Old Aleppo For Sale
Old Ruins Ruined by Tourism Upgrade
The scent of our neighbors’ abundant lily-white yasmines wafts over as I sit in our ground-floor apartment balcony in Cordoba, a suburb which is about 15 kilometers west of the center of Aleppo, Syria. My family and I spend only one month of the year here and I make best use of this enlivening aroma by taking part in the typical Aleppian morning. The key is to wake just before sunrise, take a seat in the cool balcony and sip one or two cups of Turkish coffee, staring out at the neighborhood. Unlike the apartments that look onto the streets, my balcony looks on to other apartments, making it quiet and the hum of cars isn’t as noisy. A big yard of trees, a roomy road, a sidewalk – these separate my apartment from the ones across the street, providing nice privacy, (another luxury that the apartments in the city center cannot enjoy). Of course, to create the perfect ambiance, I listen to music from Fairouz, the Lebanese singer whose angelic voice has captivated the ears of the Arab world since her early days in the 1950s.
Unfortunately, this period of irreplaceable solace doesn’t last long before the sun appears, reminding the active metropolis and its inhabitants of the desert-like weather they are obliged to endure for the remainder of the day. This summer in particular, the weather in Aleppo has been much harder to bear, not least because the people of the city were subjected to a ten-day stretch of breezeless, suffocating air – made worse by erratic electric power outages which often lasted for hours in the mid-day heat and for which many excuses were provided.
The high temperatures and power blackouts notwithstanding, old Aleppo retains its dignity, for this ancient city has seen the rise and fall of kingdoms and dynasties. As the Moroccan, 14th century traveler, Ibn Batuta says of the city in his memoirs, “It has outlasted the days and the years and has seen nobles and beggars carried to their last resting-places… It endures but its owners have passed on. They have perished but its hour has not yet come.” It is a city whose existing edifices and roads are imbued with ancient spirit; so much so that its current apathy to its slow deterioration must surely be a sign of its impairment. To go to the city center is to see how overwhelmed it has become by the crowd and traffic. Swarms of yellow taxis uselessly beep as if they own the narrow streets while the drivers curse, incessantly using the same sacrilegious phrases. Men and women shout while trading and haggling over groceries and other essentials. Children play a serious game of soccer with a deflated ball on a rocky, unpaved and heavily littered street. Donkeys roam the alleys, unresponsive to the noise, the summer heat and the gossip while their owners guide the way shouting, “Baleela, Baleela!”
There are things that are unrevealed to the eye, of course, and although one cannot see all that is happening, it is known that some undertakings have become part of the city’s culture. Take, for example, the elderly women who knock on doors in affluent neighborhoods searching for a pretty and very deferential girl, suitable for their very bachelor sons. Then there are the lovers who surreptitiously flirt; their shy giggles marking the promise of eternal fidelity. In the park, the young men chant pick-up lines to the girls passing by who in turn pretend to be outwardly annoyed by the vulgar gestures, yet are secretly flattered by the young men’s attention.
Inside restaurants are tables of vivacious families, each member -- when not stuffing his or her mouth with kebabs or tabooleh --is shouting at the person sitting on the opposite side, not from anger but from the joy of congregation. The young children’s munching, crying or laughing sounds are music to their mother’s ears. The men who are smoking “two apples” from their bubbling shisha close their eyes and put a hand to their hearts, emphasizing their delight in the traditional Aleppian tunes being sung by the musician in the background.
This year, I came to Aleppo not as a visitor, but as a Syrian-American journalist hoping to delve into the issue of the city’s lack of architectural preservation. This dearth of a preservation track record is all the more surprising given the fact that Aleppo became a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1986 and just two years ago it was designated the Capital of Islamic Culture, the first city to receive such a title. One part of Aleppo, to cite just one example, called the Jamiliyeh, is now mainly a commercial hub and many of its most architecturally important buildings are empty and derelict. In the early 1900s, it was this district to where families from Old Aleppo moved, and the modern city expanded from there. The buildings were mainly residential and their inhabitants were primarily well-to-do Muslim and Jewish Aleppians. The apartments were innovative for their time, in that their windows had exposures facing the street, in contrast to traditional Syrian homes that generally were built to face internal courtyards. The area was known for an eclectic mix of European and Oriental architectural structures, ornate and dignified, and a created the path to a more modern Aleppo.
