Weather conditions during Alexander’s march East

As I so often stated, the weather conditions are not important for historians. We find only a few examples in Alexander's campaigns, like the Monsoon in India and the flash flood in the Gedrosian Desert. Still, in reality, the weather did play a vital role in his campaign in the East.

Throughout their march from Greece to India, the Macedonians must have been plagued by recurrent earthquakes that disrupted their advance or their camp. Alexander could sacrifice to the gods, but he could not prevent or control these natural disasters. 

Speaking to one of the locals in Turkey, I remember him pointing out that he preferred to be “in the open” rather than inside any building when an earthquake occurred. Being outside, he would witness boulders rolling downhill and trees being shaken, but none of the rattlings would be as frightening as when sitting inside a house or shack.

It is easy to imagine how, in Alexander’s campsites, the army tents would collapse, banging up the occupants. Frightened horses and pack animals would try to run if they were not adequately secured by their attendants. When an earthquake hit the troops on the march, they could immediately react accordingly.

Another natural threat is the wind, which may not sound so dangerous, but the situation could be life-threatening when it creates a storm.

This idea occurred to me during my trip to Iran when I skirted the Zagros Mountains. In the winter of 330 BC, Alexander marched south using approximately the same route I was following a little later in the year, i.e., in April (see: The Zagros Mountains and the Persian Gates in Alexander’s footsteps).

I was plagued by a severe sandstorm that blew relentlessly during my three-day journey. Visibility was very low as the sands from the Mesopotamian Valley in modern Iraq were carried through the air. My clothes flapped around me as if they were to be torn away any moment, while the sand was stinging my face and hurting my body. The wind whistled through the lunch place, and the sand battered against the windows.

Inevitably, my mind drifted back to Alexander as he must have known days like this. Traveling in the comfort of my air-conditioned vehicle was hard enough. However, when I stepped outside of this protective shell, I had a taste of what he experienced – if not here, certainly in other locations.

Curtius seems to be the only one to write about Alexander’s expeditions into the interior of Persia some time in Spring 330 BC, where he was troubled by heavy rain and “almost intolerable weather.” He even was stopped by heavy snow that had frozen solid; not for long, though, as he immediately started making his way, breaking the ice with a mattock, an example that his men promptly followed (see: Alexander amidst the pomp and circumstance of Persepolis).

While we take bad weather as a mere inconvenience, we cannot underestimate its far-reaching impact. That became clear after reading The Road to Oxiana by Robert Byron. Byron traveled to Iran and Afghanistan in 1933, using whatever means of transportation available. The weather conditions commanded his advance to a degree I did not expect. The Macedonian army must have faced similar conditions that hampered their progress to the same extent.

Byron is hit by what he calls a burning dust-storm, a good one hundred miles east of Hamadan, ancient Ecbatana. Near Bisutun, he witnessed great spirals of dust, “dancing like demons over the desert,” stopping his car and choking the passengers. 

Wind, rain, and ice are Byron’s main challenges. He attempted to drive south from Tehran to Isfahan in early February but was stopped some ten miles out. The road turned into a sheet of ice that partly thawed and had frozen again. The scene must have been spectacular, for he writes, “At this moment the sun rose, a twinkle of fire lit the snowy plain, the white range of the Elbruz was suffused with blue and gold.” A beautiful picture, but a horrible travel condition.

A few days later, it rained for twenty-four hours. Byron was still stopped in Tehran by a “deluge of rain” in the last days of April. As he traveled further East via Damghan to Mashed, a route that approximately matches Alexander’s, “the rain fell like a bath-waste. For miles at a time the road was a river, the desert a flood, and every mountain a cataract.” The roads turned into fast-flowing rivers.

