Marian in The Levant in April Consisting of Marian-Ortolf Bagley’s Account of Her Travels in Syria, Lebanon, and Jordan 30 March-15 April 2007 during which Time she Followed an Itinerary Conducted by Thomas F. Mudloff and Later was Assisted in the Presentation of the Report by Allan R. Brockway The trip was organized by Spiekermann Travel Services of Eastpointe, Michigan. Academic leadership provided by Thomas Mudloff, PhD, Field Museum, Chicago. Local Syrian guide Giath Abdalla; local Jordanian guide Ibrahim Abdel Haq. © 2007 Marian-Ortolf Bagley Entering the Levant This journal is about a voyage to the Levant in April 2007. But it is the photos that are “telling images,” to borrow a phrase from Ayers Bagley, who encourages me to escape our winters to warmer climes, and patiently guides my iMac efforts. I was literally saved from the chaos of my digitized photo- graphs by fellow traveler Allan Brockway, mentor and friend, who is intro- ducing me to the larger electronic world. I thank them both. We visited fabled Damascus and Aleppo and other important historic sites in Syria, as Ba’albeck in well as Lebanon, and Petra, described here in the order we visited them. These sites were stunning. Our fine leaders and good company of ten fellow travelers enriched the trip. All in all, the journey exceeded my expectations by far. * * * * * * The flight to Syria via Dulles Airport and Austrian Air was fairly un- eventful until we reached Vienna, where we were in limbo for two hours, awaiting a replacement plane. Then a dramatic scene played out at the Aus- trian Air check-in desk. It was announced that the first thirty people willing to fly to Damascus on the following day would be given 600 Euros and a free ticket anywhere. More than thirty people rushed to get into line, thus expediting the process of being “bumped.” I had checked in early enough to be able to keep my seat on today’s flight. During our descent into Damascus, from my aisle seat I caught sight of an exquisite walled city that took my breath away. A turquoise dome crowned a cluster of little honeycomb buildings, surrounded by golden de- sert. For a moment I watched a perfect composition pass under the plane wing, a lost photo opportunity, now engraved in my memory. It reminded me of my little panel painting inspired by a visit to Orvieto. This was the first of many sights that look like my paintings, which may be one reason why the Levant was so pleasing. Our plane finally landed in Damascus at four p.m. where Giath Abdalla, our man in Damascus, had waited all afternoon. He found me standing in line to go through customs, expedited the process, had my pre-arranged visa papers processed, and instructed me to claim my bags. I paid one dollar for a trolley, heaved my yellow duct tape marked bags onto it, and rejoined Giath outside the terminal, passing the gauntlet of waiting people. Soon we were in 2 a small white bus, speeding through the UR oasis around Damascus to the Semararis Hotel in the city center. Giath helped me inspect the offered rooms. I de- clined a large room on the front and ac- cepted a small, dark but quiet room on the back. I ordered an omelet from room service and then fell fast asleep for two hours. Then I was bolt awake for hours. Was Semararis Hotel, Damascus this my Minneapolis wake-up time? Would I be trapped in this little room in the Semararis since I was under instructions not to wander around Damascus alone? At midnight a note from Margaret Quinn was slipped under my door. She arrived for our tour a day early too. Would I meet her for breakfast and join forces to explore Damascus the next morning? Surely this was act of God! Saturday, March 31 The next morning Margaret spotted me in the breakfast room, conspicu- ous in my black jeans and gray Lands End jacket, in contrast to the veiled women with their families. I was immediately drawn to this friendly and vivacious person. We would start our day at the National Museum, down the street. The façade of this massive building embraces two round towers from the gateway of the Qasr al- Heir West, an eighth century Umayyad desert pal- ace. We started out in the eastern wing where we encountered two of their greatest treasures. On a lower level we found a synagogue from the mid second century with frescoes on the life of Moses. The entire building was moved from Dura Europos, a site in the desert that we would visit later on. The walls of the tall square interior space were com- National Museum Tower 3 pletely covered with paintings of many figures, unusual since Jewish tradi- tion