But of more immediate concern to some Aleppians, at least, is the tenuous status of the citadel-- the 13th century monument whose Ayyubid architecture dominates the city-- and the area surrounding it. Although there are areas of the city that are much older than its citadel, the fortress itself, having effectively endured waves of invaders--including the Crusaders--remains a mark of significant historical context in the everyday lives of Aleppians. It is this historical relevance that now spurs controversy, creating two sides to this emotionally charged issue. On the one side are those, including the Aga Khan Trust for Culture (AKTC) and the local governor, who have begun the process of making the area more tourist-friendly by adding hotels, parking and cafes. On the other side of the controversy are those for whom maintaining the area’s historic character is imperative. For many residents of this tradition-bound Arabic city, public debate concerning such issues is often uncomfortable. Others believe that only by confronting such controversies can the city and its people avoid the stagnation that has frequently afflicted them in the past in other realms of public life.
Sitting across from me in the office of a fellow architect, Kheireddin Al-Rifai, head of Aleppo’s Architectural Heritage Committee at the Syrian Order of Architects and Engineers, assembles a series of photos. In doing so, he creates a panoramic view juxtaposing before-and-after images of the citadel and a side view of the historic Saray, once a well established government building of important political and national meaning. The architect, who was wearing a striped green and yellow shirt, khakis and brown shoes, sat across a wooden table as we reviewed the photos. He took the initial pictures in February and the latter ones in May.
“By standing in that very position,” he said pointing to the pictures, “I was able to take the best panoramic shot of the citadel.” He is in his early sixties with white hair, combed to the side, a moustache, rosy cheeks and a pleasant smile. If he tries at all to hide that he is a passionate man, the glimmer in his eye gives it away. There was no air conditioning – again, the power outages -- but we weren’t bothered as it was only mid-morning and we were sitting in a shady room. He continued emphatically, “Nowhere else can one stand and get that same full view.”
Feb 2007 -The castle and a side view of the Saray building during the early stages of the renovation of the area.
I stared at the photos and pondered over his statement. Aleppo’s citadel is elliptical in shape, standing atop of a great mound which forms a moat at the bottom-- 40 meters wide and 22 meters deep. From the outside, one sees mostly the wall – unless standing directly in front of or very close to the entrance. This grand gateway of the castle must have been indeed formidable to 14th century invaders, least because of its architecturally advanced and complex structure. Al-Rifai pointed out that one of the most obvious offenses are the group of about twenty palm trees which were recently planted in the yard in front of the old Sultaniyeh School (located across the street from the citadel’s entrance). The trees, in his opinion, unfavorably obscure the view and undeniably intrude upon the nature of the city.
As it turns out, what I saw in the pictures and what Al-Rifai was showing me is only a minute part of a six-year preservation project that began around Aleppo’s citadel in July 2006. The city had just seen the completion of six years of restoration and documentation within the castle, which was funded by the AKTC, a subdivision of the Aga Khan Development Network (AKDN). The international foundation has projects in such settings as Pakistan, Zanzibar, Cairo, Herat and Kabul. In this case, they have undertaken to revitalize important archeological and architectural sites in Old Aleppo City. As worthy as their goals may seem, they are not without their critics -- Al-Rifai being among their most vocal.
There has also been strong opposition from the local architect community, which is largely represented by the Adiyat Society, the oldest archeological site group in Aleppo, which counts Al-Rifai among its members. One of the projects that members of the Society were successful in reversing involved the removal of large, seven-meter concrete columns inside the moat which were intended to support a slab extending the road, to make additional room for coffee shops.
“You know, when they began this project in the moat,” commented Al-Rifai, “nobody paid any attention to whether or not there are any historical or archeological findings. That area is known to be the most archeologically important part of the citadel, and they didn’t at all mind to pour cement on it.” He is ardent when it comes to why he is opposed to the makeover of the area as envisioned by its current planners. “By doing all this,” Rifai insisted, “we are lessening the significance of what these monuments have been for so long.”
