About Sabratha (Libya)

Sabratha is the lesser-known city of the Roman Tripolitania after Oea (Tripoli) and Leptis Magna, but it is the only one that has remains from Punic occupations to show.

It is a strange and bizarre monument labeled as a Punic Mausoleum. I have never seen any building from that era and have nothing to compare it with. We owe this reconstruction to the Italians who worked here in the days of Mussolini. To recover the elements, they had to demolish a section of the Byzantine city wall and houses of a later date. The monument may be inspired by the Libyan-Numidian Mausoleum of Duga in modern Tunisia which is, however, a square building.

The Mausoleum of Sabratha stands 23 meters high and ends in a turret that is missing its tip. It is resting on a triangular base. The Punic construction collapsed during the earthquakes that occurred in the 4th century AD. The debris was then readily used by the Byzantines to build the city walls and reconstruct some houses.

How the Italian archaeologists have been able to sort out the parts belonging to the Punic Mausoleum seems a near-impossible task. To me, this monument is a jumbled mixture of Egyptian and Greek symbols (in the friezes above the columns) where the Egyptian god Bes is depicted taming the lions, while Heracles is attacking the lions in a very Greek fashion. Both gods are known for helping to overcome death in order to guarantee eternal life. The three consoles supposedly held 3-meter-high statues of Greek kouroi. Initially, the entire mausoleum was coated with a layer of red and blue stucco, making it an unmistakable landmark in the middle of the old city.

The eye-catcher in Sabratha nowadays is its imposing theater that is said to be the largest in Roman Africa. It was built in the 3rd century AD using local stone, and it was decorated with black and white marble columns as well as cipolin marble. The capitals were quite unique, often enhanced with masks or faces.

It is, however, exciting to access this theater through the artists' entrance for I had no idea such a thing existed in antiquity. These are large rooms with colorful marble floors and walls. From here, the artists could immediately enter the now wooden stage that is 40 meters wide. It is a treat to walk in their footsteps and to look into the theater from their point of view. The high skene is three stories tall. It is said that 96 of the original columns have been put back into place, but I am not exactly charmed by the quality of this restoration. 

The ledge of the first floor once held an inscription of which, strangely enough, only the word “lacuna” has survived. The theory goes that this is what remains of “lacunaria” referring to the wooden overhang that covered the podium to increase its acoustics. The edge of the podium facing the public is decorated with marble reliefs displaying theater masks for comedies and tragedies, two philosophers in an intimate discussion, and a dancing girl wrapped in a whirling tunica.

When the restoration work was completed in 1937, the theater was inaugurated with due pomp and circumstance by Mussolini, who personally attended the performance of Antigone by Sophocles. Walking through the vaults and corridors gives at least an inkling of the logistics involved. It is a unique way to sniff the atmosphere from times past. From the top tiers of seats, I am rewarded with a panoramic view of the ancient city and today’s harbor.

Like the theater, most buildings in Sabratha were constructed using the local yellow sandstone that is readily available. These stones were covered with stucco that was painted afterward. In the glory days of the Roman occupation, the stucco was replaced by more precious marble slabs.

Near the beach stands a temple dedicated to Isis, an eastern cult that was popular among the Romans. The goddess was depicted with a headdress of bent cow horns framing a solar disk. This temple was built under Emperor Augustus and was enlarged in 69-79 AD by Vespasian. The main entrance was facing east where an ample colonnaded space opened toward the sea. All we see today are the steps to this entrance and a few rooms in the back of the temple for the worship of other gods. Archaeologists have, however, managed to re-erect six columns that serve as a lonely beacon. Nothing much remains of the original cella that held the cult statue of Isis and the layout is otherwise rather puzzling.

Nearby is another temple from the 2nd century AD with no name. It may have been kept anonymous on purpose to serve the seafarers from the entire Mediterranean to worship their own gods. Most of the building stones have sadly been removed to be re-used elsewhere.

The Forum looks like a construction site with lots of rubble and piles of stones that seem to belong to different temples and other official buildings. A key position is occupied by the remains of a temple dedicated to Antoninus Pius and his family. Across lies a Basilica whose entrance is framed with pillars decorated with vines intertwined with the now-vanished silphium plant. It should be noted that silphium was by far the largest export product of North Africa - the only place in the world where this plant could be found and now disappeared entirely. It was a natural medicine, a contraceptive, and an aphrodisiac that was in high demand, especially in Rome. It was an efficient remedy against cough, fever, indigestion, wards, and all kinds of other ailments – in fact, the aspirin of antiquity. I find it quite exciting to see traces of this unique plant.

