Shobok Castle in Bedouin Lands

The silent stone walls of Monte Reale Castle stood before me.  The only sound I heard was that of the Arabian winds whistling briskly through ancient ramparts of the desolate ruin.  I first saw the fortress earlier from a nearby hill- it still presented an impressive profile after nearly 900 years.

It looked much like the photo I first saw of it in archaeologist G. Lankester Harding’s 1959 book The Antiquities of Jordan.  In April of 1985, I had traveled to the mysterious land of Jordan to study these ruins, and many others, with my own eyes.

Led by my friend, Sufyan Al Twaissi, a tour guide of Bedouin heritage, and with my friend, a guard and driver for the Royal Palace named Raid Dusalhf, we entered the castle and began to climb about its ancient courtyards and walls.

No other tourists were there- the only other people we saw were a caretaker at the gate, and a merchant, who, with his 2 sons, ran a unique shop of antiques and rare goods from his tattered tent on the perimeter of the castle grounds.

I stepped over blocks of crumbled stone scattered haphazardly about.  The place was just as I had hoped- lonely and forgotten.  There is something I have always found fascinating in ancient ruins- in some ways, they are like living creatures.

There are those who will say that this castle, or for that matter, any lost ruin, is ‘dead’.  Yet I beg to differ.  In looking at these crumbling walls, I am connected to its present state of being- much like an old man whose past was long, long ago- yet, with a frail voice, he can still tell me about his life – face to face.

It seems to me that until a ruin is restored- or given a second life- its original life continues on.  In plodding about these dilapidated walls, overgrown courtyards, and stairways that still descended into darkness, I felt closer to the castle’s living past.

We continued our walk amongst the scattered, chiseled blocks of stones and open chasms, as if we were the first to explore the surface of Mars.  We moved slowly, taking it all in.  Finally, when we reached a high ledge we looked about.

The view was very impressive, and I was informed by Sufyan that from such a vantage point, sentries could monitor all traffic throughout the land for miles and miles.  I could only imagine what this outpost was like centuries ago when teams of camel caravans would arrive to ply their wares.

I knew that the ancient merchant caravans usually traveled under the cool night sky, preferring to rest and conserve energy during the day.  But I’d like to imagine that some of these caravans found business brisk in this old castle, and may have stayed for a few nights at least, to share food, drink, and smoke and speak of other lands and places by firelight under the Arabian stars

Rudyard Kipling once commented that, “To truly experience a country, you must smell it.” I truly believe that.  During my visit to Jordan, I experienced the spicy, apple scents of tobacco pipes, the musky odor of camel hair and blankets, the sheepskin leather of Bedouin dagger grips, the aroma of hot mint tea, and the dry, clean air of the deserts of Arabia.

And though the campfires of those ancient and dusty merchants have long expired, I can imagine the rich flavors in the air during those evenings of moonlight gatherings.

The castle of Monte Reale was built in the 12^th century, by the Crusaders, near the city of Shobak.  It’s main purpose was to monitor and protect the traffic of caravans and armies along the well known ‘Kings Highway’, which ran from Damascus in Syria, all the way to Egypt- with other connections branching out East to ancient Mesopotamia, South towards Mecca, in Southern Arabia, and Northeast towards ancient Anatolia- known today as Turkey.

According to Harding, the castle was built in 1115 by Baldwin I, the crusader King of Jerusalem.  However, my guide Sufyan believes it to have been constructed in approximately 1185.  Regardless, they both agree that it was captured by the great Arab leader Salahdin in 1189.

Because of this conquest, it lost its Crusader name and is now commonly referred to as Shobak Castle.  A short mention of this conquest is told by author Amin Maalouf in his fascinating 1992 book The Crusades Through Arab Eyes.

After the dust of the Crusader-Arab battles, the castle was partially rebuilt in the fourteenth century by the Mamelukes- a dynasty descended from slave warriors and commanders, often of Turkish or Circassian origin.

