Nestled along Syria’s Mediterranean coastline, Latakia (or Al-Ladhiqiyah in Arabic) has long been a strategic gateway between East and West. Unlike war-torn Aleppo or Damascus, this port city retains traces of its Phoenician, Greek, and Ottoman past—even as it becomes a focal point in Syria’s ongoing conflict and geopolitical chessboard.
Founded as Ramitha by the Phoenicians around 1100 BCE, Latakia flourished as a trading post for purple dye and olive oil. The Greeks renamed it Laodicea after Seleucus I’s mother, and under Roman rule, its grand colonnaded streets rivaled Antioch. Today, remnants like the Tetrapylon arch stand as silent witnesses to its classical glory—though many sites now lie neglected amid Syria’s economic collapse.
By the 16th century, Latakia became a sleepy Ottoman backwater, its economy sustained by tobacco farms. The French Mandate (1920–1946) revived its port, imprinting the city with art deco architecture—a stark contrast to the Soviet-style blocks built later under Hafez al-Assad. Locals still debate this colonial legacy: some cafés serve café au lait like Paris, while others cling to traditional ahweh (coffee) rituals.
When protests erupted in 2011, Latakia—home to Syria’s Alawite minority—remained loyal to Bashar al-Assad. The regime leveraged sectarian ties, framing the war as existential for Alawites. Russian naval bases nearby (more on that later) turned the city into a security redoubt. Walk its streets today, and you’ll spot posters of Assad next to war memorials—but also bullet-pocked buildings from sporadic rebel attacks in 2015–2016.
While Latakia avoided Aleppo’s destruction, it absorbed waves of displaced families. Rent prices skyrocketed; black-market fuel lines snake for blocks. The UN estimates 70% of Syrians live in poverty—yet in Latakia’s Sheraton hotel (still operating), regime elites sip $20 cocktails. This inequality fuels quiet resentment, even among loyalists.
Just south of Latakia, Russia’s Khmeimim Airbase has become a linchpin of Moscow’s Middle East strategy. Fighter jets take off daily for Idlib strikes, while S-400 missiles deter NATO. Local businesses cater to Russian soldiers—from “Putin Burger” joints to Cyrillic-sign shops. For residents, it’s a double-edged sword: economic lifeline vs. fears of permanent occupation.
30 miles south, Russia’s Soviet-era Tartus facility is now a full-fledged naval hub. Analysts warn it could host nuclear submarines by 2030, altering Mediterranean power dynamics. Latakia’s docks, meanwhile, see increased shipments of Iranian arms—another flashpoint with Israel, which routinely bombs suspected shipments.
Latakia’s old souk, though quieter since the war, still sells spices and handmade mabkhara (incense burners). At night, underground bars—some run by artists fleeing Damascus—host jazz nights. “We play for those who stayed,” says one musician, requesting anonymity. Censorship is looser here than in the capital, but dissent remains dangerous.
The 13th-century Umayyad Mosque, rebuilt after an Ottoman-era fire, symbolizes Latakia’s religious mosaic. Alawites (a branch of Shi’a Islam) dominate, but Sunni, Christian, and Armenian communities persist. Sectarian tensions simmer—especially after ISIS bombed a nearby church in 2016—yet interfaith marriages still occur, defying polarization.
U.S. and EU sanctions have crippled Latakia’s port—once Syria’s busiest. Ships carrying oil from Iran dock under cover of darkness; tariffs are paid in gold. Meanwhile, climate change brings erratic storms. In 2020, floods destroyed ancient warehouses, exposing poor infrastructure. “We’re drowning in silence,” a fisherman told me, mending nets under a Russian-patrolled sky.
With Syria’s heritage looted or bombed (Palmyra, anyone?), Latakia’s ruins face neglect. The National Museum displays Roman mosaics behind cracked glass, its staff unpaid for months. UNESCO calls it “cultural triage”—saving what’s left while war rages.
Latakia’s fate hinges on Syria’s unresolved war. Will it become a Russian-controlled enclave? A rebuilt tourist haven? For now, its people endure—sipping bitter coffee, watching warships glide past Phoenician shores.