In Spring, Byron eventually reached Herat and continued due East to Kunduz. On his road to Balkh, where Alexander made camp and wintered in 328 BC (see: A view of the Karakum and Kyzylkum Deserts and Afrasiab, ancient Samarkand), Byron describes how “the rain came down in sheets. … every angle of the mountains was occupied by a cataract. … along that narrow ledge whence the red pinnacles rose into the clouds above, and whole ranges could be seen emerging from the clouds below…” A little further, he continues by saying that “the color of the landscape changed from lead to aluminum… The clumps of green trees, the fountain-shaped tufts of coarse cutting grass, stood out almost black against this mortal tint”.

Mazar-i-Sharif fared much better in the last days of May. He described how the clouds gathered on the mountains each afternoon, although summer should have set in six weeks before. People said they had never witnessed such conditions. The weather one hundred years ago was as unpredictable as today. The rain that fell before Byron’s arrival in the city was enough to close the road to Kabul for a whole month! An entire village had fallen down in a nearby gorge. Just picture Alexander having to cope with such extremes!

After Kunduz, Byron turned West, following the river of the same name to the plain of Bamyan, crossing the stream nine or ten times over wooden bridges. I doubt these bridges existed in Alexander’s days when the army had to find a way through the water. In June, Byron heard that a landslide had blocked the other side of the Shibar Pass. In fact, “heaps of liquid mud and pebbles concealing large rocks.” The travel conditions became increasingly drastic. “The crops below the road, already half destroyed by the rivers of mud, were now menaced by a further spate.”

Alexander probably took this same road in the fall of 327 BC when he left Bactria for India by the Shibar Pass (see: Alexander crosses the Hindu Kusha second time). Nobody mentions any landslides occurring, but they were undoubtedly recurrent because further down Byron’s road to Kabul, another dozen landslides prevented him from reaching the city. Was Alexander just lucky and under the protection of the gods, one wonders?

The crossings of the Hindu Kush, in turn, have been pictured very well by Steven Pressfield in his book The Afghan Campaign. He describes the pure horror and misery the army endured in their daily lives of survival (see: From Afghanistan into Bactria across the Hindu Kush). Arrian, of course, gives us the facts, but Pressfield, with his skills as a military writer, adds the human experience to the expedition.

Picking up Byron again, we read how on the road from Kabul to Ghazni – which Alexander traveled in the opposite direction to cross the Hindu Kush into Bactria – “two lorries were completely wrecked by the stream … the Kunduz ferry has overturned and sunk, drowning five women.”

Reading our history books, we are far from realizing that traveling or leading an army was a dangerous enterprise. Not only because of the enemies that had to be subdued but also because of the terrain and the weather conditions, which, as I said above, were seldom mentioned or recorded.

An eye for beauty in spite of the daily challenges

On a lovely autumn day, I was enjoying a picnic high up the hills among the ruins of Tlos, overlooking the Xanthos Valley. My mind automatically drifted away to Alexander, who must have ridden down this very valley towards Patara, Letoon, and Xanthos. I pictured him proudly riding his faithful Bucephalus, who was happily shaking his colorful tassels and twinkling bells.

In my pleasant mental picture, I imagined a good-humored Alexander enjoying the ride and the beauty of the land with Hephaistion at his side. No history book will mention this, of course. The landscape, roads, or weather conditions are no topic unless they reach extremes.

The few such exceptions our historians picked up are, for instance, the blizzards that hit the army on the passes of the Hindu Kush, the never-ending monsoon rains in India, and the flash flood in the Gedrosian Desert. Otherwise, we can only use our imagination, and that is not easy since most of us have not traveled to those faraway lands.

I feel privileged to have trodden in the footsteps of this great conqueror on several occasions, but to truly appreciate what is involved, we would have to venture out on foot. Only a handful of braves have set out on such an adventure. Traveling by plane or car, as is common nowadays, does not allow us to experience the impact of the elements. The wind, the rain, the heat or the cold remain blocked until we step outside of our metal cocoon. We miss out on the smells of the land, the dust, the fog, the crispy frost in the air. The most common sounds of bleating sheep, mooing cows, the songs of the birds, and the laughter of children are stifled entirely.

