After a night arrival, you only properly feel like you are in a new location in the warm light of the following morning. Palmyra doesn't seem as crowded as Dier ez-Zor, and, being smaller, everything feels a lot more conveniently located. The internationally renown ruins and state museum are right next to my hotel, though I never noticed either of them last night. The museum is my first destination today, as I hope to get a better understanding of the area before I see it all. The place even has mummies from antiquity which are remarkably well preserved. It must be the desert air.
The museum is followed by the grandiose Bel Temple. My would-be guide encourages me to employ his services. "You are from Scotland? Ah, the last Scotsman I showed around here was Sean Connery." "Was he with his wife?", I enquire. "No, Omar Shariff", comes the reply. As I stand and talk, all of what appears before me dates back from the 1st to 4th AD. They certainly built things to last. However, there was record of a civilisation based here up to 4000 years ago. It's isolation from others helped protect it from attack as well as facilitate it being an important place to replenish along the vital and lucrative trade routes of the age. The wealth of goods and the reach of the tradesmen were both highlighted in the museum where they displayed unearthed pottery, clothes, wine glasses and silk from around the world- from the Danube, Babylon and even China.
I exit the temple and stroll the full length of the colonnade, speaking to a camel owner and his two sons in the process. I pass the Agora and a small theatre as I wander along the avenue towards the desert. The early morning sun has lost it's intensity and the previous warmth is now replaced by a chill in the gentle breeze. Picking my way through the rocky ground and various ruins of buildings that have not survived, a single card bounces past me on the wind. I make my way up towards burial towers that reach out of the craggy hills. Like the pre-Roman Egyptians, the Palmyrans also strongly believed in the afterlife and regeneration. The mummies from the museum I mentioned earlier would have been taken from similar tombs. None of the chambers are accessible due to the large iron gates blocking the entrances.
I cross the small valley and make my climb to the 17th century castle on the top of a hill. You really have an impregnable feeling as you stand within it's wall. Assaulting up the steep sides would have been an unenviable task. Fortunately, my only task today is exploration and I enjoy wandering around the latest fortress-it's real warren of a place, and a great point to watch the sun descend. There is a sublime view of the mountainous area which stretches all the way off to Damascus. The date and olive plantations, and trees which give such oasis places their distinctive look(and made them so important) still stand and grow both around the outskirts of the ruins and new town, and the lake glistening in the distance.
With the sun going down, the lights of the town begin to twinkle in the darkness below me. I descend and make my way towards them. I bump into Joachim in one of the few bars in town, and we enjoy some tapas and a very refreshing Heineken. Regardless of the weather each day, the air in these parts is usually dry, leaving the unacclimatised with a sort of perma-thirst. I find beer will do the trick, though.
Back at the hotel, I meet Isaam, who happens to be an air traffic controller. Occasionally (like today), he must come to Palmyra to direct a plane that happens to be flying directly there from Europe. Today, it happened to be a load of Italians. He is a heck of a nice chap, and he decides to personally direct me to the best kebab shop in town (along with his driver), upon hearing I'm hungry. I ask him how he spells his name. He replies in international call sign language- " India-Sierra-Alpha-Alpha-Mike". Ha, old habits die hard. My kebab is quite special, and I wander back along the street enjoying it. The boys are out on the streets playing with balloons and footballs. They are all keen to approach. "I am Messi", says one. "I am Ronaldo", screams another. They love football in Syria, and the Spanish Primera is definitely number one.
It's getting cold now, and I put my heater on as soon as I enter my chilly room. The temperature gauge measures 22 degrees, but I'm really not sure whether that's Celsius or Fahrenheit.
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