I would have thought that the world’s oldest street, in continuous use for over 3,500 years, would have been easy to find, a major tourist destination, but all I received when I asked were blank stares and shakes of the head. They would look at the entry in the guidebook and shrug. There was no recognition. The general consensus was, “No, that’s not here.”
I’ve always been mesmerized by the fleeting whiffs I would get of life at the edge of history. From the circles and henges of Britain to the ancient ways of Aleppo, which I wandered before the civil war, I always get a feeling of belonging when I visit these places. The tour hit many lesser known sites, but this was special. “The world’s oldest street in continuous use”. I ached to see it, to walk on it, to step on the same stones people sued thousands of years ago.
I was beginning to panic. We were given only three free hours in this small city, which was ancient millennia before Rome was founded, and I knew the bus wouldn’t wait for me. It had to be around. Sure, my guidebook was an antique, but it had proven more accurate in these little towns that survived at the fringes of history than any of the modern name books or Internet sites. I was sure this had to be correct.
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