Syria - Damascus Fethiye, Turkey August4, 2002 At Latakia in Syria there seemed to be several more misunderstandings about arrangements and costs, rearranging the dinner from Latakia Yacht Club to a lovely Damascus night club instead. It worked out well. But, I get ahead of myself. The first day in Latakia was to do our paperwork and have showers in the morning, with an afternoon trip to the ancient ruins of Ugarit as mentioned in my write-up sent in the last log. It was fascinating to see ruins dating back to the dawn of civilization. Ugarit, also known as Ras Shamra, was one of the first known agricultural villages in the Modern Stone Age, dating back to 6500 BC, and reaching its high point in education, administration, law and religion from 1600 to 1300 BC. It disappeared after 1200 BC, not to be rediscovered until the 20th century. The ancient pagan god Ba’al was worshipped; a stone anchor from that era is still located near the remains of a temple as an offering to this multifaceted god who was also the god of the sea, possibly the precursor of Poseidon or Triton. Another interesting part of the excavations included the remains of some private houses with their own rock tomb crypts beneath the foundations. A cross section of the “tell” or hill was left exposed to identify the different strata excavated from the most recent level from 1600 to 1200 BC, the Modern Bronze Age, down to the fifth level from 7500 to 6000 BC, the Modern Stone Age. Ugarit is just north of Latakia, near the coast, which exposed it to the piratical raids of the ancient “Sea People”, as well as its vulnerability to the destructive forces of earthquakes, resulting in its 3000 year disappearance until in 1928 the plough blade of a local farmer hit a big old stone. It was still early afternoon by the time we finished this site, and made our way inland to a mountain pass in the northern Syrian mountain range to Salah al-Din Citadel, better known as Saladin’s Castle. This is an impressive fortress perched on a rocky spur between two valleys, isolated from the plateau by a 75 to 100 metre deep sheer stone channel cut right through the connecting neck of land. This dry moat effectively made this one of the most impregnable Crusader fortresses, although its history predated the Crusader era. The buses which let us off in this dry moat were dwarfed by the sheer rock walls, with the base of the fortress defiantly looming above. There was a tall needlelike barren pillar of rock over 75 metres high, left in the middle of the moat, across which once ran a drawbridge, not reconstructed yet, at one time the only access to the castle. The citadel was subsequently taken over by Saladin, the Muslim leader who captured and held Jerusalem against the Crusaders until his death in 1192. The castle itself is an immense structure that has undergone many transformations throughout history, including Byzantine, Crusader, Muslim, and Ottoman eras. The walls, ramparts, palaces, armories, stables, cisterns and water supply systems echoed with the mystique of those bygone dynasties as its panoramic view dominated the countryside. As we’d paid for a tour that included lunch, we had a very late lunch after this stop, with a lovely view of the castle across the valley. Since this lovely “lunch” was not until 1530, we didn’t mind that there was no rally dinner that night on our return to Latakia. It was nice to have a quiet evening alongside. Next day began our two day trip to Damascus and Palmyra (cost $150 each, including tour, guides, meals and overnight accommodations in Damascus). En route to Damascus we went down the coast road between the mountains and the sea towards Lebanon, then turned inland up the long broad valley/pass separating the Syrian and Lebanese mountains, a well traveled trade route throughout the centuries. Of course another mountain fortress had to dominate this crucial pass -- Krak des Chevaliers. The word Krak means castle or fortress. This is an extremely well preserved and restored castle, thanks to the reconstruction done by the French during their League of Nations mandate over Syria after WW I. This castle during the Crusades was under the control of the Knights Templar, primarily French in their composition. The French wanted to restore the castle for the grandeur of France, and did so thoroughly. Outside the castle is a small Arab town with rather new buildings, built by the French for the hundreds of locals whose ancestors had lived inside the remains of the fortress for hundreds of years. With them resettled the French then undertook a grand restoration program, which still continues today under the Syrian government. (Italy did something similar in Rhodes, when Mussolini restored the Grand Master’s palace and ancient Roman sites, for the glorification of Rome.) The castle sits on a rocky promontory, its walls and fortifications brooding over the valleys beside it and the plains below, dominating the skyline from afar. The stables are immense long earth trodden man-made caverns, with air holes in the barrel vaulted roof providing ventilation. The stables were important (as suggested by the name Chevaliers) as the purpose of such castles was not only to dominate the