Xenadu: In the Footsteps of Marco Polo, by William Darlingpur, translated by Lan Ying, Social Sciences Literature Press, November 2021
When we were schoolchildren, we learned about the life of Marco Polo. Wrapped in a turban and wearing a striped robe that resembled a nightgown, he rode on a dromedary. Of all the books on the school shelves, the "Little Ladybug" children's book with the cover of the picture was read the most times.
One day my friends and I wrapped up a few biscuits in handkerchiefs and tied them to a stick, ready to leave for China. Camels couldn't be found in Scotland, so we had to rely on our feet until we were exhausted. By tea time, we had eaten all the cookies into our stomachs. Another problem is that we're not quite sure where China is. While we are pretty sure it's not in England, we can't fully confirm the geographic location of England either.
Still, we bravely walked towards Haddington because we felt we could ask for directions at a store there. But as soon as it got dark, we turned and went home for dinner. We discussed it and decided to put the plan on hold for the time being.
China is not in a hurry to let us pass anyway.
Ready, departure: The bow of the boat is naturally straight
In fact, no one else has been more successful in following in Marco Polo's footsteps than we have. Many people have walked in his footsteps like us, but no one has ever managed to complete that journey. In the 19th century, Afghanistan was in crisis; in the 20th century, China closed its doors to foreigners. When China reopened to the outside world in the early 1980s, Afghanistan closed its doors again due to the Soviet invasion. Now that the Soviet Union is retreating, Iran and Syria are both closing their borders. In the spring of 1986, however, the Karakoram Expressway, which connects Pakistan and China, opened — and since the 13th century, perhaps the first good time to take holy oil with them and travel overland from Jerusalem to Shenandu. The fighting in Afghanistan made it impossible to follow the entire route of the Polo at that time, but theoretically we are now able to walk most of it and finally reach our destination.
The most common portrait of Marco Polo
My girlfriend at the time, Louisa, read the short article announcing the opening of the highway in the New York Herald Tribune, so we decided to embark on an expedition to follow in the footsteps of the Venetian. Last summer, I had followed the route of the First Crusade from Edinburgh to Jerusalem. That trip ended with the Holy Sepulchre, which in turn was the starting point of Marco Polo's journey. It was clear that this trip was a continuation of the last one.
Louisa and I spent a month planning our long trip. We argued over atlases, sat in the Cambridge University library to study that history, and traveled back and forth between embassies of different countries. I even managed to convince my own college to contribute £700 to the programme. Later, as the exams approached, I immersed myself in two months of hard study, forgot about the trip, and almost never saw Louisa again. Just two weeks before our scheduled departure date, Louisa and I had a drink at Hammersmith's bar. There, between small sips of white grape liqueur, a fait accompli was laid before me. Between us were a new man (a sip of wine) and a new destination (a sip of wine). The man's name was Edward, and the new destination was Orkney.
It was nothing less than a blow to my head and made me dizzy. Then I left the bar to go to a party where I confided in a stranger sitting on the left. My listener's name is Laura. Although I had never seen her before, I had long admired her name. Everyone said she was awesome, frighteningly intelligent, and physically fit. Even if she is not a beauty in the traditional sense, she can at least be called heroic. I've heard that she's an athlete on the Oxford ice hockey team and a scholar. I also know that she was a fearless traveler who used her father's job trip to Delhi to explore the entire South Asian subcontinent. There are countless legends about her exceptional endurance. If half of it is true, then at the age of twenty-one she is enough to set up Freya Stark like an amateur. Laura is said to have traveled alone to the most inaccessible corners of the Southern Deccan Plateau, through the jungles of Bangladesh, and to the tallest peaks of the Himalayas. What happened during a public riot in Delhi is the best example of its ability. At that time, there was civil unrest in the city of Delhi due to the death of Mrs. Gandhi. Laura tries to rescue a Sikh friend from a street gang, but is stuck in a dead end by a group of rapists intent on violence. She single-handedly defeated them all, and it is said that one thug lost some kind of ability forever.
But no one had ever told me how awesome Laura was and how impulsive she was. As dinner drew to a close, she announced that she would take Louisa's place, at least until she reached Lahore, Pakistan, and then she would return to her home in Delhi. She had planned to explore the Andes, but Ayatollah's Iran sounded more to her liking. She said she would call me within three days to confirm.