The topic of the weather fully hit me when I drove south along the Zagros Mountains in a relentless dust storm. The sands from Mesopotamia were carried through the air in sweeping gusts. As long as I sat inside the comforts of my vehicle, I only noticed a hazy landscape, but as soon as I left my protective shell, the grains hit me in the face, stinging me with thousands of needles. The wind was tearing at my clothes, the sand was crushing between my teeth, and breathing became difficult. Alexander must have known such days. 

The role of the landscape and the climate during Alexander’s campaign became even more apparent to me after reading “The Road to Oxiana” by Robert Byron. This book is a true eye-opener when it comes to envisioning the full scale of his daily challenges.

In 1933, Byron traveled from Damascus to Baghdad and crossed Persia to finally reach Afghanistan one year later.  It is quite exciting to discover that long stretches of his route match the itinerary taken by Alexander more than 2,000 years earlier. The landscape is a commanding factor common in both cases. Then and now, roads run along the same rivers, pass the same oases and towns, skirt the same deserts and mountains, and use the same passes and goat tracks. I enjoy his descriptions of the many valleys in full spring bloom in Central Asia, where the fiery red poppies rule the fields as they still do in Alexander’s homeland. They are a welcome breather after witnessing the barren deserts with their frequent dust devils whirling around.

Byron hitchhiked on board lorries but also traveled by car or on horseback. Despite modern means of transportation, he did not move much faster than a traveler on foot would. Roads were often impassable because of flooding or flash floods that washed away entire portions, including bridges or other rudimentary crossings.

He used old caravanserais when there was no local governor or friendly Brit around to offer him a room for the night. Lodging was, more often than not, uncomfortable and dirty. He generously recounts the folklore details of such encounters, and it seems to me that life has not really changed much since the days of Alexander.

As I read on, I search for those landscapes and cities that most likely have seen the Macedonian army marching through. Places like Ecbatana, Persepolis, Pasargadae, Balkh, Kabul, and Peshawar, the crossing of the Elbruz Mountains towards the Caspian Sea, and the perilous trek over the Hindu Kush.

Byron describes a poignant moment as he descends to the Caspian Coast. In a few minutes, the world of stone, sand, and mud he had endured since Damascus turned into one of green-leafed trees and bushes. The everlasting drought made way for moisture as even his body somehow returned to its natural buoyancy. I imagine Alexander and his dust-covered Macedonians must have experienced the same kind of refreshing relief.

Insofar as possible, Alexander used the well-maintained Persian Royal Road. Once beyond that network, it came down to finding tracks and trails. It appears that Byron had a rather similar experience, and his worst progress was made after he left Persia to enter Afghanistan.

The sudden changes in the weather pattern are widespread in that part of the world, and Byron truly undergoes these extremes. He tells how it rained all night, how the river had subsided but rose again fast, four feet deep at times. Of rain falling like bath-waste turning the road into a river for miles in a row, flooding the desert, and turning every mountain into a cataract. He describes the dark skies as cloud-wracked set against inky jagged hills.

At one time, after passing the Paropamisus, he labors for an hour and a half, ankle-deep in freezing slush, to lever away the rocks blocking the road. Landslides were common, and he mentions how not one but a dozen such landslides prevented him from reaching Kabul overnight. A mile beyond the Shibar Pass across the Hindu Kush, which Alexander also used, Byron hits more landslides, heaps of liquid mud and pebbles concealing large rocks. The crops below the road, already half destroyed by a river of mud, are then menaced by a new spate.

Another exciting feature that is not mentioned in our history books, either, is the qanats. A very recognizable and ingenious water management system from antiquity that still exists today and is still functioning in some parts of the world. The quality of the river water could not always be trusted, but the qanats carried the precious fluid from the snow level high up the mountains or from clean underground water tables (see: The qanats, one of the greatest inventions of mankind).

Earthquakes were another frequent occurrence at every stage of Alexander’s route. Surprisingly, the sudden shaking that rocked tents, as well as men and beasts, is never mentioned either. They probably were prevailing events not worth talking about.