Also recognizable is the Curia from the 4th century AD, i.e., the meeting room for the state council in which the people of Sabratha with the highest incomes could have a seat and their say. Then as now, money meant power, and we should not forget that it was the rich who took care of the maintenance of the streets, water pipes and conduits, bathhouses, and other public facilities of the city.

Between this Curia and the sea, I find the well-known Basilica of Justinian, a Byzantine church from the 6th century AD, which unfortunately was entirely dismantled by the archaeologists in the 1920s simply because they underestimated its value. The mosaic floors, however, have been saved and were moved to the local museum (see: Sabratha, an old Phoenician colony in North Africa).

Strolling on further, I reach the street of the olive oil traders where several presses are still in situ. The inside of the successive basins was coated with waterproof stucco to make sure they saved the oil to the last drop.

Further down, are the Baths of Oceanus or Neptune displaying a significant number of mosaics. The most beautiful picture is that of Oceanus, now at the museum. That precaution is not exaggerated because these mosaics are not protected, and everybody can walk freely over them. What a shame! 

My travel experience through Libya dates from before the outbreak of the Arab Spring, and even then, I felt sorry that Libya had not taken better care of its archaeological heritage. The situation after the capture and execution of Muammar Gaddafi has gone from bad to worse. I honestly fear that many sites that have been unearthed so carefully are no longer cared for and are now left for grabs (see: Still hope, though scant, for Libya’s heritage).

Click here to see all the pictures of Sabratha

Side didn’t put up any resistance to Alexander

The name Side means “pomegranate,” a well-known fertility symbol in antiquity that we also find on coins. The origin of Side itself is shrouded in mystery. Arrian tells us that the city was founded by people from Cyma, a town north of Smyrna (modern Izmir). However, if we believe Eusebius, the city was settled at least two hundred years before the Trojan War, i.e., about 1405 BC. For now, neither option can be proved.

In antiquity, however, Side occupied a special place because of the language spoken there, which did not resemble any other known language or dialect and didn’t sound like Greek. It was unique to Side if we believe Arrian (and why shouldn’t we believe him?). Inscriptions and coins use this unique language as far back as the 5th and 3rd centuries BC. In any case, it has been determined that it can only be of Anatolian origin, i.e., proper to Pamphylia, because it is unrelated to Sillyum or Aspendos's Greek dialects. Greek started to be used only after the conquest of Alexander the Great, which is supported by an inscription from about 300 BC.

On his march through Pamphylia in the early spring of 333 BC, Alexander took possession of Side. Not much has been said about it, just that he left a garrison behind before moving on to Sillyum. After his death, his general Ptolemy ruled the city until the Seleucid Dynasty took over in the 2nd century BC. Later on, Side was included in the Pergamon Empire. However, the town was involved in the profitable piracy business, and the Cilicians used it as a pivotal base for their slave trading. When Emperor Pompey expelled the pirates in 67 BC, the people of Side hurriedly erected a statue in his honor. The city flourished under Roman occupation but weakened as soon as the empire fell apart. This is evidenced by the city walls built about the fourth century inside the once larger city limits.

However, there was a short revival in the fifth and sixth centuries. The theater was repaired, and a new Forum was built in honor of Arcadius (395-408), as well as several other buildings. But the Arab invasion of the 7th century caused its final decline, and by the end of the 10th century, the few remaining inhabitants moved to the newly founded Antalya. The last people who lived here were the Seljuks in the 12^th century. We have to wait till 1895 when Greek Muslims migrated from Crete and sought refuge among the ruins. The new village called Selimiye, is consequently built on top of the old Side. Finding the ancient remains among today’s houses, gardens, and alleys takes some detective work. On the other hand, a large part of the antique city is still buried under drift sand, especially in the northeastern corner, where the Roman city walls literally disappear in the dunes.

