Qasrs in Quarantine

After months of Asian adventures (from writing our last will and testament on the notes sections of our phones in the Tajikistan to trying not to throttle a Finnish man to death Taiwan), we finally reach the Middle East.

This is a land so marred by misconception and misfortune that people have been blindly led to the conclusion that every inch of land from Turkey to the Omani coast is a rocky war-torn wasteland. That beneath the shimmering mirages of the desert sun, swelters a swathe of humanitarian crises and Islamic extremism that the Western world has come to fear in equal measure. Unable to see past the media bias and political pressure that pushes us to the conclusion that the masses of people displaced are less than us, we turn to fear instead of reason. However, the more you travel you see that everyone is basically the same and (with the Middle East especially) you see the stark contrast between what people say and the reality. The Middle East is not the homogenous western warzone that it is portrayed as, it is a huge kaleidoscopically diverse area of the world which surprises you at every turn. I plan to see much more and hope to come to understand differences in history and culture between the proud and distinct nations that inhabit this ancient swathe of land. Of course, the instability in certain areas of the Middle East make travel somewhat restrictive, for example, if you and your church group are planning a bible reading road trip to northern Syria anytime soon I would consider a rethink. However, with the allure of baklava and a completely new and exciting part of the world waiting for me, it didn’t take much internal persuasion to decide to find a slither of the Middle East to sink my teeth into; Jordan appeared to me as a gentle introduction.

As I slowly compile my thoughts into semi-coherent posts, Jordan’s history and culture should reveal itself in one way or the other. These unchronological posts will try and knit together (with the finesse of a blind and disinterested grandmother) various parts of the country. However, make no mistake, alongside this tangled yarn of storytelling will be my usual tangential forays into wholly useless anecdotal information. These may range from that time I buried a dead cat or made the honest mistake of being accidentally and momentarily unstoppable on a bowling date, giving the impression that I’m an athletic force to be reckoned with (good), but also an unassailably competitive reprobate (bad). So with that cleared up, we begin the erratic travel hopscotch with this post on the Eastern Qasrs of Jordan which starts exactly where I said it wouldn’t, under the sweltering desert sun.

Rallying the troops

With the days of multi-day Covid lockdowns ending abruptly, we jumped on our chance of freedom before it was swiftly retracted. So, half of the Quarenteam (the amiable group of people brought together by happenstance and forged together through the incredible achievement of not murdering each other during a very strict lockdown) went off to explore the barren eastern side of Jordan. The aim of the trip was to see a few of the qasrs (palace/castle/fortress in Arabic) and thus we headed towards the edge of Amman governorate. We were finally permitted to drive the car on alternate days (as opposed to walking only), but the government still deemed travel between governorates too risky. But after dangerous amounts of socialising within the confines of the hostel for the last few months, the government, the Man, the system wasn’t going to stop this roguish assembly of men from cruising into Zarqa governorate. Not a chance. And thus, a Belgian, a Brit and two Jordanians began the first of the many road trips to come. 

Qasr Al-Kharanah

The eastern edge of Amman’s landscape unfolded like a bedsheet rippling in a strong wind. The rich light of morning gave the commonplace wheat fields an ethereal quality and we navigated through the lulls in the golden rolling hills and out into the eastern aridity. Soon, after a quick falafel sandwich stop, the rocky landscape dominated our view. The desert itself was your classic sandy colour but in a strange splash of divine artistry, the scene was inexplicably covered in black stones. 

After an easy desert cruise, we made it to the first qasr. Ahmed and Firas pleaded with the guard to let us in and despite his instructions to keep the sight closed to visitors, we were allowed to sneak up to the qasr itself. Other than a large military installation, there is nothing for miles around, but then out of the harsh rocky desert rises this show of ancient architectural stoicism. The building was finished in 710 AD and is one of the earliest examples of Islamic architecture in the region. The prophet Muhammad died in 632 AD and following his death four major caliphates (polities based on Islam that developed into multi-ethnic transnational empires) influenced the world not only with the spread of Islam but also advancements within every aspect of society. Qasr al Kharanah was built at the beginning of the second of these caliphates, the Umayyad caliphate. At its largest extent the caliphate stretched from Central Asia to Spain and despite ruling over hundreds of millions of people from varying religions, it generally offered peace and prosperity within its rule. Christians (who still constituted the largest religious group across the territories) were permitted to worship freely within the Empire and they also held prominent bureaucratic positions. The Umayyads as a whole brought great modernisation, the spread of Arabic as a universal language and social benefits such as a welfare system to many areas of the world. However, they are noted as deviating from the original purpose of a caliphate as a religious institution to become more dynastic. This switch makes them somewhat reviled among Islamic historians who saw them as those who promoted kingship, neglected the sharing of power to religious scholars and elaborated Islamic law for their own benefit. 