They rebelled against their leaders and gained independence.   They were a robust lot, and, using the castle as one of their many fortifications, protected the land from the invading Mongols led by Gengis Khan’s grandson Hulagi.

Harding’s comments about the castle are interesting, for it appears that, when he visited the ruins-probably during the 1940s or 1950s- there was actually a modern village within.  He says, “ From the distance, it (the castle) is very impressive, but hardly repays a closer view….

The circle of the walls and a gateway are complete, but within is only the modern village, the sole remains being a great rock cut well shaft with 375 steps leading down to an underground water supply.  The descent is slippery and hazardous in the extreme, and how the ancient excavators knew they would reach water at the bottom is a mystery.”

During my visit, I found no modern village- only ruins.  Sufyan told me that in the 1980s, what few villagers had still been living in and around the castle were moved out by the government to a modern housing project.  But Sufyan and I did manage to find the well shaft mentioned by Harding.

We descended into its depths for a short distance- but did not get far as our only source of light was a few matches which Sufyan had.

I had to disagree with Harding however- perhaps from his perspective of an archaeologist who had studied much and seen so many ruins of the past, he felt it was marginally exciting.  I found it to be very interesting and could have spent another few days examining the ruins.

As we explored the castle further, Sufyan discovered a room that contained various sizes of carved round stones- approximately the size of bowling balls.

“Look here Randy,  Do you see those?  Old cannon balls,” he added.  We searched the room further and found many old capitals of columns and other stones used in construction that had ancient symbols carved in them.

“These are Aramaic inscriptions- a language older than Arabic.”  These inscriptions were found throughout other columns and stones on the castle grounds and were added after the castle was conquered by the Arabs.  Sufyan deciphered some of them.

They generally spoke of one god, Allah, and told of battles and leaders that had lived and fought here in the castle, centuries past. It was like reading a guest list carved in stone from ages past.  I wondered how many dramas and adventures had unfolded here which history had forgotten.

Was there ever a glorious Queen who held court here, inspiring the citizens with her beauty and virtue?  Was there ever a great King, his name long since lost in time, who led armies into battle and was a feared a respected ruler throughout the land?  If so, it seemed sad that the only surviving remnant to describe those days of glory was a few stone tablets left to slowly crumble into the sand.    What stories these old stones could tell.

I found a room of the castle which I guessed to be a kitchen of some kind.  It appeared to have a hearth and various ‘sinks’ carved from stones.  I noted irrigation channels still carved in the stone floor inside and outside, along the streets as well.  How many delectable feast for Kings, soldiers, and merchants had been prepared there?  What exotic fruits and wines had it’s stores supplied?

As the sun went down over hills to the west, I caught a beautiful silhouette of one of the towers against a twilight blue sky.  While shooting some footage and taking some pictures, I heard the sounds of the Imam bellowing out the twilight prayer chants from small villages miles away.  I realized that those sounds have been heard here for centuries and again, I was taken back into time.

As darkness and the temperature descended, Sufyan decided to speak with the sole merchant before we left. We went inside the tent where he and his sons were huddled around an antique kerosene heater, and they were inspecting what appeared to be a WWI era rifle, “Made by Germans” they claimed.

 

 

Sufyan told me that, if it was authentic, it most likely was used by some Bedouin nomad in this region.  The old merchant was very friendly, and spoke in broken English to me.

One of his sons poured me a cup of tea, the Arab custom when receiving a houseguest, and I gladly sipped the hot and tasty drink, while huddling around the heater and looking at pictures of cultural icons of the West as well as those of the Middle East which all hung upon the walls of his tent.

I felt connected to the past again, and had become a tiny sliver of the long history of the castle as I continued a tradition that reached back for ages. I became a member of an ancient club of traders, desert nomads, and travelers who, through centuries have all gathered here to receive protection, exchange news of other lands, make new acquaintances, and renew old ties of fellowship.