No, this way of traveling is definitely not for the faint-hearted. Yet Alexander and his brave Macedonians constantly faced the elements. However, I like to believe that many, and especially Alexander, had an eye for beauty as well. Byron tells us, for instance, that he reached the most beautiful part of his entire journey at the foot of the Hindu Kush. Of all places! After leaving the river, the road constantly climbed not in twists but followed a succession of steeply sloping saddles leading from ridge to ridge. I have seen pictures of this road in a presentation at the exhibition “Afghanistan, hidden treasures from the National Museum, Kabul,” and they entirely match Byron’s description.

On the other hand, flowers must have been plentiful in antiquity, creating landscapes that were familiar to Alexander. Nowadays, they have mainly disappeared from our cities and our concrete roads. I fondly recall the Macedonian fields covered with an array of spring flowers ranging from the white chamomile and pink hollyhock to the deep-red poppies and purple wild onions. The explosion of colors over the rolling hills felt like a homecoming. The land was pleasantly green, crossed by refreshing, clear streams tumbling down from higher elevations under the blue sky filled with fleets of puffy clouds. Yet, I came across the same picture in many other places, further east to Turkey and beyond.

Truly, so much, so very much remains to be discovered and disclosed on Alexander’s whereabouts!

World Heritage Sites in Danger

The war in the Middle East, especially in Syria, Iraq, and Afghanistan, is a terribly destructive one ( see: The War in Syria, what will happen to its heritage?; Loss of our Cultural Heritage in the Middle-Eastern Conflicts). Millions of people have been displaced, and the number of habitations that have been shot down and blown to pieces can no longer be counted. Among the damaged constructions are – inevitably – irreplaceable ancient sites that belong to human heritage. They are pages of our history that are torn and lost forever.

In Syria and Iraq alone, UNESCO lists ten World Heritage Sites, and of those ten, they say, nine are presently in danger. ISIS, although not the only destructive factor, is definitely the main culprit.

The majority of the sites are located in Syria:

The ancient city of Palmyra has been in the news repeatedly (see: The Legacy of Ancient Palmyra; The Temple of Bel at Palmyra – In Memoriam; The glorious days of Palmyra; In honor of Palmyra; Good news from Palmyra?; Open letter from Syrian Archaeologists about Palmyra;  Another Wave of Destruction hitting Palmyra). There is no need to develop the subject any further.

The well-preserved remains of Bosra on Syria’s southern border are less known but contain a great number of ancient buildings. Most famous is probably its Roman theater from the 2^nd century AD, when Bosra was the capital of the Province of Arabia. Yet there also are many testimonies from the days when the city was ruled by the Nabataeans, the Byzantine Empire, and the Umayyads. Bosra, however, was one of the first cities under siege and suffering from repeated shelling and bombing by ISIS (the theater was a choice location for the snipers).

Another sore spot is the ancient city of Aleppo, which, like Palmyra, was situated on antique trading routes (see: Tracking Alexander from Tyre to the Euphrates) and remained a major city in Syria. Since 2012, it has been divided alternately between rebels and government troops. Among the destroyed and damaged buildings is the Mosque of Aleppo and its Minaret from the 11^th century AD (see: Desperation of the Archaeologists).

Lesser known but certainly as important are the so-called Dead Cities with their precious villages and churches that flourished between the 1st and the 7^th centuries, ranging from antiquity to the end of the Byzantine era. Fighters and refugees alike sought shelter among these ruins, trying to accommodate the fragile remains to their needs.

From another time frame are the many Crusader Castles, the most renowned being the Crac-des-Chevaliers. They are unique because of their mixed architecture of European and Eastern influences. Here too, the Syrian army and the rebels occupied the premises in turn without any respect or consideration for the patrimony.

Last but not least, there is the damage done in Damascus, one of the most ancient cities in the world. Damascus was already a problem child because of a population decrease and people moving from older buildings to newer housing facilities. This left big gaps in some of the city’s neighborhoods. The fighting inside the Old City started as early as 2012 and caused more damage. UNESCO has counted as many as 125 protected monuments in Damascus, among which is the famous Umayyad Mosque, one of the largest mosques in the world.

