(Photos, from top: The hole where the Tower of Babel once stood with the palace of Saddam Hussein in the background; the nearby well that is a pilgrimage site for Shia; a mural on the ceiling of Saddam’s palace; the outside of Saddam’s palace).
I wrote recently the first of 2 installments on my trip to Babylon. I’d now like to pick up the story where I left off.
After visiting the museum at Babylon, we had the option either to walk or drive to the site of the ancient Tower of Babel. Walking, of course, seemed like the more appealing choice.
As we began our walk, I quickly realized that the scope of the Babylon site was far beyond what I had imagined. This was, after all, one of the great cities of the ancient world. And for all the damage that Saddam Hussein did to the site, hastily reconstructing the city on the foundations of the ancient ruins, I found more than a modicum of hope in the idea that his project was confined to the city center, with vast tracts of unexcavated urban sprawl extending far in every direction.
In my first installment, I discussed visiting the Processional Way, a road that ran through the center of the city and the Ishtar Gate. That road, though, begins out at the Tower of Babel, and we followed it there through the Iraqi countryside. Unexcavated, the road looked more like a dry riverbed, running through the semi-arid landscape. My tour guide Abou Zayed and I wandered through brush and sand, crossing the occasional barbed wire barrier, toward where the Tower of Babel had once stood.
The Tower of Babel, of historical and Biblical fame, once stood over 90 meters tall, a stunning feat of ancient innovation. Sadly, nothing remains of it today. Alexander the Great found the structure in disrepair when he arrived at Babylon. He tore down what remained, therefore, intending to use the materials from the old tower to build a new one. Alexander died, though, before he could complete this project.
Today, the site is simply a hole in the ground, a deep pit situated on a high patch of earth. Stretching for miles in every direction are groves of palm trees, small villages nestled within them. The city of Hillah lies just a few miles away.
After taking in the site of the tower, which is still mesmerizing if the right amount of imagination is applied, I noticed a small mosque at the base of the hill on the far side. I had been warned about visiting the surrounding villages, but having operated in a security bubble for weeks, my interest was piqued by the opportunity to, at last, interact with average Iraqis.
We hustled down the hill to mosque, which was set in a shaded courtyard. Several cars were parked out front, and a handful of security personnel were on guard. After just a moment’s negotiation, I was invited inside the courtyard to look. According to the locals, this was an important pilgrimage site for the Shia. It contained a water well that had historical and religious importance. My research on the significance of the well is in contradiction to what I was told on site, and I need to reconcile the two accounts before I post more on it.
The courtyard of the mosque felt relaxed. Pilgrims, mostly women, filtered through, and the mosque administrators toured me around and showed me the well. They invited me for tea, but after a moment’s deliberation, I politely turned them down. The sun was setting, and I had one more stop on my tour.
After making the long walk back to the center of the Babylon ruins, we hopped in Abou Zayed’s car and meandered down a country road and up a man-made hill to Saddam Hussein’s palace.
Built on one of the locations historians believe could have been the site of the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, one of the wonders of the ancient world, Saddam’s palace remains an awesome, if gaudy, reminder of his rule. The hill that the palace is perched on looks artificial. The palace, which casts a shadow over the ruins, was so close to Babylon, Abou Zayed told me, that Saddam’s security team would shut the ruins down to visitors whenever the president was in residence. Fortunately, because he had so many palaces, Saddam wasn’t often there.
From the outside, the palace is imposing and made of brown sandstone. Saddam’s initials adorn the walls, as do carvings of the general leading his men. Inside, the palace has been largely looted. No furniture or appliances remain. The palace was sacked after the start of the war, used for years as the offices of a U.S. military base, and remains a popular site for visitors. Navigating around ripped out chunks of marble and plaster, we wandered through the grand entrance hall, a dining room with great views of the Euphrates, and a living room with a nationalistic mural painted on the ceiling.
Because the ceilings were so tall, they have suffered little looting and destruction. As a result, murals, chandeliers, and moldings are still in tact. Graffiti lines most of the walls, some of it by U.S. troops.
The twin arching marble stairways to the second floor were blocked by barbed wire, so we headed up a back staircase. Upstairs featured balconies, once-luxurious bathrooms, and the dictator’s bedroom.
From Saddam’s bedroom, I could see one poor farmhouse on the other side of the Euphrates. Abou Zayed told me that when Saddam was building the palace, his security forces cleared out the surrounding houses. Saddam, though, announced that he wanted neighbors and told his team to spare the one farmhouse.
Our last stop was the back deck of the house. Saddam, an avid swimmer, had pools installed in nearly every palace. This one was no exception. The mushroom shaped pool was empty of water but would have provided spectacular views for the dictator as he swam his laps.
Down the hill from the pool was a grove of palm trees, with one in particular that looked well cared for. According to Abou Zayed, Saddam had once mentioned that he liked that tree. His eager-to-please staff, therefore, built a small wall around the trunk and looked after it closely. The wall is still there today.
My visit nearly coincided with the shortest day of the year. This was unintentional. It did mean, though, that by 4:30 it was almost nighttime. Abou Zayed and I said lengthy farewells, and he invited me to join his family for dinner in Hillah next time I came to town. After that, we shook hands and loaded up the cars. Meandering through the palm-covered roads at twilight, I marveled at how much Iraq had changed since Alexander’s time. And I made a promise to myself to, one day, return to the country under better security circumstances and complete the road to Babylon on foot.



















