Crossroads of the
world
Tens of thousands of international travellers once flocked to see Syria’s ancient wonders. Now, after more than a decade of isolation, there is fresh hope that the visitors will return
Words & photographs Simon Urwin
Damascus’ historic Umayyad Mosque is open to visitors of all faiths wishing to learn more about Islam
My journey through Syria began with a murder – the first in recorded history. The crime scene was the Zabadani Valley, close to the border with Lebanon, where a shrine stands among the biscuit-brown hills and scented pines, marking the point where Cain is said to have buried Abel after slaying him.
“It’s rather symbolic,” said Tayseer Asadi, my guide, as we stepped inside the glittering mausoleum that houses what is believed to be Abel’s 7m-long sarcophagus. “A story of religion and conflict; it’s what most people think of when they think of Syria. So, it always gives me great pleasure to show visitors that there’s so much more to the country than that. Yalla. Let’s go.”
I was on a week-long organised tour of Syria’s UNESCO-listed treasures, a journey only made possible by the change of government in December 2024 and the more recent lifting of a number of international sanctions. Alongside my guide and driver (independent travel is prohibitively complex for the time being), we headed north across 320km of rocky plains dotted with knotty olive trees. The roadside imagery that once glorified former ruler Bashir al-Assad’s brutal regime was now defaced or totally destroyed.
We arrived in bustling, welcoming Aleppo, one of the oldest continually settled cities on Earth. Strategically positioned at the intersection of ancient trade routes, including the Silk Road, it remains dominated by a soaring citadel atop a hill rising out of the city.
“It’s symbolic because Syria was always considered the prize of empires,” Asadi explained to me as we walked around the vast fortress moat. “For millennia it was the crossroads of the world, a major corridor for all East-West trade. If you were a king or an emperor and wanted power and security, you fought with all your might for control over Syria.”
Those invaders came in great waves, including the Greeks, Romans and Byzantines, then the Umayyad Caliphate and the Crusaders, followed by the Ottomans and the French. “Each left their own mark on the culture, cuisine and faith of the nation,” said Asadi. “It’s what makes Syria so unique. And one of the joys of travelling here is seeking out all those influences.”
An entrance to the Ayyubid Palace inside the Citadel of Aleppo
The Citadel of Aleppo was built on a natural limestone outcropping that rises 30m above the plain on which the surrounding city rests
Beyond the walls
Aleppo’s citadel stood proud, despite having been scarred by the civil war and 2023’s earthquake in particular. But the shattered remains of some of the surrounding buildings were a reminder of the cost, both structural and humanitarian, that has been endured.
The damage had affected more than half of the Al-Madina souk, where restoration was now busily underway on what was once the region’s largest bazaar, stretching over 13km, with each village-sized section specialising in goods as varied as charcoal, soap, gold, coins and wedding dresses.
“It wasn’t just a place of commerce,” explained Asadi. “All kinds of new ideas were exchanged here before they went out into the world.”
In the old souk for burlap (a natural fabric for making sacks and carpet backings), we came across the earthquake-rattled remains of an English caravanserai that had housed British merchants and travellers from as early as the 15th century. Asadi told me the guest list likely included clergyman William Biddulph, who published the first English account of an exotic black drink he called ‘coffa’ in 1612, observing that it was consumed by Aleppans ‘as hot as they can suffer it’ to ‘driveth away drowsiness’.
Nearby, a spice dealer invited us to join him for a cup – the first of many heartfelt offers of hospitality I received throughout my time in Syria. We chatted, and he told me that while unsure about what the future might bring, like many Syrians he felt a great sense of relief about the regime change, and he hoped that, in shaa Allah (God willing), life and business would soon return to normal.
Fired up on qahwa – coffee served in small pourings and scented with cardamom seeds – Asadi and I continued exploring. We passed the iconic Baron Hotel, which was frequented by the writer Agatha Christie, who, rather fittingly, first travelled here on the Orient Express and worked on a number of her murder novels across several visits.
