Krak des Chevaliers to Palmyra

The next morning we went to the bus station, to find a minibus headed for Krak des Chevaliers. The approximate wait-time to fill the 14-passenger van was undetermined, so instead we opted to rent the whole thing for about $10 and head out. In the distance as we drove were the snow-capped Lebanese mountains, in the foreground were agricultural fields, hills of green purple and yellow wildflowers, tents (at first I wondered if they were for the shepherds or the sheep, until I saw a satellite dish attached to one), donkeys tied to a rock, shepherds loafing under the shade of tree watching cows eat grass (it gives a new definition altogether to “free-range beef”), and of course herds of sheep—we nearly hit one on the road, and then we nearly hit its shepherd, as he chased down the lone sheep who had fall out of the truck.

As we drove, I wondered what I had thought of Syria before I arrived in Damascus. It seemed like it had been a gaping hole in my education, but being here and travelling to all the important sites—ask any Syrian tour guide and his country is the center of civilization. The birthplace of the alphabet, home to the oldest continuously inhabited city in the world and important religious sites for both Christians and Muslims, part of the glorious Roman Empire and at the crossroads of important trade routes, inhabited by nearly every great empire to rule across the Middle East and with the ruins to prove it…it has mountains and snow and desert and agricultural fields and beaches and even a forest in the NW (I am yet to visit the west/the coast). I don’t think that I am becoming remotely nationalistic like the guides, but it does seem strange that it barely warranted a mention in my World History class.

Anyway. This particular fortress is apparently the most famous medieval citadel in the world (according to a Syrian Tourism book), built in order to control the “Homs Gap” gateway to Syria, aka Syria’s communicationway with the rest of the Mediterranean world. It was at a time a Crusader’s castle (evidenced by the remains of a “King Arthur’s” round table) and could house 5000 soldiers and their horses, as well as their food and supplies for 5 years. It was conquered (“recovered”) by Muslim forces in the 13th century by a clever trick, where the Mamluks forged a document from Richard the Lionheart telling the Crusaders to surrender the fortress, and thus it was won. Our guide was pretty excited when he found out that I’m studying Arabic, so throughout our tour he would throw in Arabic words for things like “storage room” and “catapult.” Maybe by the time I finish touring all the citadels in the Middle East I will have perfected this specialized vocabulary.

We spent the afternoon on a bus from Homs (after spending $2 for the three of us to eat a lunch of 5 of the best spinach pies, 2 pies with red spicyness, 1 zaatar and 1 cheese pie), driving east through the desert to Palmyra (“the bride of the desert”). Our ride was soundtracked by a DVD of music videos that the driver flipped through at will via remote as he drove. We had hoped to see the ruins at sunset, but unfortunately we missed it as the sun went down behind a cloud. Soon after we unpacked in our hotel, right on the edge of the town and the oasis, with a view of the ruins from our window (!), I realized I had left my phone on the bus. I remembered rushing off the bus as it dropped us off at our hotel and the Bedouin woman sitting across the way smiling at me and pointing to my seat as I left. I thought she was asking if she could move to my seat once I was gone or something, so I just smiled back as I de-bussed.

I explained my problem to the woman at the desk, who promised to call the bus station for us as soon as she finished dealing with the busload of Japanese tourists who had just arrived. So we left and found a taxi to take us to the bus station ourselves, not knowing if the bus would already be on his way back to Homs by now. Our driver told us that he probably spent the night in Palmyra, since it was already getting late, which was much more encouraging. When we arrived at the station, our driver got out and though we didn’t know the name of the driver, the bus company, or what the bus even looked like, he and the other men standing around figured out which bus it was, since only one bus arrived from Homs after 5 pm. As we sat in the car with building suspense, our driver returned to tell us they had called the driver at his house and he would soon arrive. Did he have the phone? He forgot to ask. Either way, we soon saw the huge colorful coachbus approaching, with its distinct musical horn, and the driver came down and explained that he had already dropped it off at our hotel, and called the concierge so we could speak to her and confirm that she had it. Alhumdulillah.

We spent the rest of the evening walking in and out of the touristy shops and trying to decide where to eat. We ended up at Venus Restaurant, with a meal of Bedouin mansaf—rice pilaf with mutton and camel. Mid-meal, the power went out in the neighborhood, so when we finished we decided to return to the hotel since all the shops were sitting in darkness. As we walked, a parade of cheering soccer players ran past us, waving flags and honking horns.