As it turns out, what I saw in the pictures and what Al-Rifai was showing me is only a minute part of a six-year preservation project that began around Aleppo’s citadel in July 2006. The city had just seen the completion of six years of restoration and documentation within the castle, which was funded by the AKTC, a subdivision of the Aga Khan Development Network (AKDN). The international foundation has projects in such settings as Pakistan, Zanzibar, Cairo, Herat and Kabul. In this case, they have undertaken to revitalize important archeological and architectural sites in Old Aleppo City. As worthy as their goals may seem, they are not without their critics -- Al-Rifai being among their most vocal.
There has also been strong opposition from the local architect community, which is largely represented by the Adiyat Society, the oldest archeological site group in Aleppo, which counts Al-Rifai among its members. One of the projects that members of the Society were successful in reversing involved the removal of large, seven-meter concrete columns inside the moat which were intended to support a slab extending the road, to make additional room for coffee shops.
“You know, when they began this project in the moat,” commented Al-Rifai, “nobody paid any attention to whether or not there are any historical or archeological findings. That area is known to be the most archeologically important part of the citadel, and they didn’t at all mind to pour cement on it.” He is ardent when it comes to why he is opposed to the makeover of the area as envisioned by its current planners. “By doing all this,” Rifai insisted, “we are lessening the significance of what these monuments have been for so long.”
October 2006: The completed planning concept for the citadel, the Saray and the areas around them. The areas colored in green are the new changes that will be made.
Closely related to the citadel project is the proposed conversion of the adjacent Saray (government building) to a five-star hotel. An impassioned manifesto written by Dr. Jamal Tahhan, another member of Adyat Society, conveys the troubled feelings regarding the alteration of this building. The article, entitled “Our Saray is Not for Sale,” includes testimonials of those who vehemently oppose the idea. In one part, Tahhan asks, “How could officials agree on the transformation while they are fully aware this building is a symbol of our national sovereignty?”
The Saray was built by both the Syrians and the French during the Mandate. At some point during its erection, the French took bricks off the mound of the citadel and used them to create the façade of the edifice. It is said that the French were also taking gold from the country at that time and turned it into paper currency. In 1922, Taj elDin elHasani, the first Syrian president, allegedly thought the Syrians were better off taking that gold and building from it a monument in Aleppo, encouraging its development at the hands of Syrians.
“It is utterly preposterous that after less than a century, we take this national treasure and transform it back into paper currency,” Tameem Kasmo, also of the Adiyat Society, is quoted as saying by Tahhan. Kasmo continues to say, “And this is what will happen, God forbid, if we turn the Saray into a hotel.”
The Saray was founded in the beginning of the nationalistic era. There is a well known story pertaining to its significance that describes the first waving flag which was raised over this building after Syria gained its independence in 1946. Many important officials have met there and according to many of the members of the Adiyat, its conversion to a hotel will downsize the impact it has made on Aleppo’s recent history.
“We [Aleppians] suffer from talking about our archeological symbols not as historians, but as tourists,” claims Dr. Kasmo in his testimonial. “The foreign tourist, when he comes and sees these monuments, is bewildered by the greatness of its architectural design, and the average Aleppian is so foolishly proud of that. Instead, we should be regarding it as something much more personal, more symbolic… There is a problem, especially in our modern historical culture, if we always look at a building and evaluate it on how it will energize tourism.”
Further comments regarding this issue were written by Dr. Jamal Tahhan, Kheireddin Al-Rifai and other members of the Adiyat Society in Syria News, amounting to over 200 pages. Al-Rifai made sure to get those who were involved and against it to protest, but with little to no response.
“On the face of it, the governor showed he was against it. But he never did voice his opinion or use his authority to stop it from happening,” said Al-Rifai, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together, a gesture indicating that perhaps the governor was “bought.”
Taking into account that a change to the Saray might be inevitable, the Adiyat Society, along with the tourism committee, Lijneh al-Toras --whose members are composed of people of various professions –sent letters of objection to the governor and other important officials, proposing an alternate future plan for the government building. In the letters, it is suggested that the building should be parted into three sections and provide changes which are less drastic than that of turning it into a hotel. It is advised that a sector of the Saray should remain dedicated to playing its role for the Syrian government; another sector should be a museum that shows the important historical traits of the city throughout the past century and a third section be reserved as a place of important social gatherings for important officials from other cities or countries, as well as to provide accommodation.
