Wednesday, September 12, 2007

Zenobia

Somewhat like ancient Kommagene, where Mt Nemrut is found, Palmyra used to comprise an independent Kingdom that stood up to, or at least apart from, the surrounding empires of Rome/Byzantium and Persia, which dominated the Middle East between Alexander and Islam.

Palmyra at its zenith in 270 AD was led by the famous, apparently very beautiful Zenobia, who took over the Kingdom of Palmyra after her husband Odeinat was assassinated because her son was too young to rule. The height of her ambition saw her expanding her Kingdom into Egypt and Asia Minor as far as Bithynia. Captured in 272 she was taken to Rome in golden chains and lived the rest of her life in a villa in Tivoli, presumably having done something to someone to be afforded such a graciousness.

Luckily I came across a sometimes hilarious 'Guide to Syria' book which had much more information about Syria's major sites than my over-generalised Lonely Planet.

An example of the quirky humour of the idiosyncratic author, one Afif Bahnassi, is this, lamenting Zenobia's relative historical obscurity compared to that of another Middle Eastern powerful beauty:

'...Zenobia,who is spite of her prowess, did not reach the size of a myth. This would deserve much research. Cleopatra reached the Pantheon of history. Was the nose of Zenobia shorter than the Egyptian queen's? No doubt you will be too attentive to the beauty of the site to ask yourself this question.'

Acknowledging special thanks to the Minister of Tourism for his collaboration and carrying a picture of the former President Hafez Al-Assad, the book is clearly a Government text. Obviously, and agreeably, the zany reflections and tangents of the author do not constitute disloyalty. Meanwhile, the familiar concern of the writer, as he assumes to take you in hand - telling you all you need to do and see in your trip - is also strangely charming.

Interesting, though, is the lack of any reference in the history section to the centuries old interaction and wars between the ancient Syrian Kingdoms (such as Aram Damascus) and the Kingdoms of Israel and Judah. According to Wikipedia, Palmyra used to be called Tadmor and was a part of Solomon's 11th century Israelite Kingdom. Solomon, known for his wisdon, the legendary inspirer of the Masons, the son of David (the stone slinging psalmist), a man who liked his women (enjoying up to 700 wives and 300 concubines) - attracting the attentions of the far distant Ethiopian Queen of Sheeba - is not even mentioned at all. This might be because Afif Bahnassi doubts whether Solomon existed in the first place (as scholars begin to speculate) - which would support any contemporary anti-Israeli stance regarding the 'rights to the land' question, I suppose. I don't know. It would be strange, to me anyway, if Solomon's provenance is doubted, however, given that both David and Solomon are revered by Islam as two of God's important prophets. Or might it just be that the author felt that silence was the best treatment for their enemy's ancestors, especially for any mention of their prosperity or expansion.

The ruins were wondrous, the best since Ephesus. Even though at any time of the day Palmyra is very uncrowded compared to Turkey, seeing the famous ruins early in the morning, long before any crowds at all arrive, is wise. I took a twenty minute camel ride along the main Collonade to the Old Theatre and the Agora, camel slowly led by a boy. This was the first time I'd ridden a camel since Australia in 1991. Thankfully, this time, because the camel was walking and not running, I didn't have my bollocks smashed repeatedly against the saddle. Nonetheless, I still feared falling off because of the camel's remarkably rugged gait. My fear was compounded by memories of falling off a horse in Slovakia in April 2004 because my saddle had not been properly tied on.

Palmyra, alhough a desert town, is set next to an oasis so palm trees border the ancient ruins. I walked through these trees, intrigued by the unexpected greenness and was shortly invited for tea by some locals, owners of what looked like a mechanic's shop. Our dialogue was restrained by the language barrier, though I tried my hardest to make them laugh with my phrase book, a tactic which seemed to work.

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