forbade depiction of people. Then we climbed down to the underground mausoleum of Yahari the Palmyrene, dedicated in 108 A.D, that was moved here from the Valley of the Tombs in Palmyra, another site on our itinerary. Arranged in tiers, hand- some tomb reliefs lined the walls. Bejeweled women held their veils with the left hands, while men grasped folds in their togas with the right hands, like so many icons. Presiding over these figures was a sculpture of a reclining man, wearing a toque, who might have inspired Henry Moore. Back on the main floor we wandered through a large gallery filled with many Coptic weavings that we studied closely. Few European museums, even in Lyons, display so many precious ancient textiles. After spending all morning at the museum we returned to the hotel to ask the desk person to recommend a “family” restaurant that served lo- cal dishes, where women are wel- come. We were directed to the Abou Kamal, a few blocks away, where I asked the maitre‘d for his best dish. He suggested “chick kabob,” for me. Margaret’s choice, which turned out to be a kind of chicken sausage, was less successful. We returned to the museum where the guards re- membered us and let us re-enter free. The only place we were al- lowed to photograph was in a pleasant courtyard, where we took a break. We walked through galleries in a newer wing, at a steady pace for two more hours, passing fine collections of mosaics, glass, metal work, and paintings, all leading to a splendid hall from an 18th century Damascene palace. There a friendly guard showed us how the innovative air-cooling system worked, turning on a stream of water that cascaded down the tiled walls, cooling the space. 4 Our pleasant museum day distracted us from the grip of jet lag while we focused on the art of the Levant. Margaret, a medievalist, and I were happy to share our interest in art. When we returned to the Abou Kamal Restaurant for supper we were remembered and warmly welcomed back. This time Margaret chose mezzes while I had a bowl of silky lentil soup. Although somewhat dusty, as one would expect in a city in the middle of the desert, the gray and buff colored cement colored buildings in downtown Damascus seem orderly, quite unlike the Cairo squalor that I expected. We felt safe walking around together. Everyone we en- countered, from bellman to waiter, people who gave us directions, and even little children on the street, would greet us with at least one word of English: welcome. Were we in a country still un-jaded by visitors? Palm Sunday, April 1 Giath fetched us at 9 a.m. to attend Palm Sunday mass. Margaret’s older cousin, Will Blanchad, joined us. He had been bumped off his flight in Chicago, found another flight a day later, and arrived sleepless, but de- termined to hunt for treasures in Damascus. We took a cab to the Church of Maryam, where Giath is a member of the Antioch Orthodox Christian church. Inside we squeezed through the crowd toward the front of the church. The clergy celebrated the Palm Sunday mass for nearly two hours, in front and behind the iconostasis, while solemn boys and girls participated in the processions down the aisles. Antioch Orthodox Palm Sunday Mass at the Church of Maryam 5 The action centered on the archbishop who serves as the prelate of all Antioch Orthodox congregations around the world. His magnificent robes relate to the colors prescribed by the church year. The male soloist in a black cas- sock who chanted the litany, was spelled at times by a choir of men and women. Did the ominous slowly changing undertone come from a bass cello? Later on Giath told me that no musical instruments are used in the Orthodox church. This moving music came entirely from human voices. The sustained deep hummed tones sounded something like the throat singers of central Asia. We watched from a spot we had squeezed into, by a busy candelabra station, where parents brought their children to add a candle and a prayer. During the service people moved around, families greeted each other and showed off their beautifully dressed children. As Giath said, everyone was well dressed to show that they were “on top. People lined up in front to receive the holy sacrament. A priest holding a long handled silver ladle with a little pear- shaped bowl dispensed the wine. Chunks of fresh bread were passed around the congregation, even to us, and we all received fresh sprigs from an olive grove. A drum and bugle choir thundered its way around the building and down the aisles inside the church, adding a stirring climax to the mass.