A Ride through Syria to Damascus and Baalbec, and ascent of Mount Hermon

In Short

This travelogue documents a grueling and ambitious horseback journey through the Levant in the late 1880s. Moving from the coastal plains of Jaffa to the soaring, snow-capped heights of Mount Hermon and the monumental ruins of Baalbec, the narrative serves as both a personal memoir and a historical survey. Written with the curiosity of an antiquarian and the practical eye of a seasoned traveler, it captures a landscape where biblical history, Ottoman politics, and indigenous custom collide, offering a unique window into a world caught between antiquity and modernization.

The Story

The journey begins at Jaffa, where the traveler establishes a tone of reverent engagement with the landscape. Eschewing the disappointment felt by those seeking a pristine “land of milk and honey,” the narrator instead finds a profound, melancholy interest in the desolation of the terrain. The narrative arc traces a northward path through the Samarian hills and the plain of Esdraelon, where the history of battles—from the biblical struggle of Barak against Sisera to Napoleon’s modern clashes—is recalled with scholarly detail.

The route shifts toward the Sea of Galilee, where the narrator lingers on the ruined sites of once-great cities like Capernaum and Magdala, reflecting on their biblical doom. The path grows increasingly perilous as the traveler ventures into the mountains of Naphtali. A daring, unauthorized shortcut into the Jordan Valley tests both the nerves and the stamina of the party, resulting in a treacherous descent that brings them into contact with the swarthy, nomadic life of the Ghawarineh Arabs. The arrival in Banias provides a respite, leading to the pivotal ascent of Mount Hermon. Here, the narrative reaches its physical and spiritual climax; the narrator scrambles to the summit to stand among the massive remains of temples dedicated to Baal, surveying a panoramic view that stitches together the coast, the Lebanon ranges, and the distant, arid horizons of the Syrian desert.

From the heights of Hermon, the journey moves into the vibrant, garden-like surroundings of Damascus. The city is presented as a lush oasis, a stark contrast to the surrounding desert, and the narrative pauses to explore its ancient streets, the legendary house of Ananias, and the site where St. Paul was said to have been lowered from the walls. The subsequent trek through the Anti-Lebanon range to the ruins of Baalbec serves as a meditation on the permanence of stone versus the fragility of human empire. The grandeur of the Great Trilithon Temple offers a final, overwhelming impression of the scale of history. The journey concludes with a passage through the fertile Bukâa plain and over the Lebanon mountains to the coast at Beyrût, followed by a swift, modern transit via steamship and rail through Italy and France, returning the traveler to the familiar comforts of London.

How It Unfolds

The voyage begins Setting out from Jaffa, the narrator navigates the hills of Samaria and the plain of Esdraelon, framing the landscape through the lens of ancient military history. The tone is set early: a recognition of the land’s broken cisterns and ruined cities, viewed not as failures but as essential historical markers.

The descent into the Jordan A risky deviation from the standard path leads to a perilous, precipitous trek down into the Jordan valley. This section captures the raw, tropical heat and the stark encounter with the nomadic Bedouin, emphasizing the physical cost of venturing off the beaten track.

The ascent of Hermon The party grapples with the “Monarch of Mountains,” braving thunderstorms and narrow gorges to reach the summit. This beat focuses on the archaeological remains of sun-worshipping temples and the vast, map-like perspective gained from the highest peak.

The splendor of Damascus The arrival in the city provides a sensory shift, contrasting the desert’s harshness with the city’s cool, flowing waters and verdant orchards. The narrative explores the religious and historical layers of the city, from biblical sites to the local political climate of the Ottoman era.

The ruins of Baalbec The final major leg brings the traveler to the massive Acropolis of Baalbec, where the descriptive prose dwells on the architectural precision of the ancient colonnades. It serves as a somber reflection on the intersection of pagan, Roman, and Turkish history.

The People

The narrator acts as a detached yet observant guide, a figure defined by his intellectual preparation and his willingness to endure hardship for the sake of discovery. His companion—often the reader, by implication—is invited to witness the lives of the local inhabitants, who are portrayed through their traditional roles. The "dragoman," or guide, is a central, if sometimes frustrating, presence; his inability to communicate across languages creates moments of tension, particularly when navigating the social dynamics of the Bedouin or the local peasantry. The "Pasha" of Damascus appears as a symbol of the fragile and extractive Ottoman administration, a man characterized by the need to "squeeze" revenue in a precarious political environment. The Bedouin are described with a mixture of suspicion and grudging respect, their martial culture serving as a constant, looming backdrop to the traveler's safety. Finally, the "Fellaheen," or villagers, are depicted through their communal land-tenure practices, providing a glimpse into the social organization of the rural population that has remained largely unchanged for centuries.

In Its Own Voice

"The cisterns are broken and the waters run to waste, the walls of the vineyards are cast down, the very soil has disappeared from the once fertile terraced heights, the wine presses are covered with weeds, the defenced cities are all a ruin."

(The author reflects on the state of the Holy Land as he begins his journey from Jaffa.)

"The black Bedouin tents, the dusky herds of buffaloes roaming among the marshes, the impenetrable jungles, the almost naked swarthy barbarians, together with the intense heat, make us imagine ourselves to be in the midst of the dark continent."

(The author captures the striking, alien atmosphere of the Jordan valley floor.)

What It's Really About

At its core, this book investigates the relationship between the physical landscape and the weight of human memory. It is a work preoccupied with the "doom" of ancient cities and the cycles of rise and fall that characterize civilization. The narrator is constantly looking for the ghost of the past—be it biblical, Phoenician, or Roman—within the current, often neglected, state of the Levant. The book questions the nature of progress, contrasting the enduring, massive stones of Baalbec with the transient, opportunistic nature of Ottoman governance and the primitive, communal survival of the rural population. It is an argument for the necessity of travel as a means of reconciling the idealized, scriptural history of a region with its lived, rugged, and often harsh reality.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy the slow, methodical pace of 19th-century travel writing will find much to admire here. There is a tangible satisfaction in the author’s attention to detail, whether he is describing the intricate architecture of a temple or the practical mechanics of an Arab bridle. It offers a rare, grounded view of a region that has been romanticized or politicized in modern times, presenting it instead as a place of mud-walled villages, ancient ruins, and enduring local customs.

However, a modern reader must be prepared for the author’s period-specific attitudes; his colonial perspective and sweeping generalizations about "barbarians" or "Mahometans" are reflective of his era’s Eurocentric worldview. The prose is dense, occasionally meandering, and filled with historical tangents that require patience. Yet, the reward for this patience is a deep immersion into a world that feels both distant and immediate. The imagery of the "Meeting of the Waters" or the lonely, snow-white houses of Safed clinging to a mountain side stays with you, providing a sense of place that is both atmospheric and haunting. If you are interested in the evolution of travel literature and the intersection of history and geography, this book serves as a classic, if challenging, companion.