The Umayyads play an important role in Jordan’s history and for this qasr to have lasted in such good shape for 1300 years is pretty impressive. Nevertheless, would it have hurt them to write down the qasr’s purpose? Because no one has a clue why it’s even there. It has arrow slits that were unsuitable for the firing of arrows and its interior is completely inappropriate for a garrison. It could’ve been a place for caravans to stop but there’s not a reliable source of water and there’s not any archaeological evidence that any off-white, hunks of scrap metal barely passing for suitable holiday equipment were ever there. Ok ok, I am obviously aware that historically a caravan was a group of travellers (often traders) who travelled great distances across sweeping desert vistas or through extravagant Silk Road cities seeking out fortune and finding untold adventure. But now the word “caravan” musters no such inspiration. Instead, it makes me think of a bloke called Steve dragging his reluctantly obedient family to the beautiful British countryside in their old family saloon, only for them to shack up in a mildew covered white box. And among hundreds of others they scrape together some semblance of a holiday in the temporary white favela otherwise known as the caravan park. Not that I’ve ever stayed in a caravan… In fact, these are (as per usual) completely unsubstantiated views on things I know almost nothing about. You. Are. Welcome.

So, we walked around the qasr for a while, its rounded corners and high walls were simple yet absorbing. After prying the architect Sebastian from the ancient building we got back in the car and made it no more than a few 100 feet. 

Miniature Gallaghers

Off the road to the left were a group of camels moving along the length of a rare patch of life that had sprung from a watery depression in the desert floor. This sparse oasis was shrinking in the oppressive heat and where the water had retreated the mud bore superficial scars, cracking and curling in discomfort from the heat. However, from many of these cracks, where the water still seeped into the shaded subsurface, life blossomed and found its way to the surface in dazzling greens. Among the plants and camouflaged in the brown mud were tiny frogs no larger than the size of a finger nail which leaped away at the tremor of every footfall. The camels kept coming from a great distance accompanied by an old man who was visible due to his red and white keffiyeh, a symbol of Jordanian Bedouin heritage and cultural pride. As we came closer we greeted each other. Small talk revealed that he had absolutely no idea what Coronavirus was despite the country being effectively locked down from the outside and within its own borders for months. We said our goodbyes and left him to continue his wander through the desert, unconnected to the outside world, unburdened by our modern anxieties. It’s a romantic notion to all; the nomad, the Bedouin, the wanderer. But there’s no doubt it’s a tough and demanding life, ultimate freedom, like all things, come at a price. 

Heading towards Azraq, in the far east of Jordan, we got to Qasr Amra. We tried begging the guard to let us in again but were turned away because there were cameras on the site. What is left of the Umayyad qasr is a country cabin but the site used to contain much more and was designed as a royal retreat. The site now is most famous for having the first depiction of heaven on a hemispherical surface but in total it looked a lot less impressive than Qasr Al-Kharanah (maybe because whirling around like a man possessed in order to rid myself of persistently evil flying creatures isn’t conducive to the most considered viewing of a world heritage site).

Edit: Turns out the interior of Qasr Amra is insanely impressive, showing well preserved and detailed scenes of the daily life of the wealthiest inhabitants of ancient Arabia.