UNESCO also lists a number of precious buildings in Iraq. Unfortunately, these are less known by the general public simply because traveling to Iraq was and is problematic.

The city of Hatra was one of the best surviving examples of a Parthian city founded in the 3^rd or 2^nd century BC. Most of its city walls and towers, as well as the sacred temenos of the Temple of Mrn, were still standing when ISIS arrived. As they did in nearby Nimrud a few days before, they hacked down the magnificent figures that decorated the arches and vaulted passages. The Great Temple was a rare example of combined Greek, Roman, Persian, and Arabian architectural styles.

The Assyrian city of Assur on the western bank of the River Tigris is another precious site, as it was the first capital of the Assyrian Empire. Assur existed for nearly four thousand years and was finally destroyed by the great Tamerlane. However, the stately Parthian Palace and Temple have survived into our 21^st century until they fell under threat of ISIS. The fate of Assur remains uncertain, for if the city is not destroyed by terrorists, it may become a victim of the dam project on the Tigris, which will flood whatever walls that are still standing.

Finally, there is the old Abbasid capital of Samarra, which is the only surviving Islamic capital to show its original layout, architecture, and decorations (including mosaics and carvings). It is home to the Great Shiite Mosque, which was in danger when the city was taken by ISIS and was caught up in the war between Shiites and Sunnites. It seems that the Iraqi government was able to push the invaders back.

Not very uplifting altogether. As to Afghanistan, where the situation is far more complicated, there is the Valley of Bamiyan, where the giant Buddhas were blown up in 2001, and the Minaret of Jam (see: The Minaret of Djam, an Excursion in Afghanistan by Freya Stark). Meanwhile, UNESCO has put the cities of Herat, the city founded by Alexander as Alexandria Ariana, and Balkh, or, as it was called in antiquity Bactra or Zariaspa (see: Alexander’s Prison?) on a tentative list.

[Picture of the Bamyan Valley is from Ancient Origins]

Although this is only a corner of our planet, there is more than enough to worry about!

[Picture of Hatra Temple is from Judith Weingarten. 
Picture of the Holy City of Samarra is from Al-Islam]

From Afghanistan into Bactria across the Hindu Kush

Before winter made the high passes of the Hindu Kush impassable, Bessus crossed the mountains north into Bactria, applying the policy of scorched earth in an attempt to make it impossible for Alexander to follow him. But evidently, he underestimated Alexander's determination and stubbornness! The ancients thought the Hindu Kush Mountain Range was a continuation of the Caucasus Mountains and alternatively used that name. They also called it the Paropamisadae, derived from the Persian word meaning as much as "peak over which the eagle cannot fly." The Hindu Kush is a nearly 1,000 km long barrier of high mountains running from Afghanistan to India, with the highest peak reaching 7,708 meters. This range, in fact, separates Central Asia from South Asia or India. In other words, it is a colossal barrier that cannot be underestimated.

It is late November 330 BC when Alexander marches through a series of narrow ravines that run from Kandahar, situated at 1100m via Ghazni, to Kabul at 1791 m. The modern road, which certainly takes shortcuts compared to Alexander's advance, tells us that the distance is slightly less than 500 km. Climbing in altitude to 3000 meters at times, the thin air and deep snow make progress very difficult. Under these circumstances, camp is made above the clouds where the nights are ungodly cold, and the land is covered with snow. The army suffers from snow blindness and frostbite. In the murky light, many lose their way and get stuck in snowdrifts as the wind howls through the narrows. Food, especially during the last leg of this journey, becomes a daily preoccupation, and the meager contribution of the natives hardly supports the Macedonian forces.

Alexander realizes that it is too late in the year to march across the Hindu Kush and settles his army near Begram at the junction of two rivers, the Cophen (Kabul) and the Panshir overlooking a broad plain framed by snowy peaks. Eventually, this city will become one of the many Alexandrias that patch the world map and will be called, very appropriately Alexandria-in-Caucasus. The army gets a breather for several months with abundant food and fodder available. Meanwhile, the snow falls heavily over the Hindu Kush, and in the heart of winter, the mountains are covered with a layer of twenty meters of snow.

