Mr. Ray's travels, Vol. 2

In Short

This collection of journals and botanical observations documents the mid-to-late 16th-century travels of Dr. Leonhart Rauwolf, supplemented by the accounts of other explorers like Sir George Wheeler and Pierre Belon. Compiled and edited by the naturalist John Ray, the volume serves as a bridge between the medieval tradition of the pilgrimage and the dawn of modern empirical science. It chronicles a perilous journey through Syria, Palestine, Mesopotamia, and Egypt, capturing a world of vibrant trade, ancient ruins, and diverse religious communities. The book remains a landmark for its meticulous cataloging of Levantine plants and its unvarnished, often wary, portrayal of the social and political complexities of the Ottoman Empire, all set against the backdrop of an era when every traveler’s safety was subject to the whims of local Bashaws and the unforgiving desert.

The Story

The narrative follows the intellectual and physical odyssey of Dr. Leonhart Rauwolf, who departs from Augsburg in 1573, driven by a desire to witness the distant "Eastern Countries" and to document their natural riches. His journey begins in Tripoli, where he is immediately struck by the abundance of the region—not only by the trade that flows through the city but by the fertile gardens teeming with plants like the Colocasia and various citruses. Rauwolf is a man of science in a landscape of uncertainty; he collects samples, glues them to paper, and observes the local customs, yet he is constantly aware that his presence is viewed with suspicion.

As he moves from Tripoli to the commercial hub of Aleppo, the arc of his journey shifts from exploration to survival. In Aleppo, his botanical zeal is tempered by the reality of local power structures. He is accused by authorities of acting as a spy, mapping the city’s defenses under the guise of plant hunting—a charge that, while false, threatens him with imprisonment or heavy fines. The narrative tension escalates as he and his associates, including his companion Hans Ulrich Krafft, fall under the gaze of the Turkish administration. While Rauwolf manages to navigate these hazards with the help of diplomatic intermediaries like the French Vice-Consul, his friends are not as fortunate and find themselves languishing in a Turkish jail.

The journey continues toward the Euphrates, as the party joins a caravan headed for Baghdad. The description of the desert crossing—the "sandy seas"—is a vivid account of endurance, where survival depends on the guidance of a Caliphi and the logistical reality of rationing water and protecting the company from marauding desert tribes. The narrative also includes detailed excursions into the Holy Land, where the scientific curiosity of the author meets the weight of religious tradition. He visits Jerusalem and Bethlehem, documenting the sites of biblical significance with the same observational precision he applies to his plants, yet he is never shy about critiquing the superstitious practices he sees, nor the exclusionary nature of the Ottoman authorities who control access to these shrines.

The volume concludes with extensive botanical catalogs and geographical itineraries, providing a structured end to the chaotic, transformative nature of the voyage. The story is ultimately one of resilience; despite the danger, the interference of "publicans," and the constant threat of the "Avaria" (extortion), the travelers reach Venice, their mission of documentation complete. It is a transition from the narrow, localized world of the European scholar to the expansive, often harsh, reality of the Levant, ending not with a dramatic climax but with the quiet, scholarly satisfaction of a naturalist having successfully cataloged the unknown.

How It Unfolds

The departure from Europe The voyage begins in Augsburg, with the party setting out for the Mediterranean to reach the bustling port of Tripoli. This section establishes the practical preparations required for long-distance travel, including the acquisition of goods, provisions, and the essential social connections needed for protection.

The gardens of Tripoli Rauwolf provides a vivid inventory of the vegetation found in the coastal gardens of Syria, noting herbs, fruits, and trees that are entirely unfamiliar to his European audience. He balances this horticultural interest with observations on the daily life, clothing, and trade habits of the local population.

The pressures of Aleppo As the author settles into the trade hub of Aleppo, the focus shifts to the precarious nature of foreign status. He encounters the bureaucratic and often predatory administration of the local Bashaws, highlighting the tension between the merchant class and the ruling officials.

The desert crossing The journey moves into the interior toward the Euphrates, where the landscape becomes a vast, inhospitable wilderness. The narrative details the logistics of caravan life, the reliance on cisterns, and the constant fear of nocturnal theft by desert tribes.

The Holy Land and the sacred sites The focus turns to religious geography, where the author describes his visits to Jerusalem and Bethlehem. He balances his respect for the sites' history with a critical, often skeptical view of the religious policies enforced by the Ottoman custodians.

The return and cataloging The narrative concludes with the safe return to Europe, followed by the presentation of exhaustive catalogs of plants found in the Levant. This serves as the scientific coda to the journey, transforming the anecdotal observations of travel into a systematic, referenceable body of knowledge.