“Despite the letters, the contract is still on its way to be signed with Aga Khan,” said Al-Rifai with dismay. His cheeks were turning red.
“Does this mean that it is too late?” I asked.
“The final decision is still not yet made,” he said carefully. “But it seems as if their intention is to impose the plan and our only task is to study their proposal and state our opinion regarding finances, contracts and other such technicalities.”
“And what do you think about such technicalities?”
“Well, where do we stop if this goes through? The current works executed by the Aga Khan organization in the Saray and around the perimeter of the castle serve one purpose: to turn the Saray into a hotel. Tomorrow, what will keep them from turning the citadel into a hotel? What is happening is not only destructive to this area and its architectural environment, but it also opposes all the internationally-agreed codes for dealing with such archeological sites.”
The Aga Khan Network was founded in 1967 by His Highness the Aga Khan who is believed by followers to be the 49th hereditary imam of the Ismaili Muslims. According to the AKDN website, “the Network is a group of private, non-denominational development agencies working to empower communities and individuals to improve living conditions and opportunities.” The Syrian representative for the AKTC, Adli Qudsi, is an architect from Aleppo and a strong advocate for the preservations being made by the Aga Khan. “We do not restore things unless they are actually falling apart structurally or there is a need, a use for them,” he is quoted as saying in the April 2006 issue of Syria Today. According to the article, the AKTC is determined that the international standards in conservation are met; furthermore, they are working the director of Museums and Antiquities, in order to create a continuous system for the maintenance and administration of the citadel and its surrounding area.
A day after my meeting with Al-Rifai, I scheduled an appointment with Reem Qudsi, the site engineer and supervisor of the archeological and constructional work performed by Aga Khan around the castle. I took a taxi and the driver was unable to stop directly in front of the fortress, where I had usually been dropped off in the past. Only recently has it been forbidden to circle the citadel in one’s vehicle, due to the new construction and a change in traffic pattern that is designed to make the area more pedestrian-friendly. I paid the driver, got out of the cab, and said shookran, or “thank you” in Arabic.
I was early. Putting a hand to my forehead to shield my eyes from the piercing sun, I examined the very noticeable changes. Having been to the citadel on countless previous visits, I was able to make a valid comparison. The smooth, leveled cement floor creates an amphitheater-like stairway whose gradual slope extends downward from the castle to the coffee shops and is grayish-black in color, yet almost white as it was coated in dust. There were men and young boys hammering and drilling at it and as I watched, I realized that what they have completed so far is only a small portion of the rest of the street surrounding the castle. The 30-year-old stone enclosure around the moat is slowly being demolished, to be replaced by a new one that better matches the ground. Some areas of the old enclosure’s obliteration are abandoned, leaving behind heaps of rocks.
I walked backwards in order to observe everything at once, all the while thinking about what Al-Rifai had revealed to me the previous day. I stared at the castle. Just as this great monument played an important role during the 12th and 13th centuries, it does the same nowadays but perhaps in a different manner. Now, it’s not only an efficient means for gaining tourist attraction, but also, its presence often serves to inflate the average Aleppian ego; to be able to use an article of historical value as a claim to one’s pride is probably one of the easiest ways to assert nationalism, among other things.
On the other hand, during 13th century the citadel’s structure and thick stone walls attested to their function and were rather effective politically and militarily. As the French archeologist and historian, Jean Sauvaget put it, “it needs the effort of the imagination to appreciate fully the construction as it impressed itself on the citizens of thirteenth century Aleppo.”
This grand example of Islamic architecture still stands 50 meters high as it has for hundreds of years, monochromatic from far away; off-white, light brown or gray when observed up close. It once encapsulated an entire city, containing two great mosques, a palace, and hammams. Today an entire city encapsulates it, surrounding it with khans and souks, coffee shops, and innumerable mosques and apartment buildings, to say the least.
By now I was far away from the entrance of the citadel, but remained close enough to see a side-view of it and the other buildings nearby, one of which was the Saray. Of course, I saw the coffee shops as well, some of which were being redecorated and refurnished. The palm trees in front of the old Sultaniyeh School had grown a bit since Al-Rifai’s pictures.
