The unknown story of the Madrid architect who designed Damascus

DamascusNo trains arrive in Damascus. However, its station, one of the most ambitious in the entire Middle East, stands as one of the city's greatest works. Completely empty. It aspired to be the link between the former Ottoman Empire in 1908. From Acre and Haifa, cities near the Mediterranean, and the phosphate mines near Ma'an, to Mecca, the Hejaz Station in the Syrian capital was one of the most important strategic resources. A locomotive commissioned by Mehmed V—the last sultan—from German engineers is the only vestige that reminds the people of Damascus of the building's original purpose. Now, the faces of hundreds of Syrians disappeared by Bashar al-Assad's regime have been placed on the surface of the old engine. A final journey toward a blurred destiny. Also for its architect, Fernando de Aranda from Madrid, whose legacy has been forgotten.

Born in Madrid on December 31, 1878, he was a Spanish diplomat and architect. Aranda turned the city of Damascus into his tapestry. From the Roman quarter, with its decumanusUntouched, all the way to Umayyad Square, Aranda's buildings retain the neo-Ottoman feel of the early 20th century. Damascus University and the former Faculty of Law, the Central Bank, the Zenobia Hotel in Palmyra, where Agatha Christie stayed, and the Hijaz Railway Station, his signature work, shaped the aesthetics of the Ottoman Empire even after its fall. Hijaz Railway Station vibrates with nostalgia. A bygone era that has retained its color with the "Aranda" style. The building rises like a palace, one for the people. The station is preserved like a time capsule. Aranda intended it to be everlasting, perpetual, like the rest of his works, which are a mirage of the Ottoman everyday life of the Belle Epoque.

"Fernando de Aranda is a mirror for understanding present-day Syria," says Joan Serrat, former Spanish ambassador to Damascus. Aranda had a particular way of observing the Umayyad city. He focused on its origins as a city to restore its contemporaneity. The souk, for example, was one of his favorite spaces. He strolled among merchants and traders, bought carpets and paintings, but, above all, he observed its cylindrical shape, its interior walls, its details and silhouettes, now pierced by artillery bombardment and stray bullets from when the rebels aimed their Kalashnikovs at the sky. Architect and researcher at the Official College of Architects, Carmen Serrano de Haro Martínez, defines him as "a creator sensitive to the destiny of the building." "He was not a mere facade decorator," Serrano concludes. Aranda fell in love with Damascus. His fascination with the city led him to orchestrate some of its neighborhoods and residences, such as Ildefons Cerdà's design of Barcelona's Eixample district.

"Aranda is a symbol of something that no longer exists," Serrat emphasizes. "He was a cosmopolitan dandy who no longer fit into our increasingly polarized world," he asserts. Aranda's ease with people made him the only link with the West in the final years of the Ottoman Empire. He served as a diplomat, serving as Honorary Consul between 1912 and 1936, not only for Spain but also for other European countries, particularly during the First World War due to the neutral role of Spain. And, in Syria, he worked as an architect from 1906 onward, despite lacking the necessary qualifications. He designed Damascus without actually being an architect. "But they sought him out. They didn't want a degree, they wanted a work of art," says Serrat. Every project he built involved an engineer who performed the calculations for him.

The Sultan's protégé

Fernando de Aranda always stood as a contrast between East and West. His father, born in Madrid in 1864, was a prestigious musician trained in Belgium who performed in Paris and was a professor at the Madrid Conservatory. It was in the French capital that the Turkish Sultan Abdul Hamid II met him and offered him the position of chief palace musician in Istanbul, as well as director of the imperial military bands. Fernando de Aranda grew up in Istanbul, surrounded by luxury and palatial comforts. His education was extensive, and he came to speak five languages: Spanish, French, German, Turkish, and Arabic. The Aranda family remained in the Ottoman capital until 1909, when they decided to return to Spain and settle in Barcelona. That same year, Gaudí was finishing one of his most important works, La Pedrera. At 31, Fernando de Aranda became interested in the Catalan architect, however, something told him he didn't belong there. "His biography is full of shadows; he embarked on his solo life very early," Serrat explains. In 2005, under the supervision of the Spanish Embassy in Damascus and in collaboration with the Instituto Cervantes, Alejandro Lago and Pablo Fernández Cartagena documented the life of Fernando de Aranda in a bilingual volume in Spanish and Arabic. "We know he fell in love with Damascus; he never wanted to leave," the diplomat asserts.

