Alexandria Troas

Listen first. Wind moves through dry grass and the low oaks. Somewhere a goat bell rings. Underfoot, the ground is uneven. Grey blocks of cut stone push up through the soil, some square and some rounded, as if a giant had emptied a bag of building pieces across the hillside. To the west, the Aegean shines. Just offshore sits the island of Bozcaada, which the Greeks called Tenedos. You are standing inside a city that once held tens of thousands of people.

This is Alexandria Troas, on the Aegean coast of the Troad, the old name for the land around Troy. Today it belongs to the Ezine district of Çanakkale province, close to the village of Dalyan. For centuries it was one of the great harbour cities of this coast. Now it is fields, olive trees and scattered ruins. Much of it is still under the earth. That is part of its quiet appeal. You do not walk through a finished museum here. You walk through a city that is still being found.

The story begins after the death of Alexander the Great. His generals divided his empire and fought over it for decades. One of them, Antigonus, founded a new city here around the end of the fourth century before Christ. He named it after himself — Antigoneia. To fill it, he moved the people of several smaller towns of the Troad into one place. Ancient writers describe this kind of forced merger often. It created a large city in a short time.

Then the name changed. Antigonus lost his wars, and another general, Lysimachus, took control of the region. He did not want a city honouring his rival. So he renamed it after Alexander himself. Alexandria Troas means, simply, Alexandria in the Troad. It is one of many cities that carried Alexander's name. Here is the first surprise for many visitors: Alexander never founded this city. It received his name only after his death, as a political gesture.

The city grew rich for one clear reason — its harbour. Ships sailing between the Aegean and the Dardanelles passed this coast. Winds in the strait are often strong and contrary, so vessels waited here for better weather. Merchants, sailors and travellers filled the streets. If you walk towards the shore, you can still find the old harbour basins. Today they look like still, reedy pools behind the beach. Over the centuries, sand and silt slowly closed them.

Under Rome, the city rose further. The emperor Augustus made it a Roman colony, a settlement with special legal status and Roman citizens among its residents. Latin became the language of official inscriptions. Roman writers also connected this coast to the legend of Troy. Rome claimed descent from Trojan refugees, so a Roman city near Troy carried symbolic weight. Some ancient sources even say that Roman rulers considered moving the capital of the empire to this region. Treat that as a story historians still discuss, not a settled fact.

Look now for the largest standing ruin. It is a massive structure of brick and stone, with tall arches and thick walls. This was a great bath and gymnasium complex from the Roman period. Ancient sources connect its funding to Herodes Atticus, a very wealthy Athenian patron of the second century. Local people have long called it Balı Saray, which means the Honey Palace. Nobody is quite sure why. Some say wild bees once nested in its walls. That is a local tale, but a pleasant one to keep in mind as you stand beneath the arches.

The second surprise is about faith. The New Testament book of Acts mentions Troas several times. According to Acts, Saint Paul was here when he saw a vision of a man from Macedonia asking for help. That vision sent him across the sea to Europe. Acts also tells of a later visit. Paul spoke late into the night, and a young man named Eutychus fell asleep on a high windowsill. He fell, and Paul, the story says, brought him back to life. For many Christian visitors, this hillside is a place of pilgrimage.

Now turn your attention to the stone itself. Many blocks here are granite, a hard grey stone flecked with darker crystals. In the hills inland, ancient quarries produced huge granite columns. Some columns were never finished, and visitors still find them lying where the workers left them. Here in the city, notice how few columns remain standing. That absence has an explanation, and it is the third surprise of this place.

For many centuries after the city declined, Alexandria Troas served as a quarry. Builders took its cut stone and its columns by sea to other cities, including Istanbul. Ottoman builders reused marble and granite in mosques and other buildings. Local people knew the site as Eski Stambul, or Old Istanbul, perhaps because of this link. Early European travellers who came here even believed these ruins were Troy itself. They were wrong. The real Troy lies further north, but you can understand their mistake as you look across this wide field of ruins.

The city walls once ran around the whole settlement for several kilometres. In places you can still trace their line — a ridge of stone through the scrub, sometimes with the base of a tower. Inside the walls, archaeologists have found streets, a theatre area, temples and houses. German and Turkish teams have excavated here since the 1990s. Each season adds new pieces. If you see fenced trenches or labelled blocks, you may be looking at recent work.

As you walk, take your time with the small things. Watch for carved mouldings on fallen blocks, the edges of a doorway, or a fragment of inscription. Notice how the olive trees grow right between the ruins, and how farm tracks cross what were once city streets. The site is open and quiet, with little shade. In summer the heat rises quickly from the stones. In spring, wildflowers cover the ground between them.

Before you leave, stand still once more and look towards the sea. The harbour that made this city great is now a line of reeds and sand. The island still sits offshore, as it did when Roman ships waited here for the wind. Behind you, the Honey Palace holds its arches against the sky. Listen again to the wind in the grass. A city of thousands once stood where you stand. Much of it still waits, quietly, under your feet.