A parking lot has been built at the city entrance, and I’m glad I can leave my car there and don’t have to figure out the narrow street pattern. I am lucky to enter the city exactly where I wanted, meaning through the Hellenistic Gate (Megale Pyle) from the 2nd century BC, with its two round towers, just like the ones in Perge, but in much poorer condition. If I had not seen the Hellenistic Gate in Perge, I would have missed this one entirely, and it would have been complicated to imagine what the towers looked like.

The shocking picture here is the newly asphalted road, a coat smeared over and on top of the old Roman pavement – a barbarian crime, nothing less!

Behind me rise the impressive remains that belong to a large Nymphaeum, another mental link for me, this time with Sagalassos. I didn’t expect to find a fountain of this size in Side. The explanation panel is set up in Turkish, English, and German, with a drawing of the fountain’s reconstruction. This Nymphaeum dates from the 2nd and 3rd centuries, just like most of the ruins around here – i.e., the heydays of the Roman Empire.

The antique and now asphalted colonnaded street runs past elegant remains of a covered sidewalk with shops behind them. I can walk freely among these remains, which adds to the charm. I climb to the top of one of the sand dunes, hoping to spot the sea, and I do. In fact, my view reaches as far as Alanya to the east, while in the north, I’m stopped by the peninsula of Side. Inviting dark blue water splashes against the rocks and sunken ruins, creating a screen of thousands of sunlit stars.

I move on and climb to the next dune top, and from here, I clearly see the large Theatre, but that is for later, as I’m close to the beach and decide to walk to the old port, which is now entirely sanded up. I pass impressive ruins with column stubs belonging to a Nymphaeum of which only the facade is still standing. The space in front was once occupied by the Agora, measuring nearly the standard 100 x 100 meters, but I miss the shops that usually surround it. Remains of columns and ceiling caissons lie everywhere, and I can’t help thinking that the sand surely will damage these carvings (a standard abrasive) – not the happiest way to preserve ancient stones.

The road now leads me to the center of today’s Selimiye, with a continuous row of restaurants and souvenir shops on either side. The merchants and waiters try all the tricks in the book to draw the attention of the tourists. Nothing has changed since antiquity.

At the end of the next side street, the white marble columns of the Temple of Apollo appear, the standard picture in every travel guide, which now becomes real. The effect of Carrara marble against the intense blue sky and sea is simply perfect. From between the arches of nearby Lima Basilica, I take my first pictures. At the same time, I marvel at the size of this Basilica from the 5th/6th century, which remained in use for many more centuries in a reduced size.

The longer I stare at those few slender columns of the Temple of Apollo, the more I see. The delicate, not entirely Corinthian capitals supporting a pediment decorated with numerous individual faces staring down at me. Somewhere between the broken marble on the floor, I find a piece of the pediment with one of those faces, finely decorated edges with lion heads; this temple must have been something extraordinary. Next to it, I should find its twin, a temple dedicated to Artemis, but I fail to see anything indicating the presence of a building. As always, the location has been chosen with perfection and is no less impressive than the location of Cape Sounion in Greece.

Back in the streets of Selimiye, I get terribly annoyed by the noise, the cars, and the tourists, but above all, by this idiotic asphalted street still lined with stubs of the original colonnade. I discovered the remains of the Roman Baths, the so-called Harbor Baths from the second century, but since modern houses have been built inside and against the old walls, it is difficult to get a clear overall picture. These baths must have been quite large, measuring 36 x 19 meters, but it is a pity to find them in such poor shape.

Finally, I arrive at the theater, which has been considerably propped up, and the many vaults are reinforced with iron beams. I wonder how safe it is to get inside. I always find a theater a fascinating place to visit, where the past remains so palpable simply because, over the centuries, thousands of people have walked through its open or vaulted corridors or chatted comfortably sitting on the stone benches. The entrance takes me immediately to the diazoma, the promenade halfway through the theater, right in the middle. It is said to be one of the largest theaters in Pamphylia and should hold approximately as many people as the one in Aspendos. This is hard to judge because the scene is poorly preserved, and almost nothing is left from the backstage wall (paraskenia), either. From the coolness of the vaults, I admire its location amidst the sand-covered remains behind which the entire coastline unfolds towards Alanya.