"He was pampered by Syrian society," says Serrat, who believes Aranda is the key to understanding current Syrian geopolitics. "He was a rare old man, a man of the world, gifted as an artist and cosmopolitan," describes the former ambassador. During the early 20th century, Aranda built many of the buildings in Damascus, under the direct protection of the sultan. One of his first projects was the Abid House in 1906, as well as the Rectorate and the Faculty of Theology and Law of the University of Damascus in 1923, currently the Ministry of Tourism.

"It's a real honor that a Spaniard was involved in the founding of the university," smiles Marwan Al-Raeei, official ranking director at Damascus University. He explains that the building plans were previously on display, but were saved for preservation during the 2011 civil war. Al-Raeei refuses to show them because they are sensitive information subject to permission from the new Syrian Ministry of Information. However, he is proud to show off the university, whose buildings retain their original architecture. An immense portico welcomes visitors to the Rectorate, and inside, various sculptures and reliefs from the early 20th century are perfectly preserved. "We have about ten Spanish students, and I don't think they know that the heart of the university was born from the head of a Spaniard," comments Al-Raeei.

A station without an owner

The ambitious project linked Damascus with Medina, present-day Saudi Arabia, between 1908 and 1916 to transport pilgrims to Mecca. "In this way, they wanted to avoid the looting of caravans by the Bedouin tribes," Serrat explains. However, it never fulfilled that purpose. The railway line was marred by the incipient global uncertainty. In 1914, the First World War broke out. The Ottoman Empire, an ally of the Germans, played a passive role during the first months of the offensive. However, it accelerated the construction of its railway network. In 1917, Sultan Mahmed V commissioned Aranda to build the Hijaz Station, as he wanted to make it a symbol of unity. It was built with the help of volunteers and soldiers, in addition to his workers.

Aranda spared no expense. He built two spacious floors and had counters made of Talavera de la Reina brought in to decorate the interior. He designed the stained-glass windows in bright colors to project southern light onto the white walls, and for the ceiling, he used dark ebony wood. Its construction cost 283,000 pounds of gold, a small fortune for the Ottoman Empire: to cut costs, they employed young men serving in the military service as laborers.

The religious purpose was replaced by a military one. During the First World War, the train transported soldiers to the farthest reaches of the empire. The project was interrupted due to the Arab Revolt, sparked by the war. The sultan declared holy war against the Allies, which led to a series of uprisings in Muslim territories in both Africa and Asia. In the autumn of 1918, British units defeated the Turkish-Germans and left the capital undefended. The Empire capitulated in total surrender. Two years later, Hejaz Station was ready to see the Ottomans fall.

If in August 1914 the imperial army consisted of 600,000 soldiers, after the war barely 33,000 remained. More than a million deserters spread across the country, paradoxically also looting the Hejaz railway network. The war ruined the country. More than 398,500,000 Turkish lira were spent, and, without money or soldiers to control the territory, in 1922 the Ottoman Empire lost its hegemony. Hejaz Station was Aranda's most important project and, nevertheless, the last one he completed under his own name. He continued working but in a more discreet role with French architects.

After the fall of the Ottoman Empire in 1920, the station replaced the transport of soldiers with that of prisoners until 2004, when it fell into disuse. "There was never a station, the station was empty," explains the diplomat, who during his term in office never saw a train arrive in Damascus. The station was cleared for redevelopment more than 20 years ago. However, it was never carried out. In 2020, dictator Bashar al-Assad rented the building to a company whose intention was to convert it into a hotel. Currently, the project is frozen, and the building is surrounded by ruins and concrete. A model of the project still reveals the old intentions of the facility, which, rather than being a station or a hotel, is an empty exhibition space.

God's Forgiveness

Fernando de Aranda had two children from his first marriage to a Greek woman, who, due to disagreements, separated from the architect and moved with the children to Beirut, Lebanon, where his grandchildren still reside. Aranda remarried. "He embraced Islam for his second marriage," Cartagena and Lago detail in the artist's biography. He married Sabria Hilmi, originally from a wealthy Turkish family, in the Palestinian city of Haifa. However, on his deathbed, Aranda regretted this conversion and requested the presence of a priest to ask for forgiveness in front of a statue of the Virgin Mary. "She was an icon of a historical moment, but also captive to her origins," Serrat asserts. Aranda died three days before his 91st birthday. His death marked the end of Syria, the last vestige of the former Ottoman Empire. Shortly after, a coup d'état in Syria overthrew Salah Jadid, the de facto socialist leader, and the conservative movement led by military leader Hafez al-Assad took over. "It's not my memory, nostalgia for the quarry," reads an anonymous Syrian poem.It dwells in my knowledge as a goldsmith", he continues. "Which God has Aranda imprisoned in Damascus?", he concludes. And which one has he now freed.