Hi all! I’m sitting in an internet cafe in Damascus, in a building that’s probably about a thousand years old. Let me backtrack a bit…
After Istanbul Colleen and I flew to Amman, Jordan. We were the only tourists on our flight except for two Japanese travelers who were in transit. Following the Lonely Planet recommendation, we stayed at the Palace Hotel, a dingy but clean hotel (there are no hostels in Amman) with really friendly staff. Men from various Middle Eastern countries chain smoked as they watched Al-Jazeera coverage of the Democratic primaries in the US. We chatted with Nick the lone backpacker, an Arabic-speaking Brit who was studying in Cairo, and ended up going out to a tea house for some nargileh (hookah), tea and backgammon with two other Brits he had met the night before. James and Oli were 18 and teaching English and music at a school in Amman. I have never met such well traveled 18 year olds before, but Oli had been to Afghanistan and rural Pakistan, which was fascinating to hear about. Conversations in Middle East often swirl around two main topics (with both locals and travelers) – religion and politics. I am happy to discuss both at length and really interested in what others have to say about these issues.
Colleen and I only spent two days in Amman, not really seeing sights but taking care of errand-y things. Amman isn’t particularly beautiful or glamorous, but it has great energy and just feels like a “real” city where people live and work. We went to Mecca Mall (love the name), a flashy mall on the edge of Amman where I bought contact lenses and almost everyone spoke English. I had a lovely massage at a Turkish bath and spent a few hours in a great little gallery/cafe, chatting with the elderly owner who had exhibited his paintings all over the world. People in Jordan and Syria are almost unfailingly polite and respectful, a really welcome change after Turkey. Syria receives even fewer tourists, so the reception from locals is even more enthusiastic.
Colleen and I took a shared taxi from Amman to Damascus (3 hours, about $13) and stopped at the border along the way. We had obtained our visas for Syria in the US and had no problems going through border control, which we later discovered was highly unusual. Most Americans apparently are hassled and made to wait for hours as phone calls to the American embassy are made and papers are shuffled around. Luckily it only took us a few minutes and we rejoined our taxi companions – a jovial elderly Jordanian man who spoke a few words of English and Khalid, a 24 year old Iraqi-born Syrian who spoke absolutely no English. After engaging in some rudimentary conversation with the six words of Arabic we know, we showed Khalid photos from our trip as he continuously offered his Marlboro Reds to us. I cannot emphasize enough how welcoming Syrians have been during our time here so far. Most are simply curious as to why we are here, and even children can say “Welcome to Syria!!!” before learning anything else in English. Shopkeepers never hassle us, but simply engage us in friendly conversation. Syrians are supposed to be even friendlier in more rural areas, which I’m looking forward to seeing.
We arrived in Damascus as the sun was setting, bathing the grey, boxy brick buildings of the city in a gorgeous soft orange light. Sunsets in the Middle East are impossibly exotic and I don’t know why – maybe it’s the dust, the sandy hills, who knows. A bustling city of 5 million, Damascus is the oldest continuously inhabited city in the world. It’s also a city full of immigrants from other parts of the Middle East – Saudia Arabia, Iraq, Iran, Palestine, etc. Syrian women in Damascus tend to be very cosmopolitan, shunning hijab (the headscarf) for tight jeans, form-fitting sweaters and loads of makeup. We were told by Abdullah, the receptionist at our hostel, that the women in chador (full black coverup, but not as covered up as a burqa) are immigrants from Iran or Saudi Arabia, much more conservative Arab countries. The men’s fashion vacillates between Lawrence of Arabia and That 70s Show. Again, those with head coverings tend to be immigrants, but Syrian men love their bell bottoms, tight trousers, turtlenecks under flannel shirts and shiny dress shoes. The men’s fashion, along with the vintage Mercedes and ever-present 70’s era furniture give this place a distinctly dated feel. I’m totally tickled by it.
Yesterday Colleen and I wandered around the walled old city, an area where most buildings are well over a thousand years old. We were approached by three Syrian university students at the Umayyad Mosque who asked if they could take our picture and ended up giving us a tour of the entire building. A group of giggly high school girls who spoke no English approached me at the second mosque, gave me candy, took photos with me as we attempted to communicate solely through body language. Sitting in the courtyard of a mosque is a great way to observe local life. I was playing with a toddler who had run up to me when her mother came up to us, clad in full chador. I thought she was going to take her child away, but instead she picked up her toddler and asked her to give me a kiss on the cheek. Adorable, and smiles all around.
Today is Colleen’s birthday, so we are going to check out a nightclub in Damascus… should be interesting! Tomorrow we are headed across the border to Beirut, Lebanon, only 84km away. With the current political situation, the border is going to be a bitch. We weren’t planning to visit Lebanon on this trip because of time constraints, but after chatting with some Brits we met yesterday who had just returned from Beirut, we can’t resist. Yes, the country is unstable, they are sort of gearing up for war and Beirut is full of Hezbollah operatives, but it sounds too fascinating to pass up and is apparently still ok for travel (for now). Beirut was once the “Paris of the Middle East” and is renowned as having the best food in the region, so we’ll be on our way!
