Day 23 Locked up in Baal Temple

SYNOPSIS:  I saw more than expected of the Baal temple today since I got myself locked up in it.  I visited some funerary towers and met lots and lots of locals who all wanted to be my best friend.FROM TOMBS AND TEMPLES TO WHERE BOREDOM REIGNSAfter that long, long day yesterday, I tried to sleep in, but the muezzin called the faithful to prayer smack at 5:30 AM and my hotel is closer here to a mosque than any others before…  No chance of sleeping in.  It was laundry day and so the morning went with catching up on household chores and the internet.  The internet had given me trouble for a couple of days:  First day it was “down”, whatever that meant.  Last night, I hardly had gotten started, when they closed on me.  This morning all was so slow that I could not even open my blog.  And tonight it took over ½ hour before I finally got into the blog being able to post at a “special computer”.  But perseverance paid off and I am almost caught up with everything again.Tombs and ruins were on the agenda for the rest of the day.  It was another very cold, but gorgeous day.  Funerary architecture and sculpture made Palmyra famous in addition to the well preserved ruins.  There are numerous underground tombs.  Most of them robbed, damaged, and closed for visitors.  And there are numerous tomb towers – same story.  But one can visit one of each with a “key man” at certain times of the day and with a driver/taxi.  One of my taxi driver friends found me before I could blink and off I went.  Mummification here differs a bit from Egypt.  I learned that in the delightful little museum near the ruins.  As in Egypt, organs had to be fully removed in order to preserve the body.  However, Egyptians dealt with the brain via a hook through the nose.  In Palmyra they developed a method of going through the naval - yes, it said so, but I have a hard time picturing that.  But more often they would just decapitate the head to reach the brain.  After the brain removal the head would be reattached via wooden or metal clamps.  Now that, I can picture…Silk, wool, or linen were used to wrap the body which then, along with jewelry, clothes, and shoes, would be placed into a tomb – on kind of a shelf.  Shelves could hold one to six bodies and would be closed via a stone slab on which a relief bust would depict the deceased.  Depending on the wealth of the person, the bust would show lots of jewelry, fancy clothes and implements, or just a simple inscription with a curtain for the less well off.  Museums around here are full of examples of those grave “lids”.  There is an amazing variety, but also a clear set of artistic conventions.  For the wealthy, one of the tomb walls would be reserved for a full-scale representation of the entire family, usually with head of household lounging, his wife at one end and all of their children in between the two.  Below, a row for ancestors and the extended family would be reserved.Tower tombs proved too expensive, so tombs also were dug into the ground.  In the case we visited, three brothers had carved an elaborate enough tomb to make a business of it:  At the entrance it proclaimed that burial slots in the family tomb were for sale.  Clever brothers.  According to the coffin slots they had there, business boomed.What was surprising were fresco remains of Greek mythology in the same tomb.  Was that common?  The taxi driver did not know, the key-man did not speak English; so I will have to Google this one.   I have come to the conclusion that all the information I am getting here from local guides has to be taken with a grain of salt.  They are great in pointing out important visual details.  Their interpretation is often right and often… well, a good story.The ruins of Palmyra are in large parts open for you to wander around at any time of the day.  From my pictures you can see that I made it there at night, too.  But the main temple, the temple of Baal is under lock and key.  Entrance fee is charged.  I got there around 2 PM, took a guide for an hour and then stayed on to explore and photograph at my leisure.  A handful of guides were there, most of them without clients.  My guide, Najeeb, was a big old Bedouin man who used to be the owner of a hotel.  He hated it and for 21 years has been leading people through Palmyra and surrounds.   I could count the visitors:  One English speaking couple, three Asian men on their own, and myself plus the guards.  By the time I made my way back to the gate, it was closed!  I know  he site closed at 4 PM but even without a watch I knew that I was there at least 5-10 minutes before closing…  Not that anyone had been looking for me either…  How could they have lost count of me?  Well, this temple had been converted to a fortress by the Muslims in later times.  There was no way I could climb any of these walls either in or out…I always carry a whistle with me and for one second I thought about using it.  But then I decided that this was a great opportunity to just stroll around a bit more.  A solution would manifest itself, I had no doubt.  After an hour or so, when I headed towards the bathrooms in the corner of the temple I noticed that the plate where you are supposed to pay a bit towards the attendant had not been emptied.  Surely, there would be somebody still around to do that.  And, there he was:  Mohammed, the temple man; a  young guy of 23.  He was shocked to see me.  I explained to him that I had been locked in.  First he was scared.  He is not allowed to hang out with tourists after hours.  