The sides and upper parts of the theater are off-limits because of the danger of collapse, but most of the “safe” parts have been well restored. Like the city, this is clearly Roman, although there was originally a Greek theater on this spot. Meanwhile, I have stepped all the way down, and when I look back over my shoulder, I’m surprised by the height. Of the people at the entrance to the diazoma, I only see their heads. This was the first time in my life that I felt dwarfed in a theater, overwhelmed by the entire construction. I walk to both extremities of the semi-circle while admiring the decorated remains on the podium. It is said that the scene was completely overgrown with trees and bushes when it was first discovered, tearing the construction apart. Comparing the pictures George Bean took in the 1960s (see: Turkey’s Southern Shore) with today’s appearance, it is evident that a lot of work has been done. After a while, I climb back to the diazoma to find that the stairs to the upper seats start in the vaulted corridor – there was no outside access in this theater.

Back outside on the main street, I automatically reach the small Temple of Dionysus attached to the remains of the Arch of Vespasian. The cars must drive underneath the Arch, taking turns since the opening is not wide enough to enable two vehicles to pass together. When in the 6th and 7th centuries, the population of Side had shrunk considerably, this Arch became a city gate in the newly built protection wall. In a way that is still visible today because, beyond this point, the modern restaurants and shops stop, giving way to the ruins of the antique stores with walls reaching approximately one or two meters high. One of these stores is quite unique because the owner's living quarters were located behind the up-front store, and in one of the rooms, I even discovered the original mosaic floor still in place.

To the right of the Triumphal Arch of Vespasian are the remains of a Nymphaeum, squeezed between the street and the space that belongs to the Archaeological Museum. This museum has been set up inside the well-preserved Roman Baths. It is one of those rare occasions where I can have a real feel of what such baths must have looked like in spite of the modern concrete roofing that seems to blend in elegantly. Entering through two arched doorways, I access the frigidarium, the coldest part of the baths; next is the sweating room, and finally, I reach the largest room, the caldarium or hot room, where pipes of the floor-heating system are still visible in places; the last two rooms were the tepidarium or washing rooms. The marble floors and the walls of the basins are in excellent condition, and the spare natural light sources add to the genuine feeling. Among the statues and other artifacts of the collection, I cannot find many striking pieces, except for an inscription in the language of Side, which I have never encountered before, and a Pamphylian sarcophagus from the 2nd century with high reliefs of dancing cupids under the sloping roof festooned with lion heads. The less important or broken pieces have found refuge in the adjacent garden, but are undoubtedly worth a visit; also, the workshop where a richly decorated sarcophagus is being painstakingly puzzled back together.

All in all, I spent three and a half hours walking around in Old Side, purposely ignoring the modern tourist traps - lovely!

[Click here to see all the pictures of Side]

Admiration for Alexander, or adulation, or veneration?

Alexander, more than any other conqueror or King, has fired the imagination of scores of people over the centuries. In many eastern countries, his memory is still alive as locals can point you to a road he took, a mountain path he climbed, or a fort he built. Cities, lakes, and strongholds are named after him, and legends are still being told as bedtime stories and by traveling bards.

It must have started right after Alexander died in Babylon, by his generals and soldiers alike. We will remember how the men insisted on saying their goodbyes to their dying King. Despite their differences, they carried him in their hands when they refused to join him in his attempt to reach the outer eastern ocean, the end of the world as they knew it. Alexander's generals fought for nearly forty years to rule over at least part of his empire, maybe out of greed or ambition. Still, it all goes back to their admiration for Alexander and desire to follow in his footsteps.

The fight over his corpse is another sign. We must be thankful to Ptolemy that he snatched Alexander's funeral carriage from Perdiccas' escort to Macedonia. Had Alexander's body arrived in his homeland for burial, as was customary for all Macedonian kings, we may never have heard of the adulation and veneration he enjoyed in the following centuries. It took some chaotic years till Macedonia had a new ruler, and when this happened, it turned out to be Cassander, Parmenion's son. We know how he treated Alexander's son, Alexander IV, his wife Roxane, and his mother, Olympias! There would have been little or no hope for any respect or consideration for Alexander's body had it fallen in Cassander's hands.