We were on our way to the Qinnasrin neighbourhood, the home of Aleppo’s laurel soap industry since Roman times. One of the first hard soaps ever made, its key ingredients are olive oil and ghar (laurel berry oil).
“The higher the laurel content, the more expensive the bar,” Asadi explained as we wandered through the vaults of the Jebeili Soap Factory, established in the 14th century. All around me were pyramids formed of dark green soaps that were slowly maturing in the cool darkness like fine wines.
“Cleopatra bathed with Aleppo soap, and the Crusaders took the ingredients and production techniques back with them to Europe. It’s famed for making the skin smooth… and is even said to provide protection from the evil eye.”
A stop for lunch soon turned into one of the belt-loosening feasts that Syria is renowned for. Spicy and complex, Aleppan cuisine is unique in the Middle East for its Levantine, Ottoman, Jewish and Armenian influences. The highlight of the never-ending meal was local speciality kebab karaz: rich and tender lamb meatballs perfectly counterbalanced by the tartness of a sour cherry sauce and the crunch of a scattering of pistachios.
“In Syria, we believe that when you cook, you should feel it as deeply as the breath in your chest,” said Asadi. “If your soul is connected to the process of making food, it turns out all the more delicious.”
Qinnasrin neighbourhood has been the home of Aleppo’s laurel soap industry since Roman times
Palmyra’s Roman theatre was only fully excavated and restored in the 1950s but suffered heavy damage during the ancient site’s occupation by Islamic State forces
There are around 100 million olive and pistachio trees scattering Syria
What was left behind
The next day, we drove for five long hours across the Syrian Desert. Just as it was elsewhere in the country, there were regular stops at armed checkpoints – the presence of weaponry belied by the cheerful security forces waving and shouting, “Welcome to Syria”.
The bleak semi-arid wilderness made the first sighting of Palmyra’s ruins all the more breathtaking. From the commanding heights of Palmyra Castle, the temples, archways, colonnaded avenues and amphitheatre – all fashioned from sumptuous, honey-coloured stone – shimmered in the heat like a mirage. Up close, intricate carvings of acanthus, swirling grapevines and figures dressed in togas brought the city’s former glories into sharper relief.
Palmyra dates back at least 4,000 years, but it was under Roman rule in the first century AD that it flourished as a vital hub for the international caravan trade, growing rich on the taxes levied on a wide variety of commodities from as far afield as Arabia, China, India and Mesopotamia.
Tragically, some of its most elaborate edifices – including the magnificent Temple of Bel – were either looted by Islamic State forces to raise funds or destroyed as part of its campaign against pre-Islamic heritage and what it deemed to be ‘idolatry’. Regardless, Palmyra still has the power to cast an alluring spell, particularly in the fading orange of the afternoon, when the shadows of the Corinthian columns lengthen and the palm doves begin their distinctive laughing call.
It was then that I met two Bedouin cousins, Ahmed Choubat and Mohammed Ayban. Exiled for 14 years, they told me they had only just returned to their homeland and had chosen to enjoy a Palmyran sunset before anything else.
“We felt the desert speak to us,” said Ayban, handsome as a matinee idol in his keffiyeh headdress. “It said: ‘You have been missed. Come back; this is where you belong.’”
The ancient city of Palmyra has suffered many invaders down the centuries, including most recently in 2015, when it was captured and looted by Islamic State forces
Stories and storytellers
After a hearty breakfast of harissa-stuffed aubergines accompanied by flatbreads swirled in velvety hummus, Asadi and I continued our journey towards Damascus, 240km to the south-west.
Widely considered to be the world’s oldest capital city (excavations suggest it may have been inhabited as early as 10000 BC), the historic quarter of Damascus remains largely untouched by the years of conflict. The Old Town pulsed with life, its beating heart a network of souks. We joined the multitude clamouring over a bewildering array of goods, from Y-fronts and ice creams to herbal cures for erectile dysfunction and silvery damask fabric.
There was no irritating hassle from vendors, just smiles, invitations to drink zhourat shamia (an infusion made with pennyroyal, violet and lemon balm) and sales patter that verged on the poetic.