Three days later, at 7:30 a.m., the phone rang (such an early call is often not a good sign). Of course, she'll go, she told me. If I could meet her at the Syrian embassy within an hour, we would be able to start applying for the necessary visas one by one. Over the next two weeks, Laura took me all over London, lashing out at red tape, harassing consular officials, and taking the bureaucracy of Asian embassies to its knees. She supervised my medical examinations and vaccinations to prevent diseases that I could never have dreamed of existing. My map was thrown away and replaced by a set of drawings that looked as if they had been drawn by the CIA, densely marked with confusing numbers and a creepy warning: "An aircraft invading an area of nonfree flight could trigger unsuspecting fire." ”
Meanwhile, Laura used all of her contacts for the expedition. We got our Iranian visa through the back door. We found a route from Israel to Syria: we telegraphed the Soviet port city of Odessa, bought tickets from Haifa, Israel, to Limassol, Cyprus, and booked a bunk on another ship [which departed from Larnaca on the other side of the island and ended in Latakia, Syria]. But there is still no solution to the problem: we must ensure that the Israelis do not stamp our passports, and that the Cypriot authorities do not show in any way that we have landed on the island, otherwise we will not be able to enter Syria or Iran. Iran worries us about its treatment of foreign visitors. Last year, a British student of our age was arrested while traveling in Iran and charged with espionage and is still in prison. Two days before our departure, a travelogue published in The Times overshadowed our trip and raised the most serious questions we faced. The article said the Karakoram Expressway is indeed open to foreign tourists, but they must join a tour group before they can be allowed to enter China. If they want to travel independently, foreign tourists must book accommodation in Tashkurgan, the first town after entering the Chinese border. The article said that the booking could only be made through certain agencies in Beijing, and that the arrangement would take six months.
The next morning, I got a call from Louisa. She had heard that I hadn't changed my plans for the trip. She will return from the Orkney Islands in mid-August and asked me if I would like to join her on the second half of my journey, from Lahore to Beijing. I said I would. I didn't tell her about that article. I believe that the boat to the bridge is naturally straight.
In this way, I was determined to embark on this six-thousand-mile-long route, which was extremely dangerous and desolate. Most of the countries along the route still seem reluctant to let foreigners enter the country. I have two companions, one is a complete stranger, and the other has exhausted his relationship with me. Maybe I should go to the doctor, but I just bought a ticket to Jerusalem through a travel agency.
Jerusalem: Awoke
When I returned from the Basilica of the Holy Sepulchre, it was just in time for breakfast. Laura and I were living in the British School of Archaeology with dubious supporting documents. Heavily influenced by the Oxford and Cambridge schools, the college was founded by the great Mrs. Kathleen Kenyon and still survives. It can be said that obscurity has allowed it to survive the late 20th century, especially the period when the government cut funding. A group of shy and bookish scholars made this place their home. They spent their time excavating the Crusader forts on Judean Hill and compiling multi-volume works on the Romanesque drainage system of Jerusalem. During the week of our stay, the excavators happened to find a simple small pillar in the shape of a chrysanthemum, and everyone was ecstatic.
Jerusalem in the late 19th century
The college's methodical style is particularly evident in the meals it serves, and breakfast is the best example of this. The bacon omelette served by the Academy deserves the phrase "the best east of Rome" (and probably "the only one east of Rome"). In addition, for the convenience of Palestinian archaeologists who might be stationed here, the Academy offers a complementary menu of feta cheese, olives, tomatoes and pita cakes, in addition to watermelon, yogurt, toast and jam. This delightful meal is served in two sessions. The first time period begins at five o'clock in the morning, when the diners are mostly excavators. The second time period begins at eight o'clock in the morning and lasts slightly longer. Diners at this time included researchers, experts following up on excavations, and all those who succeeded in saving themselves from being woken up by diggers who ate earlier.
