Rendezvous with Twiga: Damascus

Finally arriving in Damascus at our rendezvous point, we met three fellow Oasis travellers - Kiwi couple Sara & Jason and Maarten from The Netherlands.  Our guide, Ian, hadn't arrived to meet us so Zoe and I dropped our bags and grabbed a bit to eat at the local joint which served the best falafel kebabs we've ever tasted.


Ian had arrived by the time we returned to the meeting point, so we all jumped in a minibus and headed off to meet the Oasis Overland tour truck.  The tour had been travelling down from Istanbul with a crew of two and eleven other travellers - Kiwi lads Brad & Mike, Canuck Erin, Aussies Troy & Mary, Hayley & Andrew, Tanzin, Hannah & Scott (Hannah's super-cool old man) and Anthony & his Swedish girlfriend Lena. Guide, Ian, was a Brit and driver, Colin, was Swiss.  We spent the next few nights in a camp site, surrounded by a poor but proud ghetto of Iraqi refugees and packs of marauding psychotic killer dogs which were kept at bay by a flimsy fence (and quiet prayer).  Mornings and evenings were pierced by eerie but beautiful call to prayer by a local duo of highly competitive and vocally talented muezzins.

Best Value Falafel Kebab Ever!

Mmmmmm

Each day, we'd set off to explore the Old City of Damascus - The Grand Mosque, the Souk, Bath Houses, food and the ever-diminishing Christian Quarter and the completely Islamised Old Jewish Quarter.

First stop was The Souk.  It wasn't as inexpensive or lively as the equivalent in Aleppo but we enjoyed it nonetheless.  Of most interest for me was the streaming rays of light piercing the dusty air.  They were the result of the presence of bullet holes in the roof of the Souk.  The bullet holes were courtesy of the French air force during an uprising in the 20s.  And at the other end of the Souk, near the Grand Mosque, Roman columns from the long destroyed Temple of Jupiter still hold the roof in place.

The Grand Mosque was just that - grand.  Dress regulations meant that Zoe was required to dress as a Jawa in order to mingle with what I assumed to be a Star Wars convention with enthusiasts dressed as Tusken Raiders, Imperial Guards and Tatooinites.  We entered the central courtyard.  It was quiet and peaceful.  At the far end of the courtyard is the simple Mausoleum of Saladin and a grand mausoleum for someone who was apparently important to Shi'ites.  The main prayer hall is in a building which was originally a huge Byzantine cathedral.  It itself was built using columns from the Temple of Jupiter.  Zoe was accosted by some young Arab girls who treated her with an odd mixture of friendliness, curiosity and borderline rudeness.  We think they were giving it out to her about her Jawa outfit.


After the Mosque, we went our separate ways for a Hammam.  My experience was nothing special, particularly in comparison to the Sultanamet in Istanbul.  Meanwhile, Zoe was ripped off and treated appallingly by the pious religious bigots at Hammam Ammoonah.

First night with Twiga and friends.  Andy B. grilling camel meat on the BBQ.

Grand Souk in Damascus

Jawa Habidashery

A resident of Tatooine

Grand Mosque, Damascus

Main Prayer Hall, Grand Mosque, Damascus

Remains of an Enormous Feast at a Chaldaen Restaurant, Damascus

The Christian Quarter was, as it is in Beirut and Aleppo, the cleanest, richest, most beautiful  neighbourhood.  There we visited a chapel built inside the house from which St Paul was allegedly lowered out of a window to escape his Jewish pursuers.  That's how old this joint is.  Old.

Very little remains of the once vibrant, and economically important, Jewish presence.  With the exception of several beautiful Beits which have, no doubt, become the property of Ba'athist apparatchiks.  The Jewish Quarter is now devoid of Jewish people.  It has been so since anti-Jewish pogroms and ethnic cleansing (pre-dating the creation of modern Israel in 1948) swept the Arab world in the 1930s, 40s & 50s led by Arab National Socialists and about the same time as another group of anti-Semites were hard at work.  It is of no coincidence that Mein Kampf is a bestseller in this part of the world and pictures of that latter day anti-Semite extraordiaire, Nasrallah, abound.  Arab Nationalists are second only to Nazis when it comes to killing and harassing Jews.  The hate is just as intense, they're just not quite as organised and disciplined and have a propensity to run away when the Jews dare lose their temper.

However, there we some signs of hope.  Over a few Al-Mazas at a bar in the Christian Quarter, we got talking to some young Syrians.  They despised the regime and expressed a desire for the Syrian people to respect their neighbours, as well as the land and history they'd inherited.

With the exception of a few opportunists, a couple of letches and a parasite, we found the Syrian people to be kind and friendly.  I don't buy the hyperbole propagated by some tourists and travel books that Syrians are the most welcoming people on earth.  Syrian society seems to contain a similar mix of people as do other societies.  Yet, while it may sound patronising, I do feel for them.  They are kept poor and ignorant by idiotic, suffocating, oppressive, cruel religious and civic leaders.  On that final note, whilst books and newspapers were for sale and on display across Syria, we did not see a single person reading one in the week that we were there.  They are told what they can and can't read and, we optimistically concluded, they know what they are allowed to read is bollocks.