The People

Dr. Leonhart Rauwolf stands as the central figure, a curious, methodical, and occasionally naive observer. His primary motivation is the classification of the natural world, particularly medicinal plants, yet his journey is defined by his struggle to remain a detached scientist in a world that insists on viewing him as a potential spy or a source of revenue. He is a man of his time, deeply religious yet intensely practical, whose ability to survive depends on his willingness to accept help from unexpected sources, such as the French Vice-Consul Andrew Bianchi, whose intervention saves him from the clutches of local authorities.

Hans Ulrich Krafft is Rauwolf’s "dear friend," a figure who represents the human cost of the mission. Unlike the author, who narrowly escapes, Krafft bears the brunt of the hostility leveled at the party, spending time in a Turkish prison for perceived transgressions. His presence serves to ground the narrative in the realities of the period’s political dangers, shifting the book from a mere travelogue to a story of collective endurance.

The Bashaws and their administrative subordinates represent the constant, looming obstacle to the travelers’ success. They are depicted not as individuals, but as an extension of an imperial power characterized by greed and administrative volatility. Their primary desire is the extraction of the "Avaria," a form of state-sanctioned extortion that serves as the book's primary source of anxiety.

Finally, the Ottoman Empire itself acts as a character. It is portrayed as a vast, complex, and often alien machine that is at once protective of its own religious and political order—represented by the prohibition of non-Muslims in certain holy spaces—and pragmatically tolerant enough to allow trade to flourish. The interactions between these figures illustrate the friction between the developing European intellectual curiosity and the entrenched, rigid power structures of the East.

In Its Own Voice

"I have also found them grow wild about rivulets, but could never see either flowers or seeds on them."

Rauwolf notes his frustration in his search for the elusive Colocasia plant while exploring the gardens near Tripoli.

"For the Turks do not love that precious stones should cost them money, for they are extraordinarily covetous, wherefore you find but a few among them."

The author observes the local attitude toward wealth and luxury items during his time in the trading centers of Syria.

"Silver and gold I have none, but such as I have give I thee: In the name of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, rise up and walk."

Rauwolf recounts the biblical passage associated with the gate of Solomon’s temple, which he is permitted to view but not enter.

What It's Really About

At its core, the book is an inquiry into the limits of human knowledge and the necessity of empirical verification in an age of superstition. Rauwolf is not merely a sightseer; he is a collector attempting to impose the order of taxonomy upon a landscape that resists being categorized. The book explores the tension between the ancient, myth-laden history of the Orient and the modern, scientific drive to strip away the myth and reveal the material truth of the earth.

Furthermore, it asks a fundamental question about the traveler’s place in a foreign land: can one truly observe a culture without becoming a part of its conflict? The recurring themes of imprisonment, extortion, and the constant threat of the scimitar underscore a darker argument about power—that knowledge is never truly neutral. The author’s meticulous descriptions of the "sandy seas" and the "sacred sites" are attempts to claim these territories for the intellect, even when the political reality of the Ottoman Empire renders the traveler's position precarious. It is a work about the labor required to translate a foreign, hostile reality into the language of European science and understanding.

Why Read It Today

Readers who enjoy the slow, deliberate pace of early modern prose will find much to admire in this collection. It is a book for those who like to see the machinery of history in motion—where the "big picture" of Ottoman geopolitics is filtered through the specific, lived experience of a man trying to preserve plant samples in a desert tent. It feels remarkably authentic; there is no glossing over the grime of travel, the fear of the custom-house officer, or the genuine awe felt before the ruins of antiquity.

However, the modern reader should be prepared for the book’s inherent difficulties. Its structure is episodic and occasionally disjointed, reflecting its origins as a series of journals rather than a polished travel narrative. The language, while precise, is of the 18th-century translation style, which may require a moment of adjustment for the contemporary ear. More significantly, the author’s perspective is deeply colored by the period’s biases, particularly regarding the religious practices of the Turks, Moors, and local Christians. Rauwolf’s reflections on these groups are often judgmental, reflecting the intense religious friction of his century.

Yet, for the patient reader, the reward is an immersive experience. You get to walk alongside a man who is genuinely excited by the shape of a leaf or the height of a mulberry tree, even as he clutches his purse to avoid being robbed by a local official. It captures a version of the Middle East and the Mediterranean before the era of modern mapping, where the geography feels vast, dangerous, and utterly full of wonder. What stays with you is not just the list of plants, but the sense of fragile human persistence—the image of a man pinning fragile, dried specimens to paper in the middle of a war-torn province, determined to bring a piece of the world home with him.