sights – is Palmyra: once an important city on the old Silk Road between China and the West. The ruins of Palmyra are 1800-years-old, and cover some 50 hectares: a great colonnade forms the main artery of the city, passing thru ornate monumental arches, an amphitheater and small temples to the massive Temple of Bel.
- Ampitheatre of Palmyra, looking to the columns of the main avenue
Beside the walls of Bel I watch the sunset on distant desert ridges, last rays showering an orange glint across the avenue of carved stone columns – Roman pillars stretching forever, so it seems; on the other side of the ruins stands a sprawling oasis of date palms, hence the Roman name: City of Palms. The ruins are now deserted, except for an extended Arab family, scarfed wives trailing their husbands and kids, a vendor attempting to sell them a branch of fresh dates.
Palmyra is mentioned in tablets as far back as the 19th century BC, but the ruins originate from the 2nd century AD,when Palmyra’s importance grew as a buffer state between the Roman and Persian empires. From the status as a Roman colony Palmyra gradually evolved into a kingdom, when the ruler, Odenathus, a brilliant military commander, earned the respect and trust of Rome. Palmyra prospered, until Odenathus was assassinated in 267 AD. His second wife, Zenobia, claimed the throne. This action offended Rome (who thought Zenobia was involved in her husband’s death).
Claiming to be descended from Cleopatra, Zenobia was a woman of great beauty, ability and ambition, and it was she who declared Palmyra an independent empire, her army seizing Egypt from Rome’s control. But the desert warrior queen was stopped by the mighty Roman Empire, the city besieged and Zenobia taken alive. Two versions exist of her end: one, that she lived her final days in villa in Rome; another that she fast to death rather than remain captive. Today at Palmyra illegal dealers peddle ancient coins embossed with the face of Zenobia. The legendary Zenobia remains a folk hero.
Preceding her fall, Zenobia founded the town of Halabiyyeh, north of Palmyra and alongside the Euphrates River. The long stone walls that remain today were fortifications constructed by the Roman Emperor Justinian; the Persians later seized the garrison town in 610 A.D.
Intent on visiting these ruins, I set out from the desert city of Deir-ez-Zur in a local bus, to later be dropped off in the middle of nowhere: at a lonely side road winding towards some distant ridges, in an expanse of flat gravel and sand.
After an hour of desert heat and stark silence comes the chug and rattle of a farm tractor and trailer. The driver stops, and offers me a lift. The mighty Euphrates River soon appears: swift, wide blue snaking between barren, honey-colored ridges, the nearby banks bordered by green fields and the odd mud-brick house.
- Locals encountered on the Euphrates riverbank, on route to the ruins of Halabiyyeh
Stopped at his home, Ahmed invites me to drink tea. From two flat-roofed adobe houses – plastered-mud walls the color of the surrounding desert, cracks and gaps exposing stacked stone, out run kids shouting, excited to see Dad and this stranger.
An elderly man greets me “Ahlan / Welcome”, as he unrolls carpets across the hard-earthen floor. Apart from patterned carpets and cushions, the room is bare, just white-washed walls and two glassless windows beneath a rafter ceiling. The old man keeps smiling; the children talking excitedly – until Dad tells them to sit and hush.
There are two boys and two young girls, the latter wearing tatty floral dresses, their hair brown and tangled (They are too young for chador: black cloth and veils worn when a female reaches puberty). Ahmed’s wife and eldest daughter both wear chador – without veils – when they enter the room, one carrying a tray of thumb-sized glasses, the other a teapot. We sip sugary black tea. The kids giggle, whispering to one another. Ahmed says, “They not seen foreigner before.” (He speaks a mix of basic English and French; many locals speak French: a legacy of the French Mandate over Syria, following the dismantling of the Ottoman Turk Empire after the First World War).
This Bedouin family finds my appearance and clothing strange; boots, Ahmed says, are only for the military. And earrings, well, only women wear these in Syria. But what throws them most is the realization that it takes at least a day-and-night by Jumbo jet to reach Syria. My hand-drawn map of the world is poor, however they are aware of Australia, and so I settle on being an Aussie. The kids, when Ahmed has explained to them, begin chanting: “Australyee! Australyee!”
Ahmed’s wife and daughter reappear with laden trays, and everyone washes their hands in a bowl of warm water. We then tuck into a communal meal with our right hands (for Muslim custom dictates that the left hand is for the toilet).
Young and old, male and female, Muslim and Christian, together we eat meat stew and leaven-bread. I share my bag of boiled sweets, which are happily munched by all. Following dinner and sweets and more cups of tea, Ahmed asks me to stay the night. This offer is a blessing, because it’s getting late and I’ve still not reached the ruins and am without sleeping bag and warm clothes, intending this only as a day-trip. They provide me a mattress and blankets.
And in the morning a meal of scrambled egg, goat’s cheese and flat bread with sweet tea. I get to the ruins by mid-morning and explore the empty, walled city and climb the crumbling citadel for a great view of desert and deep-blue river.
- Walls of Halabiyehh ruins
Leaving Halabiyyeh I get lucky, and hitch a ride back to the desert highway where I wave down a bus but its crammed; a seated man insists I take his seat. Yet again, kindness shown to the stranger, such was my experience of Syria.
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