Desert Rose

I'm enjoying Palmyra- everything is laid back,places are easily located, people are friendly, and the neighbourhood has a certain character. Many people would zip through the place in on a long day trip, but I'm going to stay another night.

It's the tomb towers today that I briefly saw some of yesterday. Ticket in hand, I face the unenviable task of grabbing a taxi to the tombs in the nearby valley. It's a frustrating setup as the two sets of tombs you can see open and close at the same times, and are not within walking distance of each other before they shut. It's great to look inside the tombs but a really rushed set up doesn't allow you a really leisurely experience. There are no mummies left on the many now empty shelves inside, but some of the painted decoration and reliefs still remain, and are fascinating. We end up giving a lift to the museum custodian/keyholder who has opened the tombs. Rushed through my experience in this second one too, a quite frank exchange of views about principles of agreements occur between myself and the tag team of taxi driver and custodian. At one point I have the medieval keys to the priceless tombs in my hands. Pretty frustrating stuff, but we all manage to have a laugh about it as I get out back in town.

Palmyra is well known for it's olive plantations, and Hussain, a worker and family member of the hotel's owners takes me to the family's high walled garden compound. Hussain is student and speaks excellent English. He tells me about the gardens and their history. We enjoy a cup of tea and a bite to eat in the afternoon sun. It's out of season so the workers are building a new store house in preparation for the more fruitful months to come. One of the men takes great enjoyment from sporadically shouting the word "we-akk", whenever he feels like it. I'm told it has no meaning and, regardless, everybody finds it quite amusing.

After lunch, I stroll the ruins once more, watching the postcard sellers plying their trade on their motorbikes, weaving in and out of the rubble, hunting down the sick and vulnerable, and covering them with jewellery and postcards. Climbing over the fallen walls and columns, it's easy to drift back to the lives of the ancient Romans- of speeding chariots bringing news from abroad, of men trading goods from across the empire on the Agora floor, of actors receiving the adulation of the packed theatre; of battle hardened soldiers practicing desert drills under the watchful eyes of a centurion. The endless roar of civilisation continues to be carried on these desert winds. Even with an occasional influx of 21st century tourists, I contemplate how much quieter life is here now amongst the great city's remains, partially covered in the sands of time. All great civilisations have their day, with a new one waiting to wrestle the mantle for another glorious, and often fleeting, chapter in the history of mankind.

My afternoon is spent resting behind a fallen column, seeking shelter from the desert's sun and chilly breeze. As the sun begins to set, the colours of the area change, and the former city is awash with a softness and warmth. There are new colours and shapes to be found in the landscape. Soon, a young girl from a nearby house joins me and seems content for me to take her picture and then for her to take some photos of me. She certainly knows her way around my camera. Her brother also joins us later and we share some cool water from a metal pan as the day fades from sight.

On my way to the best kebab shop in town for the best kebab ever, I join the kids from the hotel in a game of balloon headers and volleys until Hussain breaks the fun up. Next stop is a spot of street soccer where I audaciously lob the ball over an admittedly tiny goalkeeper for a wonderful goal. Wheeling away to celebrate, I'm met with stiff protests from Tiny Tim, who manages to gesticulate to me with his giant gloves that it hit the crossbar and stayed out. I'm convinced it went in.

I make another attempt for Premiership soccer tonight and am joined by Kiwi Andrew, and Dirvan whom I have bumped into once more. Our only chance to see it is a nearby cafe, where we're met by a very small man with a very strange hat. This chap loves his football and in a combination of Arabic and English gives us his predictions for the big games of tonight. Our hopes greatly raised, he then proceeds to tell us that we are unlikely to get the game. Whilst he deals us this hammer blow, another man walks in and removes all doubt by promptly unplugging the satellite box, and carrying it off to a waiting car. Our dream has died.

Palmyra has many qualities but nightlife isn't' really one of them. I enjoy what has become a tradition of a cup of tea in the TV room of the hotel, chatting to the children and the infrequent other guests. I ascend the quiet, empty stairwell for a final night in my room. The people in Palmyra have been tremendous- Arabic hospitality at it's finest.