Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
Stepping through the arch, you can begin to hear the pounding of horse's hooves and the
creak of wooden wheels. Chances are you are not imagining the chariot races that once
took place in the hippodrome on your left, but hearing the sound of the twice daily re-en-
actment (see the boxed text,
Click here
)
. The show, a joint Swedish-Jordanian venture, has
become one of the highlights of a modern visit to the ancient city and is simply too good
to miss. It begins with the parading of 40 Roman legionnaires (Jordanian special forces)
who complete a range of military drills, from the tortoise manoeuvre to the use of a cata-
pult, and is followed by gladiators fighting it out with tridents, nets and
gladius
(swords)
and four chariots racing seven laps around the hippodrome's central wooden
spina
.
Even if you miss the show, it's still worth sitting on the bleachers above the hippo-
drome and imagining the roar of the crowd. Built sometime between the 1st and 3rd cen-
turies AD, this ancient sports field (244m by 50m) was once surrounded by seating for up
to 15,000 spectators, 30 times the current seating capacity, and hosted mainly athletics
competitions and chariot races. Recent excavations have unearthed remains of stables and
pottery workshops, plus indications that it was used for polo by invading Sassanians from
Persia during the early 7th century.
SALUTE THE TROOPS AT JERASH'S CHARIOT
RACE
Have you ever considered how and why Rome managed to conquer the lands of the Middle East so easily? Pay a
visit to the spectacular ruins at Jerash, and you may just find the answer.
The answer doesn't lie in the ruins of empire scattered around the site but in the novel re-enactment, held twice
daily at the hippodrome. Bringing entertainment back to the playing field for the first time in 1500 years, the
Ro-
man Army & Chariot Experience
(
www.jerashchariots.com
;
admission JD12;
shows 11am & 2pm Sat-Wed,
11am Fri)
is faithful to history, right down to the Latin commands.
Visitors will have a chuckle at the lively repartee of the master of ceremonies, one Adam Al-Samadi, otherwise
known as Gaius Victor. Dressed as a Roman legionnaire with a feather pluming from his helmet, he stands erect like
a true centurion. 'Salute the troops,' he demands in a cockney English accent as he hitches his tunic and raises a
spear to the amassed veterans of the Jordan army - in their new uniform of the Sixth Roman Legion.
'These men,' Gaius says imperiously to the huddled audience on the bleachers, 'they didn't want to die in some
godforsaken battlefield. They wanted to go home to their wives and mistresses in civilised Rome and draw their