We owe it to the Ptolemaic dynasty, which ended with Cleopatra of Egypt, that Alexander's body was kept "in state." In Egypt, the Great King's shrine was visited by many, the best known being the Roman Emperors. Julius Cesar is said to have wept over his tomb; Octavian, the later Emperor Augustus, laid a golden crown on the mummified corpse breaking off his nose in the process; the half-witted Caligula dressed up with Alexander's breastplate taken from the mausoleum; Vespasian must have visited the tomb since he reigned out of Alexandria instead of Rome; Hadrian crowned himself with the elephant headdress on specially issued coins in Alexandria, in an imitation of Alexander; Septimius Severus is reported to have been shocked by the accessibility of the dead King's remains and ordered the burial chamber to be sealed off; Caracalla, son of Septimius Severus, claimed to be the reincarnation of Alexander and is said to have taken some cups and weapons from the tomb. Clearly, the Roman emperors' admiration turned into adulation as they set out to imitate Alexander, whom they saw as their example and hero.

One of the most striking and best-known images of Alexander is, without doubt, the mosaic discovered in the Villa of the Faun in Pompeii. We do not know who lived in that house and ordered this magnificent floor, but he must have been quite an admirer of Alexander, an adulator even.

Even in our modern times, I hear many tales of people creating Alexander shrines in their homes, enhancing their interiors with copies of statues, and wearing Alexander coins around their necks. In the third century already, a Roman aristocratic family wore coins with Alexander's image as jewels or stitched onto their garments. They reportedly ate from plates carrying a picture of his face and used unique bowls telling his life story! And this was only the beginning, of course. Shortly afterward, it became fashionable among the people of Constantinople to wear an Alexander coin on their heads to protect them from evil. Alexander's effigy soon appeared on coins and medallions of all sizes and shapes. Pure veneration, isn't it?

In the footsteps of the Roman Emperors, later rulers would be treading. Napoleon wishfully considered that he had found Alexander's tomb during his campaign in Egypt, but it turned out to be that of Nectanebo II. The so-called Alexander sarcophagus, now in the Archaeological Museum of Istanbul, depicting a fighting Alexander, never contained his body; it was found in Sidon and was made by a Phoenician admirer of the King.

Tsarina Catherine of Russia was inspired by Alexander and named her grandson after him, telling him about the extraordinary exploits of his illustrious namesake. In a way, her ambition to build a vast empire was similar to Alexander's. In fact, when the Russians adopted the orthodox religion from the tenth century onward, the Alexander tradition had been carried over, and he became their hero.

King Louis XIV of France took great interest in Alexander the Great and proclaimed himself the new Alexander – why not? He commissioned a series of paintings by Charles Le Brun to enhance his palaces. Since the French King's fashions were copied by other European courts, we see painters at work in the palaces of Italy, Spain, Germany, and Austria, bringing the saga of Alexander back to life once again.

Whether or not Alexander thought of himself as a god or simply from godly descent, once he was dead, many people considered him to be a god or at least a hero. In our modern world, either definition is hard to value as nobody anymore reaches the state of godliness. Christianity has handily replaced all the gods of the ancient pantheon with saints, so today, we would speak about sainthood and then only in the context of the Christian belief, which has nothing in common with Alexander's great exploits. The church counts many saints called Alexander, but none refers to Alexander the Great. 

On the other hand, today's heroes can only be found among those achieving heroic deeds like saving a stranger from a fire, drowning, or rescuing a comrade in war. The heroics of antiquity were of a different kind, attributed to men who, in their achievements, surpassed those of ordinary people and were placed somewhere between heaven and earth. Men like Achilles and Alexander, of course, but also dynastic leaders among the Ptolemies and Seleucids. We know that when Hephaistion died, the army honored him as a hero (not waiting for the official confirmation by the Egyptian priests) – they could not have done less for Alexander.

Time and again, I'm surprised to hear how many people carry Alexander in the corner of their hearts, often with a sense of homesickness for a time they never shared and a man who never had his equal in later history. So many wanted and tried to emulate him, to no avail. Yet he should be proud of his achievements, for he left us such incredible memories. One of his prominent heritages is definitely Hellenism, which spread around the world like wildfire and persisted for centuries in the East and the West. Rome or Alexandria could not have known their grandeur without Alexander's heritage, nor could the Graeco-Bactrian or the Indo-Bactrian civilizations have flourished. Persia's revival under the Sassanid dynasty existed because of Alexander, and Christianity or even Islam could not have caught on without the Greek language, which rested on Hellenism – all this we can thank Alexander for!

[Top photograph Colin Farrell as Alexander in Oliver Stone's movie]

Mount Nemrud, as close as you can come to the gods

The road to getting there is a unique experience as tension and expectations are building up all along the way!

