Damascus's Souk Al-Hamadiyyah -Where the World Comes to Shop
By: Habeeb Salloum/Arab America Contributing Writer
“Here in Syria, one can literally learn the history of the world. All the gods have lived in our skies and all the great civilizations of the Mediterranean basin have flourished on our soil.” So wrote the contemporary Syrian writer Gabriel Saade when invitingly describing his country. He could very well have continued: And if travelers do not have time to explore all this exciting and colorful land, Damascus, its capital, and one of the great caravan cities and religious centers in the Middle East, is a micro picture of the country. But if a visitor has only a few hours to spend, Souk al-Hamadiyyah, spanning its venerable heart, is a micro-micro of the city and the entire country.
A corrugated-vaulted-cobbled souk, always bustling with crowds, street vendors and tenacious merchants, this shopping arcade is a gentle and civilized tourist trap. It dates back to 1863, to the rule of the Ottoman Sultan Abdul Hamid the Second, after whom the souk is named.
The principal shopping street in the old city, it is 15 m (49 ft) wide, 8 m (26 ft) high and runs for some 600 m (1968 ft) – a transitional passageway from the modern outer world to the ancient inner core of the city. In 2002, repair work on the souk succeeded in bringing it back to its former glory.
We entered the souk, as do most tourists, at its eastern end directly from Nasr Street. At its northwest corner we stopped to admire the impressive Damascus Citadel – once forming the core of the 5 km (3 mi) oval-like old city walls, entered through nine gates, eight of which survive.
A young well-dressed man seeing me surveying the huge structure stopped and asked me from where I hailed. “From Canada!” I grinned. He smiled back, “You know, this fortress stopped your ancestors, the Crusaders, three times when they tried to take our city.” He had moved on before I could tell him that these Men of the Cross were not my forefathers.
Moving along into the souk, it was a world of magic lanterns. Above us, the high iron vaulting perforated by a great number of holes let in bright buttons of light, reflecting in a panorama of colors on the mass of humanity below.
The 250 shops on both sides of the covered avenue were overshadowed by street musicians and hawkers, in sing-song voices offering their goods to passers-by. In semi-hidden corners, street entrepreneurs were breaking open cartons of smuggled cigarettes from Lebanon, then passing on packs to young boys who then walked down the street shouting out their brands – of course, all American.
The shop owners artistically exhibiting their wares, some of it spilling onto the street, offered a fairyland of temptation. Especially enticing were the handmade brocades, mosaic boxes and tables, inlaid silver brass and copper items, elaborate Damascene tablecloths, handmade jewelry, colorful traditional clothing, Arab musical instruments, attractive Damascene daggers and swords, handmade woolen carpets and plaques inlaid with Koranic verses or English sayings.
Amid these traditional products, name-brand cosmetics, plastic toys from the West, machine-made fabrics and everything else needed by a householder were displayed in an attractive fashion. Souk al-Hamadiyyah appeared to be the mother of all marketplaces – according to some writers, the prototype of all huge modern shopping malls.
About halfway up the street, tiring of bargaining and the mass of humanity, we entered Backdach, a renowned Damascene ice cream parlor almost a century-old offering amiah – a Syrian version of the Western product, pounded by hand and sprinkled with pistachios. Strangely, unlike another ice cream, amiah needs very little refrigeration. Ahmad, one of the workers, noting that I was fascinated with his pounding, remarked, “It’s unique, our ice cream, is it not? All-day long tourists stop to take pictures.” The place was so popular that during our visit, there was a never-ending line-up.
Rested, we moved into the linking tiny narrow streets – a maze of small souks, many specializing in certain goods and, a number, edged by khans (once inns but now housing shops and warehouses). They connect the al-Hamadiyyah to The Street Called Straight and form one gigantic shopping plaza.
At the western end of al-Hamadiyyah, we stopped at a Roman gateway, edged by stately columns – once a part of the Temple of Jupiter. Exquisite Arab style lamps hanging in the archways reflected on the shops below selling religious books and memorabilia. Beyond the Roman columns, the Umayyad Mosque, the fourth holiest Muslim house of worship on earth stood out in all its glory.
Formerly a Christian cathedral built over the Temple of Jupiter, it was rebuilt by the Muslims in 705 A.D. as a mosque. Mosaics inlaid with gold, marble marquetry, and gold plating gave the structure a sumptuous appearance and it became one of the wonders of the world. In the subsequent centuries, after it was ravaged several times by fire and ransacked twice by the Mongols, much of its splendor disappeared.
In the last few decades, the mosque has been gradually renovated. On the outside, the market stalls built on the mosque’s wall have been removed and inside the courtyard and prayer hall, the colorful artwork of the past is being rejuvenated. Restored mosaics, portraying scenes from nature, are coming alive day after day and slabs of fine marble are beautifying the courtyard walls. A renewed stunning work of art, the mosque had truly found the fountain of youth.
Back on al-Hamadiyyah, we walked a few meters to the first intersecting souk, then turned right and strolled for a few minutes to the Abo Alez Restaurant, housed in a renovated beautifully tiled old Arab home. Here, surrounded by groups of tourists, we dined on the tastiest food in Damascus – a city noted for its fine dishes.
As we gorged ourselves while listening to the melodies of the mawashahat (classical music and song developed in Arab Spain), Souk al-Hamadiyyah with all its activity and color was still on my mind. To me, the captivating tunes of the mawashahat were like sirens calling the world to come and enjoy the pleasures of this souk where the world comes to shop.