Early that morning, Laura was one of the last people. When I returned from my meeting with Friar Fabian, I found herself chewing on bacon and eggs. I look forward to spending a few days at the Academy, taking a walk around the city of Jerusalem, getting somewhat used to the local environment, and preparing myself and mind before entering the unknown and frightening Syria. But things don't follow people's wishes. At breakfast, Laura took out a document for the first time, which made me nervous about the next journey. The seemingly innocuous piece of paper is full of tasks that are impossible to complete on schedule, ending with the ridiculous goal of "arriving in Lahore at the end of August." It directly led us to leave Jerusalem at lunchtime.
My objection was quickly declared null and void by her. Laura claimed that if I wanted to see the city one last time before I left, then please, but I had to come back and report by half past twelve. Among the researchers was a young scholar who studied here on the topic of "Mamluk pottery". He was sympathetic to me and allowed me to take his van to Jaffa Gate. I had three hours to explore the city.
I arrived at Jaffa Gate at the crack of dawn, when the city had awakened. There are twice as many Westerners on the streets as there are Orientals. The streets are crowded with "Sunset Red" tours organized by Sakya Tourism. These tourists depart from the British port city of Preston for a "pilgrimage". On the hard road, weeping evangelicals sing the hymn "Come Here", the background sound is that the preacher is the one who gathers the believers in prayer. Five times a day they used to pray before calling out to Muslims on minarets. But since the invention of the tape recorder, such people have basically disappeared. —The author notes the weeping cry that drags on the long tone.
The Bazaar in Jerusalem, stills from the documentary Jerusalem (2013).
There were also a few sad-looking Presbyterians on the street, a group of obese Eastern European widows, and an Ethiopian priest in a flowing gray beeping vestment. Pale and myopic-eyed Orthodox Jews clutched their Uzi submachine guns and dragged their feet along. Arabs are already seated outside their shops, wearing practical pinstriped clothes and headscarves to attract visitors. The names include Rainbow Bazaar, Omar Khayyam Souvenir Museum, Magic Coffee House and alHaj Carpentry Store. There was only one way to the Dome of the Rock, and I had no choice but to pass through the middle of the welcoming vendors in the middle of the road and accept their test.
Pilgrims and tourists
"Please take a look over here, do you like it?" "Adult! I send you souvenirs, no money. Please come with me. ” "Go upstairs and see, sir, I have everything in the shop." "Sir, sir, do you need a tour guide?" I can take you to see the church six thousand years ago. Trust me!" "Dude! My carpet is waiting for you. ”
For hundreds of years, this comical and flattering farce has been staged day after day. Jerusalem has always been a popular sightseeing city. The pilgrims here have changed from wave to wave, the religious beliefs of the residents have changed, the flag of the king at the head of the city has changed, and only the vendors who sell gadgets are still the same. The fascinating items in the shop are selected from the gadgets sold throughout the Islamic world. The same can be found outside the Hagia Sophia in Istanbul, and perhaps the same soapstone boxes can be seen here in the bazaars of Agra in northern India, where the familiar painted wood-carved camel must have come from Cairo. Christian religious memorabilia are generally imported from Europe: Palestine does not claim that the sky-blue images of the Virgin Mary or the plastic crucifixion of the "Fourteen Sorrows" were produced in the country, but once the "wood used is from the Garden of Gethsemane", the price of the cross can be doubled. None of these goods appear to have been produced locally.
The Dome of the Rock seems to be another world away from the hustle and bustle of the market. The wide marble platform of the "Noble Sanctuary" may be one of the holiest sites of Islam, but believers only come every Friday to pray, and the rest of the time it is almost empty. It's only when you get here and have time to sit down and think and look back that you realize how inconsequential the glitz is, and how beautiful Jerusalem is, as it always is: the sun-whitened stones, the hills, the miles of the still-old Cross Market, and the white walls of the Ottoman Sultan Suleiman I.
A bird's-eye view of Jerusalem, stills from the documentary Jerusalem (2013).
To appreciate the beauty of the Dome of the Rock, it takes more time. The gorgeous Ottoman mosaics and shiny domes have all been recently renovated by Jordanians, making it impossible for visitors to foresee the breathtaking beauty of the building's interior before they walk in. The gold leaf mosaic was made by the Byzantines, so the two-eared fine-necked wine jar, the fertile horn, the buttercup leaf and the geometric patterns in the painting all follow the traditional styles of ancient Greek culture.
