Zenventures

Should the unreachable be forgotten? As of 2010 it has not been possible to visit Palmyra. As of last week the city has been under threat of destruction. Perhaps next week she will be gone forever. Dramatic, yes, but bear with me, I have a story to tell.

What is the point of convincing anyone of the breath-taking beauty of this ancient metropolis? And I do mean breath-taking. Once a meeting point of civilisations, now abandoned in the middle of the Syrian desert. I am certain the point is to remember. Travelling has many definitions and physical presence is not always a requirement. Try and travel with my words please:

The air is hot, and the sand is hot, and it will burn bare feet (do not wear flip-flops). Better to walk on the magnificent marble road which remains amidst her Roman colonnades. Never truly busy, it is possible to hear the muted echo of your footsteps on her stones. This is my favourite sound in the whole world; while Pompeii is ok and Petra is fantastic, the sound of Palmyra beats everything else. Columns stand tall on either side, bearing not only bi, but tri-lingual declarations. On the outside the town appears conventionally Hellenised; however, the peculiar grave towers of the Necropolis and the Assyrian adornments on the astonishing Temple of Bell betray a mysterious mix of cultures. It is no wonder that this city once defended herself as an Empire – even if it was only for a few short years. Palmyra has survived destruction more than once already.

Transport? Only reach-able by car. Accommodation? Not much choice. However, for food I have two recommendations. The first is the restaurant across from the museum, which kindly served ‘masluka batates’ (boiled potatoes) in aid of the food poisoning that had travelled with me from Damascus. The second is the Palmyra Pancake House, whose lemon pancakes I am still trying to re-create. If anything, I sincerely hope that these places and their owners will rise from the ruins once more. I will let you know if and when they do, so you can hear your steps on those stones, and taste those lemon pancakes.

Way back in 1877 L. Double wrote about Palmyra too - and I know this, because it is sticky-taped to the wall besides my desk: “… and there is nothing to be heard but the sand which cries beneath our feet, and the wind which moans afar among the ruins, […] it is then that a man feels himself to be small and, despite himself, meditates on the presence of that mighty ruin as on a mighty sorrow.”