countryside, but to sever or control any trade or supply lines trying to use the pass from the hinterlands of Arabia, Iran or Iraq to the Mediterranean coast. Mobility to attack such lines was an important instrument of this policy. The palace, chapel, ramparts and courtyards were in solid condition allowing a fascinating wander through the warrens of the fortress within the walls, and through the wide passageways, ramps and stairs. No furniture, tapestries, weapons or stained glass were in evidence, although in one section we saw flamboyant costumes for a film being made on site. The ornate arches, rose windows, and broad staircases testified to the level of grandeur that the knights once established in this historical setting. The narrow passageways within the walls meandered maze-like, but with some overlying plan to facilitate the defenders’ mobility to rally to any section under attack. We had free roam of the entire complex, although some areas were still undergoing restoration. It is a most impressive fortification! On towards Damascus, we observed the dry scrub foliage of the mountain passes give way to the bleak flat dry dusty desert. This ancient city is a bustling, confusing, crowded, noisy Arab metropolis of over two million people. Arriving in late afternoon, we went to our hotel, and settled in to a nice comfortable room with all the amenities. After unpacking we took the tour bus into the old centre of the city to walk through the crowded ancient bazaar with the souks selling every kind of ware. We stayed on the broad main mall heading for the Omayyad Mosque the far side of the market area. To enter the mosque women had to be suitably covered; there was a chamber outside where women with shorts or short sleeved tops were given monks’ hooded robes. Even the men, including me, who were in shorts were required to wear black skirts to hide our legs. We also had to take off our shoes, but were advised to carry these with us as they might disappear before we returned to the entrance. The mosque is an immense walled structure dating back to the 8th century, with a large open marble tiled plaza on one side, three minarets, and a dome. At one time there was a Byzantine church on the site, and the mosque houses the Tomb of St. John the Baptist. In the adjacent Omayad Mosque Museum there are relics from the Roman Temple of Jupiter the Damascene, and the tomb of Saladin. The cavernous mosque floor was covered with a multitude of colourful woven carpets, with groups of people praying or seeking the sage advice of blind holy men. Some people were sleeping, others just “hanging out” with their families in this holy place. To western eyes unused to a mosque, it is rather barren, as there are no aisles, pews, chairs, statuary, paintings, or ornate stained glass windows of holy scenes to adorn the edifice. Instead, following the Moslem tradition, there are no representations of human figures, but instead the elaborate architecture embraces nonrepresentational décor, with coloured glass in the curlicues of intricate eastern masonry, arches, columns, and Arabic calligraphy of verses from the Koran. The high flat ceilings are illuminated with a variety of ornate hanging chandeliers. We returned our borrowed sack cloths, put on our shoes, and went back out into the “hurly burly” of the bazaar beneath the ancient Roman arches across the street. The sellers were friendly, and not as pushy as those we encountered in Tunisia. I wish I had taken a picture of one of the tea servers dressed in black pantaloons, wearing a fez, white blouse, a vest of intricate but gaudy colours, a clashing sash around the waist, and tasseled slippers with turned up toes. On his back was strapped a large copper and silver samovar with a long slender curved spout on top. To serve he would take out a cup and bow, thus pouring the hot sweet tea for you. The women were dressed far more conservatively than we had seen in Turkey, and many wore the black chador sack with full face covering. However, I noticed there were actually some styles to these garments and women could be seen wearing a silky blue chador with more ornate head dress. Many other women were wearing long skirts with loose straight overgarments, and head scarves. Men wore slacks, shoes, and short or long sleeved shirts. The tourists in shorts, sandals, and short sleeved shirts stood out. Unfortunately we could not spend as long as we would have liked in this fascinating environment, as we had to get back to the bus and the hotel to get ready for the rally dinner held at a traditional Damascus restaurant. The bus took us into the old section of town and dropped us off in the middle of a narrow busy street, and no one seemed to know exactly where the restaurant was. However our attention was attracted to a group of about twelve to fifteen street performers dressed in pantaloons, white shirts and vests, chanting a repetitive chorus, banging on skin drums and cavorting in enthusiastic abandon in the middle of the cobblestoned lane. We enjoyed watching them as did others in this busy narrow side street. Then they would back up and beckon us to follow, repeating their chants and trying to get the spectators to join in