From a brief stint in the city of Ba’labakk, Battuta travels at last to the city of Damascus, noting his hurry to arrive there. He takes a whopping six pages to tell of its tales, sights, and histories, the longest he has spent in one place up until this point. Interestingly, he favors this even over the arguably greater religious cities he has already traveled through, including Bethlehem and Jerusalem, noting that it “is the city that surpasses all others in beauty and takes precedence of them in loveliness” (36). Much like he does in other holy lands, he begins by relaying the city’s significance through the poems/stories of other writers; what he shares in this instance are the words of his father which call her a “lover’s torment,” for all her beauty, as well as the words of another poet. The relaying of others’ writing displays a love or trust in the works of others. Unlike other writers we have read, Battuta is not at all concerned with only speaking of what he himself sees. He loves to speak of the stories he hears from others and eagerly shares and praises them. It also showcases great respect and pride of the father, possibly a value of his culture.
To the point of embracing the tales of others, Battuta primarily relates Damascus through the narrative of Shaikh Abu Abdallah. He begins by moving through its religious buildings, firstly the great Mosque of the Umayyads which he designates the “greatest mosque on earth” with “no rival” (36). Once again, he takes time to praise the architects themselves. This may show a reverence and respect in Battuta’s homeland for hard work, creativity, and the beauty of design, for this is a theme he discusses in nearly every location he visits. Of the creation of the buildings, he is careful to note their loyalty to God – even their creativity and art is something of religious service.
For what I believe is the first time, he begins to discuss non-construction/religious professions (in the sense of priests) and begins to focus much on education practices – most importantly the virtue of those in that profession. He dedicates one section of his Damascus tale to the professors and teachers of the mosque. He seems very interested in the breadth of readings taught, as well as how specialized these courses are. In fact, there is one teacher for each subject, and students move classes to study the Qur’an, the Book of God, the books of Tradition, as well as writing and calligraphy. In almost a dumbfounded way, Battutah says they become masters in calligraphy because the teacher of writing “teaches nothing else” (38). From this, we can interpret that in Battuta’s home, education is much more “jumbled” and less individual in depth study rather than a general knowledge about a breadth of teachings.
Returning again to his own witness, Battutah is fascinated by religious cohabitation. All faiths seem to, with no animosity, pray and exist together: “they all walk…carrying Qur’ans in their hands…the Jews went out with their book of the Law and the Christians with their Gospel” (39). At a time when religious divide is much more apparent and forms the basis of many civilizations, Battutah likely hasn’t experienced this form of religious acceptance and freedom without tension.
Finally, Battutah praises the customs of the inhabitants of Damascus, including their graciousness and virtue, and how they nearly all expenses for those on Pilgrimage (again, we find that the focus is on religious piety). He recalls seeing this charity in action, writing about seeing a young boy accidentally drop and break an expensive dish. Marvelously, members of the crowd and the local custodian supply him with the means to purchase a new one. He is also amazed by their hospitality and communal style of living, for he experiences that no one eats breakfast alone during Ramadan, and he is invited to a home each day to join the locals in breaking the fast. Battutah holds virtue in high esteem.