The Saray was built by both the Syrians and the French during the Mandate. At some point during its erection, the French took bricks off the mound of the citadel and used them to create the façade of the edifice. It is said that the French were also taking gold from the country at that time and turned it into paper currency. In 1922, Taj elDin elHasani, the first Syrian president, allegedly thought the Syrians were better off taking that gold and building from it a monument in Aleppo, encouraging its development at the hands of Syrians.
“It is utterly preposterous that after less than a century, we take this national treasure and transform it back into paper currency,” Tameem Kasmo, also of the Adiyat Society, is quoted as saying by Tahhan. Kasmo continues to say, “And this is what will happen, God forbid, if we turn the Saray into a hotel.”
The Saray was founded in the beginning of the nationalistic era. There is a well known story pertaining to its significance that describes the first waving flag which was raised over this building after Syria gained its independence in 1946. Many important officials have met there and according to many of the members of the Adiyat, its conversion to a hotel will downsize the impact it has made on Aleppo’s recent history.
“We [Aleppians] suffer from talking about our archeological symbols not as historians, but as tourists,” claims Dr. Kasmo in his testimonial. “The foreign tourist, when he comes and sees these monuments, is bewildered by the greatness of its architectural design, and the average Aleppian is so foolishly proud of that. Instead, we should be regarding it as something much more personal, more symbolic… There is a problem, especially in our modern historical culture, if we always look at a building and evaluate it on how it will energize tourism.”
Further comments regarding this issue were written by Dr. Jamal Tahhan, Kheireddin Al-Rifai and other members of the Adiyat Society in Syria News, amounting to over 200 pages. Al-Rifai made sure to get those who were involved and against it to protest, but with little to no response.
“On the face of it, the governor showed he was against it. But he never did voice his opinion or use his authority to stop it from happening,” said Al-Rifai, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together, a gesture indicating that perhaps the governor was “bought.”
Taking into account that a change to the Saray might be inevitable, the Adiyat Society, along with the tourism committee, Lijneh al-Toras --whose members are composed of people of various professions –sent letters of objection to the governor and other important officials, proposing an alternate future plan for the government building. In the letters, it is suggested that the building should be parted into three sections and provide changes which are less drastic than that of turning it into a hotel. It is advised that a sector of the Saray should remain dedicated to playing its role for the Syrian government; another sector should be a museum that shows the important historical traits of the city throughout the past century and a third section be reserved as a place of important social gatherings for important officials from other cities or countries, as well as to provide accommodation.
“Despite the letters, the contract is still on its way to be signed with Aga Khan,” said Al-Rifai with dismay. His cheeks were turning red.
“Does this mean that it is too late?” I asked.
“The final decision is still not yet made,” he said carefully. “But it seems as if their intention is to impose the plan and our only task is to study their proposal and state our opinion regarding finances, contracts and other such technicalities.”
“And what do you think about such technicalities?”
“Well, where do we stop if this goes through? The current works executed by the Aga Khan organization in the Saray and around the perimeter of the castle serve one purpose: to turn the Saray into a hotel. Tomorrow, what will keep them from turning the citadel into a hotel? What is happening is not only destructive to this area and its architectural environment, but it also opposes all the internationally-agreed codes for dealing with such archeological sites.”
The Aga Khan Network was founded in 1967 by His Highness the Aga Khan who is believed by followers to be the 49th hereditary imam of the Ismaili Muslims. According to the AKDN website, “the Network is a group of private, non-denominational development agencies working to empower communities and individuals to improve living conditions and opportunities.” The Syrian representative for the AKTC, Adli Qudsi, is an architect from Aleppo and a strong advocate for the preservations being made by the Aga Khan. “We do not restore things unless they are actually falling apart structurally or there is a need, a use for them,” he is quoted as saying in the April 2006 issue of Syria Today. According to the article, the AKTC is determined that the international standards in conservation are met; furthermore, they are working the director of Museums and Antiquities, in order to create a continuous system for the maintenance and administration of the citadel and its surrounding area.
A day after my meeting with Al-Rifai, I scheduled an appointment with Reem Qudsi, the site engineer and supervisor of the archeological and constructional work performed by Aga Khan around the castle. I took a taxi and the driver was unable to stop directly in front of the fortress, where I had usually been dropped off in the past. Only recently has it been forbidden to circle the citadel in one’s vehicle, due to the new construction and a change in traffic pattern that is designed to make the area more pedestrian-friendly. I paid the driver, got out of the cab, and said shookran, or “thank you” in Arabic.