As the winds outside rattled the walls of the tent, the old merchant produced a beautiful and ancient Bedouin dagger, which Sufyan became very interested in.  I noticed the blade gleamed brightly- even in the dim light of the lantern lit tent.  He then showed me a tray of jewelry and other trinkets he was selling.  I noticed something interesting in his tray and pointed to it.  He picked it up.

 

“Roman coin,” he said.  I could not believe my eyes.  While I know they are quite common, I had never seen one before and could not contain my enthusiasm.  It was in excellent condition-a reminder of the Roman occupation of this land for many centuries.  Sensing my interest, the old man showed me another coin.

“Arabic,” he said.  And then, he produced another, even more antiquated one. “Nabatean.”  The coin he held in his hand could have been over 2000 years old.

After another cup of tea and more conversation, the old merchant decided to give me the coins he had shown me, and invited me to stay longer with him next time.

 

I later learned that another Arab custom is to give something to a guest (within reason) if they express a genuine interest in it.   Had I known this, I would have tried to contain my enthusiasm for his coins.   In exchange, I gave him the only thing I had- some baseball caps which he gladly accepted.  They were hardly the equivalent of the coins but since I noticed he was wearing an American Air Force baseball cap, I thought he might be able to use them.

Sufyan decided to purchase the old dagger as well, and was very happy with his purchase.  He invited me to smell the handle of the dagger.  It smelled rather musky, like animal skins. He showed me the strip of dried sheepskin that had been set between the two sides of the carved bone handle.

“That means it’s genuine.  And look at the inscriptions on the blade and on the silver sheath.  Very fine work,” he added.

I noticed there were also several small circles cut into the handle.  It wasn’t until much later after returning home, when, driven by curiosity, I researched their meaning. I learned they are sacred Arab symbols that prevent the blade from being used for evil purposes.

It made me wonder how old the dagger was, and who had used it.  No one in the tent that night knew.  But Sufyan was truly very happy with his purchase and I could see he cherished this genuine artifact from his own heritage.

After our visit, bartering session, and tea, we walked outside to leave and I looked up into an incredible sky full of stars.  I felt as though I should be gathering the reigns of my camel, check its rough, wool blankets, tighten my falcon-tailed turban headdress, adjust the dagger held tight by my sash, and ride off into the Arabian night.

I thought about the rugged nature of the land and the men who lived here ages past.  Even now, centuries after its prime, I witnessed timeless ramparts, old cannonballs, Arab merchants with rifles, Bedouin daggers, and old coins.

I wanted to stay and light a campfire, smoke an Arab pipe, and listen for the ghosts of caravans still treading across the sands- reminiscent of the American cowboy song, “Ghost Riders in the Sky”.  But, our team had other places to be, for we were due in Petra the next morning, and had to be on our way.  We left our friends and the quiet castle just as we had found it- silent, rugged, and still attached to its past- much like the people and the land itself, in this corner of majestic and mysterious Arabia.

An interesting epilogue to this tale which illustrates the giving and generous nature of the people of Jordan:  After returning home to the USA, I went shopping for a birthday present for my father.  I suddenly kicked myself when I remembered that my father collected old knives, and what a wonderful gift a Bedouin dagger would have made!

I emailed Sufyan. Though he is of Bedouin descent, he currently lives and works as a tour guide in the city of Amman. I asked him if he could go to a market near his home and find a blade that he thought was suitable and “looked good”, and then mail it to me, and I would reimburse him.  I told him it did not need to be anywhere near as authentic or genuine as the one he found at the castle.

He emailed me back a few weeks later with a message that he had found a dagger and it was on its way to me.  I soon received the package- you can guess what was inside: His prized and genuine Bedouin dagger from the lonely castle of Monte Reale.

The Rough Guide to Jordan – 3rd Edition (Rough Guide Travel Guides)

The Crusades Through Arab Eyes

The Arabian Nights: Tales from a Thousand and One Nights (Modern Library Classics)

Vagabonding: An Uncommon Guide to the Art of Long-Term World Travel

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