“You are like the gift of a hundred flowers,” said Moutaz al-Absi as I handed him 5,000 Syrian pounds (30p) for a glass of ruby-red pomegranate juice. “First Allah, then family and then my kibbeh in order of importance,” said Nosaiba al-Kharbi as she stuffed minced meat and pine nuts inside a fresh batch of bulgur wheat shells.
Around the souks lay an atmospheric tangle of lanes in which the majority of public buildings were open to visitors once more. Here, serene medieval mosques rubbed shoulders with Byzantine churches, and labyrinthine alleyways led to cathedral-sized caravanserais, Ottoman palaces and jasmine-draped Damascene mansions – some now transformed into enticing boutique hotels.
The sense of living antiquity was astonishing, and nowhere more so than on the historic Straight Street. This ancient Roman road was even mentioned in the Bible. According to Acts 9:11, this was the street that God instructed Ananias to visit in order to restore the sight of a blinded Paul.
Exhausted from so much time travel, I sought relaxation in the 11th-century Hammam al-Bakri bath house. There, an attendant stripped me naked and wrapped me in a towel. Clip-clopping on wooden clogs, I was led into the steam room, scrubbed and richly lathered with Aleppo laurel soap before being pulverised by resident masseur Omar Jaghil.
“A cry of pain is good; it’s a sign of healing,” Omar said in between contortions. Helping people, he admitted, wasn’t his favourite part of the job; he valued most being part of a community of men. “Rich, poor, Christian, Muslim – we undress, we talk, we drink tea and feel as one.”
I left feeling rejuvenated and recalled the words of the character Abu Sir in One Thousand and One Nights: “The hammam is one of the best of the good things in the world.”
I’d been told this timeless tale was part of the repertoire of Ahmad al-Laham, the last working hakawati (professional storyteller) in Damascus. So, later that evening, I made my way to see him at the 500-year-old Nawfara Café, the city’s oldest and most atmospheric coffee shop. At the appointed hour, al-Laham emerged through plumes of shisha smoke, clad in a cloak and red tarboosh (fez hat). Settling onto a raised throne, sword in one hand, book in the other, he began with the epic true story of Sultan Baybars, who captured Krak des Chevaliers castle from the Crusaders in 1271.
It was performed in booming Arabic complete with sword thrusts and parries. I didn’t understand a word but it was remarkably entertaining. The locals seemed less impressed, glued instead to a Real Madrid football match on the café’s plasma screen.
“Storytelling was TV before there was TV,” al-Laham told me afterwards, lamenting the tradition’s decline in the digital age. He vowed to continue telling stories until his last breath, after which his young apprentice would take over. “Storytelling hasn’t reached its final chapter just yet,” he said. “Even when it does, Damascus will keep on going, no matter what.”
The Al-Buzuriyah souq is often known as the ‘spices souk’
Ahmad al-Laham, a hakawati (storyteller), raises his sword for effect while narrating a story at the Nawfara Café
Bathers in the al-Barani part of the Hammam al-Bakri, which serves as a changing room and a space for socialising and smoking shisha
A sacred space
Friday, the holiest day of the week, is a time for prayer throughout the city. Passing through the shadows of the ruined Roman Temple of Jupiter, I met up with Tayseer Asadi inside Damascus’ historic Umayyad Mosque, which is open to visitors of all faiths.
One of the most important buildings in the Islamic world, only the great mosques of Mecca, Medina and Jerusalem are considered more sacred, and few religious buildings can rival its majesty. The dazzling ensemble of a marbled courtyard, wall mosaics, cavernous prayer halls and slender minarets was the result of 1,000 stonemasons and artisans labouring for more than a decade.
Soon, the faithful began pouring through the main doors, tumbling prayer beads through their fingers as they circled the shrine believed to hold the head of John the Baptist. Then, as the Dhuhr (noon prayer) approached, they knelt in unison. A microphone squawked into life and an imam with woolly eyebrows launched into his thundering sermon, culminating with the Al-Fatihah, the first chapter of the Qur’an.
