"In contrast with the Nile, where boats can drift downstream, borne by the current, or be carried upstream by the wind in their sails, the Tigris is a one-way river. In Mesopotamia the winds, like the currents flow southwards from the mountains to the sea, never blowing inshore, with the result that, on their journeys downstream, boats have to be loaded with donkeys and mules which, on the return journey, will haul the chastened craft precariously along dry land back to their moorings in their home town. In the far north, where it has its source, the untamed Tigris hurtles down between the rocks, and only a few Armenian boatmen venture to navigate it, never taking their eyes off the seething, treacherous waters. A strange thoroughfare, where wayfarers never meet, never overtake each other, never exchange greetings or directives. Whence the exhilarating impression of sailing all alone, with no protective genie, no escort other than the date palms on the banks. Then, on reaching the city of Ctesiphon, the metropolis of the land of Babel, the home of the Parthian kings, the Tigris calms down. It can be approached without any special care; it is now sothing more than a vast expanse of water that can be crossed from bank to bank in round, flat-bottomed basked in which men and goods are piled, so that they sink in up to the brim, and sometimes spin around, without ever foundering - just common or garden baskets of plaited reeds which strip all dignity from the River of the Deluge." Amin Maalouf, The Gardens of Light
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