I was early. Putting a hand to my forehead to shield my eyes from the piercing sun, I examined the very noticeable changes. Having been to the citadel on countless previous visits, I was able to make a valid comparison. The smooth, leveled cement floor creates an amphitheater-like stairway whose gradual slope extends downward from the castle to the coffee shops and is grayish-black in color, yet almost white as it was coated in dust. There were men and young boys hammering and drilling at it and as I watched, I realized that what they have completed so far is only a small portion of the rest of the street surrounding the castle. The 30-year-old stone enclosure around the moat is slowly being demolished, to be replaced by a new one that better matches the ground. Some areas of the old enclosure’s obliteration are abandoned, leaving behind heaps of rocks.
I walked backwards in order to observe everything at once, all the while thinking about what Al-Rifai had revealed to me the previous day. I stared at the castle. Just as this great monument played an important role during the 12th and 13th centuries, it does the same nowadays but perhaps in a different manner. Now, it’s not only an efficient means for gaining tourist attraction, but also, its presence often serves to inflate the average Aleppian ego; to be able to use an article of historical value as a claim to one’s pride is probably one of the easiest ways to assert nationalism, among other things.
On the other hand, during 13th century the citadel’s structure and thick stone walls attested to their function and were rather effective politically and militarily. As the French archeologist and historian, Jean Sauvaget put it, “it needs the effort of the imagination to appreciate fully the construction as it impressed itself on the citizens of thirteenth century Aleppo.”
This grand example of Islamic architecture still stands 50 meters high as it has for hundreds of years, monochromatic from far away; off-white, light brown or gray when observed up close. It once encapsulated an entire city, containing two great mosques, a palace, and hammams. Today an entire city encapsulates it, surrounding it with khans and souks, coffee shops, and innumerable mosques and apartment buildings, to say the least.
By now I was far away from the entrance of the citadel, but remained close enough to see a side-view of it and the other buildings nearby, one of which was the Saray. Of course, I saw the coffee shops as well, some of which were being redecorated and refurnished. The palm trees in front of the old Sultaniyeh School had grown a bit since Al-Rifai’s pictures.
A local man sat on the sidewalk in front of his shop on a plastic dirty-white chair, smoking a cigarette and idly staring at a boy who was pouring cement on the floor. I decided to start a conversation with the man and when I did, he was almost surprised that I was speaking to him, probably because it is not common
The front view of the Saray and the Sultaniyeh School;
taken while standing high on citadel grounds.
taken while standing high on citadel grounds.
practice for him to be approached randomly by a female.
“What do you think of all this?” I asked, pointing to the castle. He took a drag of his cigarette, thinking about my question, before he shrugged.
“My wife doesn’t like it. I can stand it. It will get more tourists. More tourists equal more people coming to my shop.” He told me it has only been about a month or two since they stopped traffic from coming through. “This rule is only a nuisance when I have too many things to carry. Before, I was able to park my car right in front of my shop, right here… Now I have to walk about ten minutes to get to my car. But the tourists are worth it.”
I asked him why his wife didn’t like it.
“’Because,’ she tells me, ‘Aleppo is not more important for the tourist.”
Reem Qudsi approached me wearing a cap that was red, black, white, and had two green stars on the front — colors that represented the Syrian flag. She is perhaps in her mid to late 30s, with shoulder-length, jet-black hair which was tied in a pony tail. We stood at the very last step of the castle’s entryway and there was a lot of drilling taking place there. Qudsi spoke loudly. She began by explaining to me, as if I were a tourist, what the Aga Khan foundation planned to do from now until the year 2012.
Right now she is currently supervising the construction of one of three projects, which requires the rebuilding of the moat enclosure and the circular pathway around the citadel. According to Qudsi, some locals had problems with this particular alteration because of their attachment to the older style and to the way things were. “In fact,” she said, “the locals had a problem with a lot of things because people don’t like change. If they are used to seeing their car parked somewhere, then they teach themselves that that is where it is always supposed to be parked. It takes a while to adjust before these people begin to form an attachment to the new style.”