Once again, one can only marvel at Alexander's highly skilled preparations and logistics. Of course, these lands were part of the Achaemenid Empire, and as such, they were well-documented and organized, but we must recognize Alexander's own intelligence and scouting parties. He had a choice of passes to pursue Bessus into Bactria, and it is generally agreed that he opted for the Khawak Pass. Although this road was the longest (75 kilometers), it also was the lowest (3,550m) and provided the best chances for forage. Here, he outsmarted Bessus, who had expected his enemy to take the shortest route, where he burnt all the local winter provisions behind him.

Despite careful planning, Alexander and his army approaching the Hindu Kush from the south had a strenuous journey. The column is divided into four sections, and the vanguard – the army engineers - had the most demanding job of clearing the way. They set out in early spring (sources vary from March to June), marching up the Panshir Valley, some 150 km north of Kabul, suffering from cold and lack of food. As soon as they entered the sheer walls of this gorge, they were confronted with thick crusts of frost as the sun hardly touched the bottom for a mere few minutes this time of year. They had to hack through the ice for many parts of this one-hundred-kilometer-long valley. With the first snow melting, rivers turning into torrents thunder down the gorges, making treacherous crossings. On top of that, scores of tributary valleys filled with debris and icy waters descend with deafening fury into the Panshir Valley.

It is said that the Macedonians carried a ten-day ration for an expedition that should take four days. Instead, it took Alexander and his army a full week to reach the summit and another ten days to descend into the fertile plains of Central Asia on the other side, i.e., seventeen grueling days in all.

It was not so much the distance that commanded the army's progress but the terrain itself. The mountain path varied considerably in width. At its narrowest parts, only three men could walk abreast: two infantrymen or one cavalry horse could pass at one time as the baggage train and pack animals formed a file alongside, as that was the best – and probably the only – way for the men in accessing supplies in such a confined space. These were actual bottlenecks that held up the entire marching line. The cavalrymen would most probably dismount their horses to lead their mounts, especially on the ascent.

What is not recounted in our history books but has been reported by British troops who invaded Afghanistan in 1838 and 1878 are the extreme weather conditions in these parts. In his book The Afghan Campaign, Steven Pressfield paints vivid pictures of the Macedonian's fight with the elements, which comes very close to reality.

There is an intensity in the sunrise and sunset in these mountains that is quite unique. The light throws patches of blue and violet on the melting snow, described as a purple veil as misty as a breeze. Worse are the sudden storms that strike, alternating hail and snow. Hailstones rattle the soldiers' shields and helmets. The men seek shelter against the elements, but soon the trail turns into ice, making each step slippery and treacherous. The drenched army must have felt the frigid wind cutting right through their bones. They have to sleep where they are on the trail, sheltering against each other and their pack animals as best they can.

When finally the sun breaks through, men and mountains are shrouded in vapor and sweat. The danger of avalanches is very real. Rills and runnels turn into torrents plunging to the depth of the valley. At times, the sun blazes so fiercely that the men take off their cloaks. Yet, one hour later, the mild temperatures suddenly plummet as a new load of sleet and hail thunders down on them. Their path is then covered with scree and shingle, making each step precarious. Nearer to the top of the pass, they are confronted with glaciers strewn with fissures, crevasses, and cracks between the ice upheavals. Whatever part of their upwards trek, the underfoot is unstable and dangerous. On top of that, mountain sickness hits the men, who are disoriented and unable to keep any scarce food down. Every movement demands a monumental effort, and many go snow-blind. The companies start falling apart while the winds howl relentlessly and the icy cold hits the men to the core of their souls.

The Macedonians did not realize that the Panshir Valley is a beautiful valley that provides the locals with rich harvests of rice, barley, and beans. But all that is now hidden under the thick coat of snow, burying even the orchards of pistachios, apricots, pears, and mulberries. There is no wood to light a fire, and the men must settle for cold goat meat, frozen onions, and iced curd. 