their frivolity. We shortly realized that this troupe was leading us down the narrow back streets and alleys to the restaurant! They were our musical, carefree, street dancing escorts! As we slowly wended our way behind their chants and gyrations, clapping our hands and repeating their choruses, deeper into the labyrinth of old Damascus, they stopped at one bend in the passageways to engage in a different routine. Out came small short swords and wood and leather shields. In a circular formation to the accompaniment of drums, flutes and ancient tin horns, they slowly stepped around waving their swords and shields. The music increased in its pace, as did the dancers, who then started to slash their swords on the shields of their partners in front and behind each other. After the initial clash, they slowly, warily, stepped around the circle again as the pace increased once more and their swords clashed again. After a few of these preliminaries, the pace kept up until there was a fantastic fury of swords crashing against swords and shields, back and forth in a choreographed frenzy to a crescendo of savagery, ending in a sudden stillness as all swords were grounded. This dance, the “Arada”, is a traditional Damascus performance from the Ottoman period for the pleasure of their governors, and currently to lead the groom to his wedding. There is possibly a symbolic message in this wedding tradition; I don’t know. Shortly after this performance we continued to follow them, chanting and clapping, into the cellar of a large but cozy Arab restaurant. It was a high ceilinged white concrete chamber with side galleries furnished with heavy wood tables, benches and stools. The main room and side niches were festooned with Arabic antiques, aged rugs, blackened braziers, curved gem encrusted scabbards, knives and scimitars, heavy oval framed paintings and old photographs of fez-wearing patriarchs, intricately engraved brass platters, dusty wall hangings, ancient copper samovars, and tasseled thick heavy cushions scattered around. Illumination was provided by several multi-armed chandeliers dripping with colourful crystals, copper bangles and silver chains. The buffet was an enjoyable feast of mezes, meats, vegetable platters, fruits and honeyed desserts. During the meal our festive escorts performed more of their chants and dances accompanied by a three piece ensemble of a skin drum, zither and flute. An attractive belly dancer gyrated in slow sinuous movements on the small dance floor, then wended her way through the tables getting individuals up to dance with her. A few of the Syrian guests got into the mood of the dancing, and undulated alongside her in syncopated Arabian rhythms. Then a white gowned Sufi wearing a tall white fez quietly walked onto the floor and in a meditative state started to spin in harmony to the tinny eastern music. This is what we have heard of as a Whirling Dervish, a devoted religious Sufi who offers prayers while revolving. The performance lasted about ten to fifteen minutes, starting slowly then increasing the speed of whirling as his wide skirt flared out in a bell-shaped tent beneath his waist, his white pantaloons and white slippers smoothly moving to maintain the twirling motion. His eyes were raised, his head up as he lifted his arms and hands in a variety of positions around his head. Each position was a form of prayer, differing in whether his palm was against his cheek, or the back of his hand against his forehead, or other positions of his hands around or above his head. He maintained this state of meditation or ecstasy while whirling for the entire ten to fifteen minutes, came to a sudden stop with no sign of dizziness, and quietly walked off the floor.  The mood was livened up again by our escorts and their lively chanting and dancing. This time, they did some acrobatics with one of the dancers getting up on the shoulders of another while maintaining the rhythm of the dance. Then a second dancer mounted his shoulders, assisted by the other dancers. Finally a dwarf with a Walter Mathau-like heavily creased face was helped up on top of the other three dancers, his head almost to the high ceiling, as they danced around the tables, the dwarf on top ducking around the chandeliers. It was a most enjoyable evening. We then were taken on a bus trip up the hills overlooking Damascus. On the road at the top of the hill, about 500 metres above the city, were many couples and families picnicking or just absorbing the view at midnight. I was surprised at the amount of traffic and activity that late at night. The view was magnificent. In the desert everything is brown, and so green is considered the colour of life. All the hundreds of minarets scattered throughout the city were wreathed in emerald green lights, contrasting to the criss cross lines of white street lights, blinking stop lights, the neon lights on other buildings and the occasional search light scanning across the starlit desert night. It was a beautiful ending to a very full day. We had a good night’s sleep and were ready in the morning to go further into the desert to the ruins of Palmyra, the Queen of the Desert.
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