As I'm approaching Kâhta in south-eastern Turkey,  I first glance at the mountains topped by the perfect conically shaped Tomb of Mount Nemrud. I have no idea what to expect, for I only know the pictures of the colossal heads from many a travel magazine. Kâhta isn't much; a few hotels and car rental companies - sum it up. Yet it's the last town of any significance before reaching my destination, Mount Nemrud. From here onward, it is impossible to travel by bus, and I have to board one of the smaller vans. This is where the actual climb starts, a winding dirt road with short stretches of asphalt. I pass through settlements of about a dozen houses amidst generally bleached land. Higher up from one of the hilltops, I view the immense surrounding landscape stamped by the Euphrates River, which, because of the many dams built for irrigation purposes, looks as wide as a succession of lakes. Occasionally I pass patches of cultivated land fed by a scarce mountain stream. I don't see a single soul, although the houses seem occupied.

When the van stops, I appear to be in a place called Karakuş, i.e., a kind of tumulus framed by two columns with an eagle on top keeping watch. This is the Tomb of King Mithridates II (124-87 BC). In the back of the tumulus, I discover another set of two columns that were once topped by lions. Halfway in between stands a lonely column carrying a relief of King Mithridates holding the hand of his wife, Laodike. Mithridates ruled over the Commagene Empire, just like Antiochus I, the builder of Nemrud, and his tomb is a discreet promise of what lies ahead. Since this is the first time I'm confronted with the Commagene, I  need to dig back into history.

This region was included in the Persian Empire from the 6th century BC until Alexander the Great's victory at Issus in 333 BC. After he died in 323 BC, this part of his empire fell to Seleucos I Nikator (see: In the wake of Seleucos Nicator I). When, in turn, the Seleucid Empire was conquered by the Romans in 189 BC, it didn't take long for new kingdoms to emerge. Commagene, one of the successors of the Seleucids, occupied the area between the Taurus Mountains and the Euphrates River. The kingdom of Commagene was founded in 162 BC. In 109 BC, Mithridates Kalinikos I, who ruled over the Persians and Macedonians (descendants of Alexander the Great), joined both countries into a mighty buffer zone between the Parthians in the east and the Romans in the west. The peak of this kingdom was reached under Antiochus I Epiphanes (69-36 BC), the successor of Mithridates and thus the builder of Nemrud. Eventually, in 72 AD, the territory was annexed by Emperor Vespasian to the Roman province of Syria.

A tributary of the Euphrates, the Cendere, is a wide but short watercourse that lies across my road. It has been bridged on its narrowest point. This is not just any bridge but one that dates back to the 2nd century AD, built by the Roman Emperor Septimius Severus. I am allowed to walk across the bridge on foot, a hugely gratifying experience! Imagine threading over a 2,000-year-old bridge. It makes you wonder about its role and purpose in this isolated and steaming hot place – it definitely commands high respect for the builders as far as I'm concerned.

The van drives on for another hour to stop at an idyllic mountain terrace with eating facilities situated amidst apple orchards. The view is superb, and I have no idea how much further or higher I'll have to climb, for it already feels like I have reached the mountain range. The black ribbon of our road winds away in the landscape and disappears beyond the horizon into the unknown. Picking up the drive again, the van rattles over occasional brick-paved or totally unpaved roads. On a steep hill, it suddenly comes to a final halt; this is the end. The last stretch has to be climbed on foot, although I still fail to see the colossal heads that must be out there somewhere. After half an hour of huffing and puffing, scrambling over high steps up the rough slope, I finally reach the top at 7,700 feet.

I arrived at the very foot of a clean conical heap of loose gravel, approximately 50 meters high and 150 meters in diameter, piled up on top of the existing mountain, presumably covering the Tomb of Antiochus. In fact, this cone has been built with the material left over from carving the giant statues and many friezes that I'm about to see.