Halfway up in the mountains, a rock, half a mile high, became identified with Prometheus, a hero from the most remarkable Greek legends that had always been placed in the Caucasus. Here, the tale was conveniently assimilated into the ancient Persian myth in which the eagle Sena had saved the hero Dastan. The story was a good incentive for the army to feel more at home instead of plowing along through these god-forbidden frozen mountains.

Alexander's army has been estimated at 64,000 troops and 10,000 cavalry horses with an additional number of followers of approximately 36,000, making it a total of 100,000 men to meander over these snowy paths. In his Logistics of the Macedonian Army, Donald Engels gives detailed calculations of the space occupied by each soldier, horseman, and camp follower, enabling him to match the marching time of seventeen days as mentioned by ancient authors. This is a fascinating and trustworthy analysis.

According to Aristotle, one could see from the summit of the Caucasus all the way to the eastern edge of the world. Alexander and his Companions, who had shared his teaching, knew this story very well, but what they witnessed instead was not the end of the world but ridge after ridge of endless high mountains. How did this influence their opinion or esteem of Aristotle?

If the ascent was steep and challenging, the sufferings of the army reached intolerable heights during its descent. On the northern slopes of the Hindu Kush, the snow still filled the crags and masked all the features. Finding and following a trail was a nightmare. The horses had been fitted with snow boots to cope with the deep snow and slippery drifts. The men's clothing and footwear were unsuitable for these harsh winter conditions. They trudged on with empty bellies, chewing on wood and wax as they struggled with chronic fatigue. The well-drilled and disciplined Macedonian army falters as avalanches break their column formations into many separate sections.

Famine spread throughout the army, and the few remaining amphorae of wine – a mere drop in the ocean – were sold at exorbitant prices, as was the honey. In the lower valleys, the soldiers could supplement their diet with brown trout from the rivers and some herbs, but there was no fodder for the animals, and orders were issued to slaughter them. However, since the scant scrub bushes were still buried deep under the snow, no firewood was available, and the meat had to be eaten raw.

Descending from the foothills in early June, Alexander made it without trouble to Kunduz and from there to the local capital of Bactra (Balkh in Afghanistan). Here, he allowed his troops to refresh in this relatively generous oasis. The army's spirits must have revived when terraced fields of rice and barley unfolded in front of them, and they could relish the sight of pear and plum trees. Here, the days were warm and pleasant, and they found plenty of provisions stored within the city walls as ordered by Bessus to fit his scorched earth policy and now serving Alexander. This evidently was a real bonus as the city opened its gates to the new conqueror!

[Pictures are from Mountains of our Mind and from Place and See, except the first one, which is clearly from Oliver Stone's film Alexander]

Alexander’s Prison?

Walking through the narrow streets of Yazd (Iran), I was surprised to find a signpost pointing towards Alexander’s Prison. What does it mean? Alexander never was in Yazd as far as I know, but he may, of course, have sent one of his generals here with explicit orders; this would make the connection with Alexander plausible – but still.

The formal explanation I received from the local guide is that during the reign of Alexander, a number of Persian nobles resisting his domination started a revolt in Rhagae, near modern Tehran. Alexander had them arrested, and on his way to Yazd, he imprisoned them in this fortress with a deep well in its courtyard.

Who knows what really happened, but it is a strange story since Alexander marched from Persepolis past Isfahan to Ecbatana, and from there via Qazvin to Raghae. Yazd is, however, located some 300 km east of his route Persepolis-Isfahan, which contradicts the local story that he was on his way from Raghae (Tehran) to Yazd in the south. In any case, the so-called Prison of Alexander in Yazd is still standing and has been converted into a school.

The Lonely Planet relates a story similar to that of my guide but mentions that it might have emerged from a poem by Hafez, who, together with Saadi, is one of the greatest poets Iran has ever known. Today, Hafez is still the most popular poet in Iran, and everyone can sing or recite one of his poems.