The same goes for the building itself. The Church of St George in Thessaloniki, the Church of San Vitale in Ravenna, and the Church of Santa Constanza in Rome, which is much older than these two churches, are all centralized buildings, and the Domed Mosque is a representative of the period when this architectural style was most popular. Of the above buildings, although the Dome of the Rock is the smallest, it is the most impressive. Its marble craftsmanship is the most elaborate, the mosaic mosaic style is the most harmonious, and the overall feeling is the most pleasant. Of course, it was not a church (although the Crusaders converted it into a church during the occupation of Jerusalem), but a mosque, and probably the first mosque to have a similar style. It is indeed the first important attempt at the artistic level in the Islamic world. Caliph Abd alMalik ordered its completion in 687, the Synod of Whitby was held around the same time, and the earliest Saxon church buildings, including the church crypts of Hexham and Ripon, and the Jarrow Monastery, where Bede had lived in seclusion, were completed in England around the same time. By the time of Marco Polo, it was as old as most medieval monasteries in England are today. If we look closely, we will find that it has obvious characteristics of Islamic architecture: the arches have begun to take shape; the mosaics contain no saints and no angels, proving that the quran's prohibition on depicting living beings was in effect during its construction.
But only after spending a considerable amount of time studying the Dome of the Rock can you get a clear picture of the full intent of its builders. The emblems of the Byzantine and Sassanid Empires, such as crows, winged crowns, jewels, and breastplates, were hung low under the vines of the temple's arcades. They hung on the walls of mosques, just as the spoils of hunting were hung on the walls of English country mansions. The oldest surviving mosque is not simply a religious building and aesthetic crystallization, it was built to boast of victory. The builders excerpted inscriptions from the Qur'an, expressing the main thrust of Islam's replacement of Christianity. It was for the same purpose that they enlisted the Greek captives and built the building directly on top of the synagogue. The Dome of the Rock overlooks Jerusalem and deliberately suppresses the Jewish and Christian buildings, which reflects the self-confidence and narrow-mindedness of muslims as new conquerors of Jerusalem at that time. The exterior of the building is intoxicating, but in some ways it also distracts the viewer.
Holy City: No lingering last impressions
For two millennia, Jerusalem has highlighted the least attractive aspect of the peoples who settled here. There are more atrocities in the holy cities than in any other city in the world, and they have hardly stopped. As a holy place shared by the three religions, the city bears witness to their most narrow and hypocritical aspects. If history repeats itself, Jerusalem is a good example. When the Crusaders occupied the city, they massacred Muslims (many of whom took refuge on the roofs of the Dome of the Rock), Jews, and local Christians (who were supposed to have been the crusaders' help). The bazaars that today give Jerusalem a different flavor were set up by the occupying forces on the basis of the ravaging of the indigenous population. Today, the Jews are pushing the Palestinians out, and albeit in a more ingenious way, their attitude is as determined as the conquerors of the past. Israeli soldiers are enforcing a reign of terror in the Old City, while the Orthodox Church is slowly infiltrating muslim, Christian and Armenian neighborhoods in East Jerusalem. After 1948, the number of Christians decreased from thirty-five thousand to eleven thousand. Young people don't have any other job opportunities than selling knick-knacks or washing dishes. Only lazy people stay, and those who are ambitious and better educated choose to emigrate.
Children playing in the alleys of Jerusalem, stills from the documentary Jerusalem (2013).
While waiting in line for the bus to Acre, I chatted with a young Jewish soldier and his girlfriend. They were tall, their skin was tanned brown, their bodies were well-proportioned, and they looked good. The boy was eating potato chips, and the girl was holding her boyfriend. If it weren't for the machine guns in their hands, the scene would have seemed routine.
They are friendly, highly educated, and give the first impression of being enlightened and reasonable. But when our conversation shifted to Israeli politics, their answers were creepy. I asked the young man if he would like to tour the West Bank while illegally occupying Jordanian territory. He replied that it was not so much a responsibility as some right or privilege. His girlfriend agreed with him, complaining that in the Israeli army, female soldiers could be trained to use rifles and even observe how to drive tanks, but in the end they had to do civilian work. She said:
"If shooting is not allowed, then what is the use of learning to shoot?"
Author | [English] by William Darlingpur translated by Lan Ying
Excerpts | Li yang
Proofreading | Lucy