On the east and west sides, I discover the enormous statues and heads I recognize from the pictures. On the east side, a row of styled sitting figures that originally stood 8-10 meters high is facing me, their decapitated heads resting at their respective feet. From left to right, I'm identifying Apollo (equaling Mithra, Helios, Hermes); Tyche, Commagene's goddess of fertility; Zeus (equaling Ahura Mazda); Antiochus in person (why settle for less!), and Heracles (equaling Artagnes or Ares). These are, in fact, all the most important Persian and Greek gods of Antiochus' empire, and it is generally accepted that he attempted to unify his multi-ethnic kingdom to secure his authority. On either side of this group of statues stands an eagle, the symbol of freedom. Next to it is a lion, a symbol of courage. An identical group of figures stands on the western side, all decapitated as well, but catching the full sunlight this time of day. Whereas the statues on the eastern side are decorated with Asian attributes, those on the western side show European accessories – a sign of Antiochus' goal of joining the East and West.

It is unclear whether the statues have suffered from the frequent earthquakes or if some odd archaeologist tried to blow up the pile of gravel to find the still-eluding tomb of Antiochus I. The path connecting the east and west sides runs along the northern slope, where several reliefs with unrecognizable artwork have been aligned. It appears they were fitted in the ground with a kind of wedge, an intriguing feature. On the west side, a few original reliefs are still in situ, representing King Antiochus in person together with Apollo on one, Zeus on the other, and finally, Heracles on the next one.

What a place, however, for a sanctuary! It's hard to come any closer to the gods, I think. The view from up here beats everything I have ever seen and surpasses any possible description. It is too grand, too wide, and too panoramic to comprehend. I take pictures, perfectly realizing that the eye sees far more than my camera, but the temptation is far too big. I'm genuinely standing on top of the world! Who says that's in the Himalayas? I doubt you'll have such a view from there! What a beauty.

The big attraction is visiting these altars by sunrise or sunset. The thought of witnessing the sun peeping above the horizon in the great silence and peace that comes with it must be awe-inspiring and rewarding. Yet, you will not be able to enjoy the exceptional panorama I've been treated to. Besides, to get here before sunrise, you'll have to be on your way before the crack of dawn, and if you want to arrive by sunset, you'll have to face a long, scary, and dangerous drive back in the dark. I'm not sure I would like that.

Wonderful Patara! - Lycian Coast 12

The minibus drops us at the foot of the aqueduct further inland. My vision of an aqueduct is the typical Roman concept of arched vaults spanning the entire valley, connecting one side to the other, but this one surprisingly looks more like a dam. Our path runs alongside a sophisticated water channel, cutting like a stone trough in the hillside, and a little further on, we see the petrified silt still sticking to the inner walls. We then reach the level where the aqueduct crosses the valley atop a solid stone wall, which, from a distance, resembles a barrage. At the top of the wall, the square mass-produced stone blocks line up like soldiers in a close row. In the center of these blocks measuring 90 x 90 cm runs a round pipe with, on one end, a male connection and a female on the other, so the blocks simply click together. Every five blocks or so, there is a plug for maintenance access, and at regular intervals, the male connector has a higher ridge, so the entire block can be wiggled out of the row in case of severe clogging. All in all, it is a surprising construction, and I have never seen anything like it! It was built under Emperor Nero around 50 AD, and according to the inscription on this wall, it was repaired under Vespasian, some 12 years later.

As we walk around to the foot of this dam, I can now see two small gateways held in place by enormous lintels above them that served as passages for cattle or people. Proceeding further in the direction of Patara, we keep crossing the winding aqueduct time and again. Part of our path actually runs right through the water channel, which over the years has lost its top slabs as they made good reusable building material. We don’t walk the entire length of 21 kilometers – thank God! – but we can trace the course of this marvelous construction through the landscape. Very interesting, I must say.

After a couple of hours of treading over these old paths and passages, the grand city of Patara lies at our feet. The unmistakable theater fills the middle of the picture. What a view! In the foreground stands a rather narrow arch, 10 meters high and 19 meters long, built in such a way that it aligns with the aqueduct, leading its water further to the fountains and Nymphaeums in town. It was actually constructed around 100 AD to honor the first governor-general of Lycia and Pamphylia, administrator of Patara, C. Trebonius Proculus Mettius Modestus. The niches and pedestals that once held statues are empty now, but clearly give a certain grandeur to this imposing three-arched construction that surprisingly enough shows the same design on both sides.

On the higher elevation to the west, beyond the swamps at our feet, recent excavations have revealed a large, round, tower-like building. This is what is left of an almost 2,000-year-old lighthouse. It is believed to be sixty years older than the one found in Spain, which was known as being the oldest in the world and was built around 60 A.D. Originally, the Patara lighthouse must have stood approximately 16-20 meters high.