But I assured him that if we were caught, this would all be my fault.  He calmed down and got into the spirit of this.  First, he offered me tea.  I was up for tea and so we chatted for a while.  I knew I had a man with a key and so I was in no hurry.  Then he introduced his secret pet dog to me!  In an Islamic country, this is quite unusual and certainly not meant for public knowledge.  He then asked if I wanted to see his secret hiding place in the temple where he would sleep in the summer time.  Red alert in the West, I know!  But remember, I am in Syria.  So, of course, I said yes, especially since it turned out to be the top of Baal temple!  Wow!We climbed a hair-raising stair case with missing steps and gaping depth below us.  He had to pull me several times.  I would have never made this.  He was literally stepping on tiny outcrops in the wall of what little remained of ancient stairs sliding up the tower like a tiger.  I could not.  One look down turned my stomach.  But we made it!  Before long we were sitting on top of the sanctuary wall – where in ancient times fires would be lit.  For travelers along the Silk Road this temple functioned almost like a light house.  He pointed proudly to a stone slab and told me that this was his bed in the summer.  He even offered to bring me mattresses in case I wanted to sleep there that night.  I politely declined.  We had a fantastic view from there.Down was another hair raising matter, but as you can see – here I am, unharmed.  He unlocked the big gate for me and swore me to secrecy.  If I saw him in town I was not to mention any of this.  In America, you can tell, he said.  So, I am telling you.The rest of the evening went by meeting one local after another.  First, the camel boy who told me all about life as a Bedouin and who tried to convince to me to take a camel ride with him.  No thanks.  I have been on a camel for hours in Egypt.  It was fun, but I did not have to repeat this experience.  I asked if he wanted to have dinner with me so that I could interview him more about life in Syria, but his camel was in the way of that.  As we were chatting, Mahmoud on a motor bike showed up.  I remembered him from the night before – he was the guy who Ivan yelled at for not speaking Arabic with him and who wanted to speak and improve his English instead…  Mahmoud said that I could take him to dinner and he would tell me about his life.  Perfect!  So, I took off with Mahmoud on his motor bike.   I won’t bore you with the details, but riding a motor bike through the desert – there are these little paths, up and down, rocks, and all - was scary!He took me to meet his father in his “garden”.  More like a junk yard with a few palm trees, the garden was the work area for his father who chopped wood and sold it to the Bedouins in the desert.  Then, off to his house to meet his mother and two of his many sisters.  13 kids in all…  Many of them really are adults already and all of them are living under one roof.  And then we went to a small local “hole in the wall” for some food.  Mahmoud is one of those drop-dead gorgeous looking men, also of Bedouin heritage.  His English was limited, but we talked about school, the army, his family, the tourists, and so on.   I am not sure if I got the facts all right.  His English was often guess work and the concept of “why” or “if” does not compute very well, so again, all has to be taken with a salt of grain.After dinner I took off to the Internet where I met Mousa, a non-smoker who terribly suffers among all the smokers.  He coughed incessantly.  I wonder if he has asthma which is not treated right.  He and his friend Ahmed insisted on going to have tea at a small coffee (really a hookah) shop around the corner.  So we did.  They taught me how to fold my scarf the right way and turned me into a Bedouin-looking woman which gave them great source of entertainment.  They told me how boring life was in Palmyra.  Tourists are the only variation and TV.  That’s why they all smoke, they insisted.  What else is there for them?  No alcohol, no girls, no public entertainment.  Their dream is to go to America, or Spain some day.  I hope they will.Mousa and Ahmed took me to the ruins late at night.  At one point a motor bike approached and they pulled me down to the ground before I knew what hit me - to hide!  What was that all about?  If I got their explanation right, it is the “tourist” police.  If locals are caught with tourists like me after hours, they are in trouble.  Not me, but they.  Sort of what Mohamed was indicating at the Baal Temple.  I guess there is something to it.  They were relieved to hear that my passport was German.  They said that if I were an American they would be kept in prison a lot longer than if I am from Europe.  Go figure.  And again… don’t forget that grain of salt.  I am not sure I got all of this right.  It is quite strange.But then there was another motorbike coming and we could not hide!  It stopped right next to me and my heart sank… but, it was Mahmoud!  He was very upset that I was at the ruins with Ahmed and Mousa and insisted that I got onto his bike immediately, so he could bring me back to my hotel.  This was almost funny.  In town – where everyone knows everyone and my whereabouts had been watched by many eyes - they knew exactly where I was and with whom.  Mahmoud considered me as “his" friend and “claimed me back”.  Good for me.  It saved me about ½ hour walk in the dark, but it put me through another one of those motor-bike rides; this time in the pitch dark…And that’s it for today.Good night.