Qudsi (who is related to Adli Qudsi – the Syrian representative for AKDN), pointed to the Sultaniyeh School in front of us and explained why palms were chosen on its front yard. “You can’t leave an area without trees. It’s not good for the view and we picked the palm because it’s thin and you can easily see through them and what’s behind them. In addition, palm trees have always been in desert-like areas and take little water. They also provide a religious symbol. There are other palm trees here in Aleppo that are hundreds of years old. So it’s not disturbing the motif of the city.” I listened while she continued, interrupting only to make short comments. She turned to her right and pointed to a bench that was about 20 feet away from us.
“The AKTC decided also to put around 50 stone benches in the area that used to be the street. We were able to put them here because the road is now for pedestrians,” she explained. “Before we came up with this idea, some people who wanted to come visit the castle had to ask a policeman to stop the traffic in order to cross the street. Now there is more respect for the castle and a chance for the people living around this area to feel the significance of living so close to it.”
“Is it possible that you might be ruining anything archeologically or historically from all these changes?” I finally asked.
“No.” She looked at me questionably. “We are not ruining anything. When we come across something old, we document it, draw it out stone by stone and then leave it alone for others to inspect. We don’t do anything wrong to anything old.”
“Is there anyone against this project?”“What do you mean?”
“I mean, could it be possible that there are people of official status here in Aleppo who might be against what is being done here?”
“No, there is nobody against it at all.” *
“What do you think of all this?” I asked, pointing to the castle. He took a drag of his cigarette, thinking about my question, before he shrugged.
“My wife doesn’t like it. I can stand it. It will get more tourists. More tourists equal more people coming to my shop.” He told me it has only been about a month or two since they stopped traffic from coming through. “This rule is only a nuisance when I have too many things to carry. Before, I was able to park my car right in front of my shop, right here… Now I have to walk about ten minutes to get to my car. But the tourists are worth it.”
I asked him why his wife didn’t like it.
“’Because,’ she tells me, ‘Aleppo is not more important for the tourist.”
Reem Qudsi approached me wearing a cap that was red, black, white, and had two green stars on the front — colors that represented the Syrian flag. She is perhaps in her mid to late 30s, with shoulder-length, jet-black hair which was tied in a pony tail. We stood at the very last step of the castle’s entryway and there was a lot of drilling taking place there. Qudsi spoke loudly. She began by explaining to me, as if I were a tourist, what the Aga Khan foundation planned to do from now until the year 2012.
Right now she is currently supervising the construction of one of three projects, which requires the rebuilding of the moat enclosure and the circular pathway around the citadel. According to Qudsi, some locals had problems with this particular alteration because of their attachment to the older style and to the way things were. “In fact,” she said, “the locals had a problem with a lot of things because people don’t like change. If they are used to seeing their car parked somewhere, then they teach themselves that that is where it is always supposed to be parked. It takes a while to adjust before these people begin to form an attachment to the new style.”
Qudsi (who is related to Adli Qudsi – the Syrian representative for AKDN), pointed to the Sultaniyeh School in front of us and explained why palms were chosen on its front yard. “You can’t leave an area without trees. It’s not good for the view and we picked the palm because it’s thin and you can easily see through them and what’s behind them. In addition, palm trees have always been in desert-like areas and take little water. They also provide a religious symbol. There are other palm trees here in Aleppo that are hundreds of years old. So it’s not disturbing the motif of the city.” I listened while she continued, interrupting only to make short comments. She turned to her right and pointed to a bench that was about 20 feet away from us.
“The AKTC decided also to put around 50 stone benches in the area that used to be the street. We were able to put them here because the road is now for pedestrians,” she explained. “Before we came up with this idea, some people who wanted to come visit the castle had to ask a policeman to stop the traffic in order to cross the street. Now there is more respect for the castle and a chance for the people living around this area to feel the significance of living so close to it.”
“Is it possible that you might be ruining anything archeologically or historically from all these changes?” I finally asked.
“No.” She looked at me questionably. “We are not ruining anything. When we come across something old, we document it, draw it out stone by stone and then leave it alone for others to inspect. We don’t do anything wrong to anything old.”
“Is there anyone against this project?”“What do you mean?”
“I mean, could it be possible that there are people of official status here in Aleppo who might be against what is being done here?”
“No, there is nobody against it at all.” *
May 2007 – Palm trees were newly planted, obscuring the view.
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