Each line was met with a chorus of Amens from the thousand-strong congregation, their responses echoing around the prayer hall and swelling into a deafening wall of sound that almost knocked me off my feet.
The crowd stood and filed out. Asadi lingered a while instead, quietly saying his prayers. As we later slipped on our shoes, I asked him what was on his mind.
“I asked that Allah blesses us and that Syria continues its journey towards stability,” he said. “I also prayed for the visitors to return, as they once did, so they can see for themselves what the real Syria is like.”
We stepped out into the buttery afternoon light and glimpsed a flurry of street kids hawking Damascene roses in cellophane flutes while the sun glinted on the urns of the tamarind juice sellers. I paused and reflected on my week-long journey: how safe I’d felt, the delicious abundance at every meal, the warm-hearted hospitality of the Syrian people and the privilege of seeing cultural wonders that have endured the rise and fall of empires. And I hoped, in shaa Allah, that Asadi’s prayers would be answered.
The Khan As’ad Pasha, built in the mid-18th century, is the largest caravanserai in Damascus’ Old Town and is a grand example of the ablaq technique, which uses dark basalt and pale limestone. It has 80 rooms on the upper floor overlooking the courtyard, which is a traditional design in khans (rooms upstairs, courtyard below)
Worshippers at Friday prayers in Umayyad Mosque
Syria’s legendary knight life
Standing sentinel on a strategic hilltop pass in Syria’s west is the formidable Krak des Chevaliers, the world’s best-preserved Crusader castle. Largely constructed by the Knights Hospitaller from the mid-12th century onwards, it has remained little changed over the past 800 years and features soaring watchtowers, outer walls up to 4m thick and an inner citadel large enough to garrison 2,000 men.
TE Lawrence (aka Lawrence of Arabia) described it as the “most wholly admirable castle in the world”. He visited in 1909 while studying history at Oxford, travelling 1,600km on foot from Constantinople (now İstanbul) and through Syria on a grand tour of Crusader fortifications.
Lawrence was fascinated by their construction, particularly their machicolations – openings for dropping rocks, boiling water, quicklime and even sewage onto approaching assailants. These ‘murder holes’ are still visible upon entering the fortress, as are the stables for 400 horses (complete with tethering irons), vast kitchens with storage jars for olive oil and wine, vaulted halls and a chapel.
It’s the small details that conjure the most powerful images of the knights, such as evidence of a round table or niches for playing mancala (an ancient board game) between battles. There are also remnants of a Latin inscription outlining chivalric values: “Grace, wisdom and beauty you may enjoy but beware pride, which alone can tarnish all the rest.”
Krak des Chevaliers is the world’s best-preserved Crusader castle
Need to know
Before you go
For all Syria has turned a corner, the UK’s FCDO still advises against all travel to the country due to ongoing conflict, meaning consular support is unavailable to UK nationals. Recent attacks in Damascus and across the border in Beirut (where tours begin) have brought this into focus for UK travellers. If you do visit, it is important to go with an operator who knows the country and the situation. You will also need travel insurance that covers nations on the FCDO advisory list. Companies offering such products include Campbell Irvine, Battleface, High Risk Voyager and Global Rescue.
Getting there & around
Flights with Middle East Airlines (mea.com.lb) go direct from London Heathrow to Beirut (from £512 return; flight time 5 hours), from where tours with Untamed Borders travel overland to Syria. As of 2026, these trips will begin and end in Damascus.
Currency & visa
Currency: Syrian pound (SYP), currently SYP17.65 to the UK£. International credit and debit cards currently do not work; take all the US dollars you need in cash.
Visa: Untamed Borders arranged all visa paperwork for the author. Entry is denied if there is evidence that you have visited Israel.
The trip
Untamed Borders organise seven-day group tours of Syria in April and September, costing from £1,350pp (excluding flights). As of 2026, these tours will start and end in Damascus, not Beirut. Private tours are available on request (untamedborders.com).
The ablutions fountain in the grounds of Damascus’ 8th-century Umayyad Mosque – one of the oldest, largest and most important mosques in the world