After Amra our plans to eat watermelon in the shaded interior of Qasr Azraq were looking more unlikely but we continued east anyway. On the way, a large abandoned complex appeared on our left, intrigue halted us in our tracks and we spun around to investigate. It turned out to be an abandoned salt refinery and at first we walked around the enormous warehouses which were emptied except for some piles of rock salt. As we walked through them, the dry wind rattled the remnants of the rusted metal roof. This meant the interior, lit only by rectangular shafts of light through missing panels, reverberated with sharp clangs of loose metal. In the small offices that adjoined the warehouses, the sense of abandonment really resonated. Manuals for working the machines were strewn over the floors, office chairs sat motionless in the paper tide, it seemed as though people had left in a rush and now the building had taken on a more chaotic life of its own. 

The most impressive area of the site by far, however, was the area with all the machinery. The six or seven story structure was a rusted skeleton and the intense corrosion of all surfaces made the once mighty structure a delicate metallic tangle. From below, the intricacy of the building was apparent, the staircases, gangways, pipes, beams and struts had been brought to their base components like a corpse stripped down to the bones. This metal corpse was a giant 3D maze to the eye and we loved exploring every dark corner and every open panel.

Outside the ground was a jagged mess of salt, that had crystallised in the mud, and a few outbuildings that were equally post-apocalyptic. Finally, after visiting everywhere on the site we got back to the car completely amazed at the place we had stumbled upon.

Dust + watermelon = sweet crunchy mush

Azraq castle was closed as expected, so to console ourselves we got an enormous scorching hot flatbread to munch on. This bready sustenance kept us going as we headed back along a different road towards Amman, so we could get back in time for the now extended 7pm curfew. 

On the way, we noticed some lakes on the map, but staring out of the window all we saw were the writhing forms of dust devils which snaked into the sky for moments before dissipating in the wind that had given them life. Determined to find out if Google maps is a barefaced liar (something I already suspected from a trip to Ometepe), we set off for the lakes. Easily distracted and desperately wanting the enormous watermelon we still had in tow, some large castle-like hills rose from the desert and looked like the perfect place for a fruit break. So, taking the truck off-road to meet them, we climbed to the top of each to realise they were merely rock dumps/quarried rock. However, the sweet taste of Jordanian watermelon and the expansive views over the small towns that eked out a living in the dusty eastern region made the detour worthwhile. A few minutes in the car and we arrived at the least watery lake I’ve ever seen. I KNEW IT. Putting away any notions of a swim and deflating my lilo, we instead turned to the next most logical thing, rally driving. Firas, the man behind the wheel of the large V6 truck, decided that he was now the Jordanian reincarnation of Colin McRae (a presumably Scottish man who once leant his name to some rally racing games) and whether the truck wanted to skid or not, it was going to bloody skid. Firas’ perhaps over-zealous commitment to his new found identity meant that I feared for my life as I stood, camera in hand, waiting for him to whiz past me. I didn’t get run over (which in life is always a plus) but the nebulous wake of the truck meant that my lungs are now and forever half full of sand.

After passing an enormous refugee camp, we decided to stop at Qasr Al Hallabat. Upon our arrival, hopes were low, the large visitor centre was much like Qasr Amra and there were a few cars in the carpark. However, no one was there and so we legged it up the hill before anyone could stop us. 

First, we got to the small separate mosque which was nice but the main attraction was the qasr. Built on the plan of a Roman fortress that was demolished to make way for this 8^thcentury Qasr, it was designed to be the grandest of all the Umayyad desert fortresses. We opened the large metal door and inside were intact arches, mosaics and towers. The multi-level building was great to explore, with no “do not climb” signs and only a few gates to stop you from walking on the most intact mosaics. The building itself was a surprise because we hadn’t had the highest expectations for the place but the setting really topped it off. We sat on the walls, taking in the view for a long time. On one side of the building was a steep drop to some more ruins that stretched to the base of some tall hills. Then, as I turned, the panorama unfolded. The landscape opened up and small towns stretched to the horizon, each one engulfed in a slowly intensifying gold that swayed in the breeze and as the sun carved its final course through the pastel blue sky.   

Final Thoughts

After a long quarantine, which will be elaborated on in later posts, this trip served as one of the first escapes from Amman. This one day road trip to the Eastern qasrs inspired more adventure, further from the tourist trail and deeper into Jordan’s history and stunning landscapes. I hope you enjoyed this post, Jordan has been my home for the last six and a half months and will be for the unknowable expanse of future, so there’ll plenty more to come whether you want it or not.