Experiencing Karak is like embracing a new religion; the barely standing castle in ruins atop the hills of Karak attracts a groping soul like no other experienced before. Its countenance is so conspicuous yet seems so capricious, even to a cynic like me. My presence may lead to my own detriment but the attraction is so overwhelming that it clouds my judgment. Heading to the castle, I walk through an alley, tricky but exciting. I see glimpses of a new culture. Blooming wild flowers growing gracefully on the side of the pavement, tempt me to pluck one of them, but my conscience stops me, telling me not to disturb its beauty. Then giggles detach me from my revel. I see a girl fully veiled in black walking side by side with another wearing blouse and pants. Their gait blows the crumbs of bigotry out of my heart and I regret having abstained from plucking that flower. All of a sudden the narrow alley leads me to a wider road. My senses are poked to a higher gear and a piquant smell of fresh “Taboun” (a form of bread) beside a shop selling “Falafel” and “Mutabbal” tickles my nostrils. I see the statue of “Salaheddine” on his rearing horse and “pick-up” trucks parked near a butcher shop with sheep hanging at the door. All around is dwarfed by the castle, this symbol of Karak, which seems to demand awe and reverence from its surrounds. I continue my walk, the gem on my mind, when out of nowhere two gypsy girls appear. From their physiognomy I see a free spirit, something I yearn for. I am under a spell and in love. At this point I am fully covered with local dust, disguised, as if I am one with Karak. It’s a blissful risk that I take, anything to reach the castle. As time passes by, the castle becomes visible, and I stand at its peak looking at the hills around me under a clear sky; they whisper a challenging inviting voice. At last I realize that I am just an earthly visitor and time is running out. Departure brings out melancholy that sweeps through me, and I pray that my newfound religion would keep me forever attached to this haven.
Saturday, November 24, 2007
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