One weekend Michal and I went to Haifa, on the coast in the north of Israel.
Over the next 30 years, Bahá'u'lláh wandered the Ottoman Empire in various states of banishment and imprisonment, finally settling in Akko, Palestine (just north of Haifa). The sites of his imprisonment and burial (in Akko) are also holy places for the Baha'i whereas these gardens are a shrine to Báb.
After the gardens, Michal and I wandered down to the Arabic market. There was something of a festival going on, I'm not sure what for. Didn't much matter, really. All that mattered to me is that I was hungry and everything smelled fabulous. If you're in the mood, these markets are like a buffet: you wander along and try a little bit of everything that looks good. "What's this?" "{Arabic Arabic Arabic}" "Great, I'll take two."
The next day, bereft of company (she said something about needing to "study" or "attend classes" or something like that. I'm not sure, I wasn't really listening), I headed off to Akko (aka Acre). Akko's history reads a lot like Jaffa's: port town occupied from the earliest stages of recorded history, mentioned in the Bible, yadda yadda yadda. It's during the crusades that things started getting interesting. In the sense of the Chinese curse, that is.
Acre was first 'liberated' from 'Mohammedan' control in 1104 by King Baldwin I of Jerusalem, after which it became the principle Crusader port in the Levant. Saladin re-took the city in 1187 only to lose it four years later in 1191 to King Richard I (the Lionheart) of England. Following the fall of Jerusalem in 1192, Acre became the Crusader capital until it was finally (permanently) lost to Christian rule in 1291. The conquering Mameluks completely destroyed the city and its fortifications in order to prevent a return of the Crusaders and for the next five hundred years there wasn't an Acre to speak of (when the Mameluks destroy a city, it stays destroyed).
It was only in the late 18th century that the Ottoman governor of Damascus set about rebuilding the port facilities.
To be fair, the mean ole British had stolen his heavy siege artillery and poor reconnaissance failed to note the opposing vertical wall of the moat. Thus, despite successfully opening a breach in the main walls, Napoleon's assault force came under murderous fire as they were forced to assemble ladders to descend into the moat itself. Whoops!
Wanna make your brain go all tingly? Are you ready for it? Ok, here we go: compare the architectural styling of the Khan al-Umdan (built by the Ottoman Turks) to the Antiguo Colegio de San Ildefonso or the Palacio Gobierno in Mexico City.
The Umayyad Caliphate invaded the Iberian Peninsula in the 8th century and Muslim forces controlled varying (but generally diminishing) portions all the way up through 1492. Thus, much of classical 'Spanish' architecture borrows heavily (to put it politely) from classical Muslim architecture. The Spainish 're-conquered' the Iberian Peninsula and then (somewhat bored) devoted themselves to setting up a pretty decent little colonial empire in the New World. 500 plus years later buildings halfway around the world from each other both geographically and culturally look like they might have been designed by the same architect.
Incidentally, as I was uploading the Khan al-Umdan shot, Michal piped up: "Hey, that looks like a building I saw in Ciudad Oaxaca!" And there I was all set to impress her with my historical knowledge and whatnot. Way to steal my thunder.
The main attraction in Haifa is the Bahai Gardens, a series of beautifully manicured terraces running up the steep hill above the harbor.
There is water cascading down from terrace to terrace, filling the entire garden with the sound of running water.
The Bahai Faith is pretty young, as religions go. It began in Persia (modern day Iran) in the mid nineteenth century with Báb (Arabic for 'Gate'), who declared himself to be the Mahdi, the twelfth Imam whose return from hiding (according to Shi'a tradition) presages the end of the world.
Somewhat unsurprisingly, Islamic authorities in Persia didn't take too kindly to Báb's claims. He was publicly executed in Tabriz in 1850. Note that there isn't any 'lens-warp' going on here. The gardens really are shaped like that.
Before his death, Báb made numerous references to the imminent coming of a Promised One. Within 20 years of Báb's death (according to Wikipedia), more than 25 people claimed to be this Promised One.
One fellow in particular, though, Bahá'u'lláh, eventually attracted the support of the majority of Baha'i.
By 1863, Bahá'u'lláh openly claimed to be "Him whom God shall make manifest," the culmination (according to him) of pretty much all major religions' prophecies including (but not limited to!) the "Everlasting Father" (Judaism), the "Lord of Hosts" (Christianity) and the "Third Imam" returned (Shi'a Islam). Good work if you can get it, I suppose.
It's only a fountain.. Also, that's a completely ridiculous amount of hair.
Her: "Why did you spend so much time looking at the fountain?"Anyway...
Me: "I was admiring the quality construction."
Her: "..."
Me: "Seriously, it's actually really tough to get water to cascade that evenly over so long a distance."
Her: "..."
Me: "No, really you need to maintain a tolerance of something like.."
Her: "..."
Me: "I'm going to stop talking now."
Over the next 30 years, Bahá'u'lláh wandered the Ottoman Empire in various states of banishment and imprisonment, finally settling in Akko, Palestine (just north of Haifa). The sites of his imprisonment and burial (in Akko) are also holy places for the Baha'i whereas these gardens are a shrine to Báb.