Whatever truth is hidden behind this tale, I never heard of this prison in Yazd or of its connection with Alexander, but then the same story or fable is told about Balkh in Afghanistan, whose origin would also be a prison established by Alexander. One thing is certain: the King of Asia is still very much alive in those parts of the world. There are many other examples like the one about the Alexander Fort at Nurata, the ancient city of Nur, which he founded in 327 BC. Uzbek sources relate that Alexander instructed one of his generals, a certain Farhangi-Sarhang, to build a fort that even he could not take, and he was successful at that! (see: Sogdian Rocks and Alexander’s Fort near Nurata). Another of those legends is about the Alexander River (Iskander Darya) that flows out of an Alexander Lake (Iskander Kül), also in Uzbekistan. It is believed that he built a golden dam to create the lake and that gold particles can still be panned further downstream. Another story tells how Alexander and his trusted horse Bucephalus rise from this lake every full moon to cross the sky (see: March to Maracanda).

These are all fascinating anecdotes that are being told over and over, keeping the name and the memory of Alexander the Great alive.

The Minaret of Djam by Freya Stark

The Minaret of Djam, an Excursion in Afghanistan (ISBN 9781848853133) is another typical book by Freya Stark, written once again in the style that is so much her own, with vivid depictions – rather paintings – of the scenery around her. With a minimum of words, she manages to draw a full-scale picture. This time, she takes on a trip through the very heart of Afghanistan in search of the Minaret of Djam, roughly halfway between Kabul and Herat. It seems as if she travelled in a time beyond time, most probably before the Soviet invasion of 1979.

She writes most pleasantly, taking the reader by the hand to uncover the secrets of the hidden landscapes and remote populations. She was quite an adventurous lady whom I admire greatly, especially when you realize that she travelled in times when roads were still very primitive and when definitely no lady would venture on her own into those remote corners of the world. However, before the Soviet invasion, the British were still seen as frequent travellers over there. Strangely enough, Afghanistan was still a pleasant place to be.

In any case, this is an adventure by itself, for few people have ever seen this minaret, and still fewer have crossed the area. She manages to make it through the summer heat in a Land Rover that serves as sleeping quarters under most primitive conditions. Still, she always remains optimistic and blessed with that British phlegm that makes it all bearable and possible. An admirable woman on a worthy journey, to say the least.

But in the end, it is all about the Minaret of Djam, the second-tallest brick minaret in the world. Set in the remoteness of the Afghan slopes between the two highest peaks of the Safed Kuh, 3525 and 3416 meters. The minaret stands alone, dressed in brick color against the perfect blue sky, which I now can imagine in the light of my travels through Uzbekistan, where similar intricate stone patterns have also been used. It belongs to the fertile years of Islamic art from the 11th and 12th centuries and must be quite a sight. I’m surprised that she didn’t climb the one hundred and eighty steps of the double staircase to the top. I would – I think. She mentions a nearby inscription by Sultan Ghiyath al-Dunya, the fifth sultan of the Ghurid dynasty, who ruled from 1163 till 1203, and that is all we know of its history.

After finishing this most enjoyable and exciting book, I needed to investigate the Ghurid Dynasty further, as it is otherwise totally unknown to me. It turns out that it was very short-lived, existing for just over sixty years, although they had ruled an empire stretching from eastern Persia all the way to northern India. They even conquered Bamyan and Balkh as well as territories beyond the Oxus River. Their capital city was Firuzbuh, i.e., where this Minaret is still standing. I find it exciting to learn that they lost territories to the Khwarizm, which I heard for the first time on my recent trip to Uzbekistan! It was once again Genghis Khan who finally destroyed the cities and probably killed the entire population. Amazingly, the Minaret of Djam has survived!

[picture from the UNESCO site]

To make this story complete, I would encourage everybody to read the article “Minaret and Archaeological Remains of Jam,” in which UNESCO puts the minaret on the list of World Heritage in Danger.