At the foot of the mountain, we just came down an ancient road that leads out of Patara, flanked by sarcophagi for the Patarans – like the Via Appia in Rome, no less. The sun is setting quickly now, putting Mettius Modestus’ Arch on fire and wrapping the lonely Lycian sarcophagus uphill in a golden shred.

To make the most of the dwindling light, our bus drops us at the southern end of Patara, which was, and in some parts still is, buried under the sand. The theater, for one, has been only recently unearthed, much to Peter’s surprise and disappointment. He always felt it was very rewarding when climbing the sand dunes to suddenly find himself in the middle of the theater. That enchantment is gone now, but instead of sand, we see shiny white stones as if the theater were built just yesterday. It is of Hellenistic origin, with most of the two-floored skene and the five doors opening to the proscenium still in place. Around the orchestra, the seats have been removed to make place for a stone wall, meaning that the theater was converted into an arena where wild animal fights could be held. The VIP seats have obviously been removed and found a new place in the ambulatorium.

It is nearly dark by now, and we can just decipher the inscription on the sidewall beside the parados, reading that the theater was built with the contributions of the people of Patara. Other inscriptions mention that the theater was rebuilt at the beginning of the 1st century AD after needing repair following the earthquake of 141 AD. An extended annotation indicates that the proscenium was constructed by a certain Velio Titionus and that his daughter, Velia Prouila, provided funds for the statues and the decorations "in honor of the gods of Augustus and in honor of the gods of Patara city and in honor of Emperor Antoninus Pius in the year 147 AD". It makes me wonder how emancipated Roman women actually were.

Across from this theater stands a most impressive building, also very recently resuscitated from the sands. This is the Lycian Council – of all places! The access is barred with iron gates, but one can easily recognize the Odeon-shaped seating inside, flanked by two sturdy entrances under high vaulted ceilings. The floor is probably covered with mosaics, but I cannot see them from the outside. I am very much excited to see this important Council, for this is where delegates from all over Lycia come together to vote on important matters. Since the League itself is so much older than the clearly Roman entrance indicates, I wonder if maybe the central part, i.e., the Odeon-shaped construction, dates from Lycian times (2nd century BC). I may have been framed in a Roman concept later on – unless it is standing on old Lycian foundations? I am curious what future excavations will reveal.

Peter mentions that the famous Temple of Apollo has not been located yet. Its oracle, it is said, would rival only that of Delphi, and the Temple itself equaled the reputation of the famous temple of Delos. It was believed that Apollo lived at Delos during the summer but spent his winters at Patara.

Turkish archaeologists are actively digging here right now, so who knows what they’ll come up with? Our visit is only superficial, just enough to put Patara on the map, but I am determined to come back one day and investigate this important site in detail. By now, darkness has set in with a crescent moon looking down on all these centuries past. For us, it is time to drive back to our gulet.

Our poet has once again written a poem about this unique city:

P A T A R A  -  a sonnet

The city gate still stands. The aqueduct,

A seam of rubble stitched across the hill.

Goats browse inside the tumbled bathhouse walls.

No splash of water now. No voices heard

Along the marbled street. The theater plays

A scene of drifting sand. The harbor walls

Confront a silted bay. No sailors’ shouts,

No clank of anchor chains, no travelers’ tales.

Above the buried stones a woman calls

Her cows for milking. Low across the marsh

Two herons fly. A mellow sunset breeze

Rustles the reeds. Listen. Perhaps you hear,

Among the scattered, vaulted, empty tombs,

The dry whisper of Lycian ghosts.

John Onley - May 2005

 

Tonight the crew has the evening off, and we are dining out for a change. Peter made reservations at Restaurant Belgin, in uptown Kalkan. We are seated in elegant Ottoman style outside on the roof among richly decorated cushions and colorful canopies, and flowers. I find it difficult to fit my legs under the low table, and the only way to do so is by taking my shoes off. It is a most lovely spot, but, unfortunately, we are getting colder by the minute, and after the mezes, we move downstairs around a square table under high wooden ceilings. The food is delicious, but we all agree that Fatuşa’s cooking still wins the prize! We are all enjoying ourselves very much, and time flies; it is midnight when we return to our bunks.

Click on the Label Lycian Coast to read the full story