It's like Where's Waldo the blonde Israeli version.
This shot was an accident, but I like it anyway. I don't know why.
The gardens are pretty, but it's tough to get a good explanation about actual Baha'i beliefs. After being persecuted for so long in Persia, they are pretty cagey about appearing to be trying to convert anyone, particularly Jews.
After the gardens, Michal and I wandered down to the Arabic market. There was something of a festival going on, I'm not sure what for. Didn't much matter, really. All that mattered to me is that I was hungry and everything smelled fabulous. If you're in the mood, these markets are like a buffet: you wander along and try a little bit of everything that looks good. "What's this?" "{Arabic Arabic Arabic}" "Great, I'll take two."
For gawd's sake, woman, don't take my picture just after I've stuffed my mouth with something. I'm chewing here! Sigh. She thinks she's soo funny...
On the walk back up to the car, Haifa at sunset.
The next day, bereft of company (she said something about needing to "study" or "attend classes" or something like that. I'm not sure, I wasn't really listening), I headed off to Akko (aka Acre). Akko's history reads a lot like Jaffa's: port town occupied from the earliest stages of recorded history, mentioned in the Bible, yadda yadda yadda. It's during the crusades that things started getting interesting. In the sense of the Chinese curse, that is.
Acre was first 'liberated' from 'Mohammedan' control in 1104 by King Baldwin I of Jerusalem, after which it became the principle Crusader port in the Levant. Saladin re-took the city in 1187 only to lose it four years later in 1191 to King Richard I (the Lionheart) of England. Following the fall of Jerusalem in 1192, Acre became the Crusader capital until it was finally (permanently) lost to Christian rule in 1291. The conquering Mameluks completely destroyed the city and its fortifications in order to prevent a return of the Crusaders and for the next five hundred years there wasn't an Acre to speak of (when the Mameluks destroy a city, it stays destroyed).
It was only in the late 18th century that the Ottoman governor of Damascus set about rebuilding the port facilities.
These walls date from the late 18th century rebuilding and successfully repelled Napoleon in 1799.
To be fair, the mean ole British had stolen his heavy siege artillery and poor reconnaissance failed to note the opposing vertical wall of the moat. Thus, despite successfully opening a breach in the main walls, Napoleon's assault force came under murderous fire as they were forced to assemble ladders to descend into the moat itself. Whoops!
The sea gate below and the port beyond.
I can ignore safety regulations in three different languages! At the same time!
The builders of Acco's mosque stole these columns from the nearby Roman ruin of Caesarea. I suppose the Romans weren't really using them anymore..
Nice.
The sea gate from the inside. Note the dogleg which requires an attacking force to slow down and negotiate the turn.
I amaze myself sometimes. It seems I didn't bother taking a photo of the outside of the Citadel. Little help, wikipedia? Thanks.
When the Ottomans rebuilt their citadel atop the ruins of the Crusader fortress, they just filled everything in with dirt and started fresh. This sort of thing makes modern archeologists ecstatic.
These halls might well have played host to Marco Polo at the beginning of his journey to China.
The tombstone of a Knight Hospitaller.
Wow, I'm all shivery. This stuff is straight out of Indiana Jones and I'm lovin' it.
Though bad at accurately naming things, the Crusaders were certainly hip to the fact that they were not in friendly territory. This tunnel leads from the citadel to the harbor, handy for provisioning by sea and, if necessary, escaping the fall of the city.
Oh, Christ, it's a Saladin. Everybody get in the boat. We're going to Rhodes.
My ticket to the Citadel also got me into the Turkish baths, which operated from 1795 until 1950. It was a pretty cheesy audio/video tour with bad actors and worse voice overs, but the beauty of the place cannot be denied. Wikipedia's version of this photo blows mine out of the water.
Inlaid tile and stone floors.
Tile on the walls.
The 'Khan al-Umdan' or 'Inn of the Columns.' The eponymous columns were also stolen from Caesarea.
Wanna make your brain go all tingly? Are you ready for it? Ok, here we go: compare the architectural styling of the Khan al-Umdan (built by the Ottoman Turks) to the Antiguo Colegio de San Ildefonso or the Palacio Gobierno in Mexico City.
These are reprints..
The Umayyad Caliphate invaded the Iberian Peninsula in the 8th century and Muslim forces controlled varying (but generally diminishing) portions all the way up through 1492. Thus, much of classical 'Spanish' architecture borrows heavily (to put it politely) from classical Muslim architecture. The Spainish 're-conquered' the Iberian Peninsula and then (somewhat bored) devoted themselves to setting up a pretty decent little colonial empire in the New World. 500 plus years later buildings halfway around the world from each other both geographically and culturally look like they might have been designed by the same architect.
Incidentally, as I was uploading the Khan al-Umdan shot, Michal piped up: "Hey, that looks like a building I saw in Ciudad Oaxaca!" And there I was all set to impress her with my historical knowledge and whatnot. Way to steal my thunder.
Clever. Too clever.