The Road to Damascus: Going Solo in Lebanon & Syria

On 24 September 2010, we flew to Beirut.  The flight was a bit of a laugh as the crew seemed intent on feeding as much alcohol to the passengers as they could.  Beirut is known as a bit of a party city so I think they were probably having a few cheeky ones out the back in prep for a big night out.

Our night in Beirut, however, was a bit of a fizzer.  By the time we checked, dropped off our gear and headed out the place was closing up.  Then we sat down for a pizza at a local restaurant only to discover that we couldn't get a beer because it was run by Shi'a.

Esplanade, Beirut

The next day we set off early to explore Beirut.  We strolled along the seafront and found a cafe where we sat down for a lovely brunch.  From there we explored the slowly rejuvenating area of downtown Beirut - The Grand Mosque, the Maronite Cathedral, Roman ruins, the bullet ridden old town, the renovated downtown.

Kids swimming on the seafront

Brunch in Beirut

Maronite Bishop's House and Main Mosque with  Roman Forum in foreground

Metal Roller Door on Bullet Riddled Shop

Returning to the hotel in the mid afternoon, we hoisted our backpacks onto our shoulders and set off for an overland journey by bus to Tripoli.  In Tripoli we negotiated a taxi into Syria in a crowded and anarchic market.  Our driver couldn't speak a word of English but he was a good guy and he did the job nicely.  In his ancient but reliable Toyota Crown, he weaved through the crazy traffic, through army and militia checkpoints, successfully avoided running over children darting randomly across the highway and the herds of animals being led by fatalist shepherds.  As the sun set on  the Eastern Mediterranean, we approached the border checkpoints of, first, Lebanon, then Syria.  Our driver spoke with the officials on both sides to ensure smooth passage.

Mobile Political Rally on the Highway to Tripoli...moving at 45mph.

Negotiating a taxi in Tripoli

Shepherds herding their flock across the highway south of the Syrian border

Overall, I found our experience in Lebanon to be bit of a disappointment.  Beirut did not have the buzz for which it is allegedly renowned.  That said, my guess is that we would have got alot more out of it if we had more time and had travelled into the interior.

At Krak de Chevalier we gazed upon the greatest crusader castle ever built.  While eating dinner across the valley from the moonlit castle, a muezzin's haunting nightly call to prayer reminded the local Syrian Orthodox Christian majority who their conquerors were.  At sunrise, the castle was revealed to us in all it's grandeur.  We ate a delicious breakfast and headed keenly to the castle.  It was as awesome from the inside as it was out.  We spent several hours exploring the outer walls, dungeons, bath houses, inner keep and turrets.  For such an amazing monument, it was quite empty.  Aside from a bunch of Kiwi hipper-than-thou-gnarly-radster-trustafarians, a Swiss couple, some Russian navy sailors and a large group of Iranians wearing raincoats on a clear 35C day, we pretty much had the run of the place.

Krak de Chevalier at dawn

Zoe excitedly marching to Krak

Outer walls at Krak

Inner keep ramparts, Krak

Great Hall, Krak

Enjoying the view, Krak

In Syria we travelled by bus (usually driven by a complete madman who had complete faith in the concept of Insh'Allah or Nihilism or both) from Krak de Chevalier to Aleppo to Palmyra to Damascus; exploring crusader castles, teeming souks and ancient ruins in a barren but beautiful landscape (compromised by the mounds of rubbish and filth left by those with access to modern consumer goods but no appreciation of the responsibility it comes with).  The civil, military and religious monuments of Babylonian, Hittite, Greek, Roman, Byzantine, Crusader, Turk, Jewish and Arab occupants of Syria were breathtaking, beautiful, stunning, incredible and awe-inspiring, as well as absurd, ridiculous, sad, ghastly and tragic.

In the countryside outside Aleppo, we walked among the ruins of what was once the greatest church in Christendom, the Basilica of St Simeon; built in the 5th century around a pillar upon which a hermit, pseudonymed Simeon Stylites, sat for thirty-seven years while reluctantly receiving hordes of pilgrims who travelled from as far away as England.  The countryside surrounding the basilica was once the most arable and sort after land in the Roman and Byzantine empires.  An abundance of olive oil made Syria the richest province in the Roman empire.  Today it is barren; the result of hundreds of years of neglect and overgrazing by Arab nomads who, to this day, ignore the superior and more sustainable farming practices of the Chaldeans and Assyrians whom they'd conquered.

Checking the route, Homs bus station

Baptistery at Basilica St Simeon, near Aleppo

What remains of St Simeon's Pillar

Taking in the view across the valley, St Simeon Basilica

Hittite Lion, Ain Dara

Byzantine Cathedral

The most depressed sheep...ever

In Aleppo itself, we explored the ancient Citadel and souk, where we were greeted with shouts of "G'day maaaate!" and "Is that your shiela?!" and "A dingo oit moy baaaboy!".  The markets traders were so tuned to superficial cultural idiosyncrasies that they instantly recognised me as Australian from looking  at the plain t-shirt, shorts and flip-flops I was wearing.  We learned that some Australian girls of Arab descent were currently studying in Aleppo and had taught some of the younger traders how to speak 'Strine.  We turned down the chance to buy an entire camel carcass and settled for some beautiful olive soap.  Of the greater cultural absurdities witnessed was the sight of women in full niqab trawling through racks of extra brightly coloured frilly, leather and/or rubber underwear (the stuff would only be available in red light districts in the decadent West) while being watched by a salivating garment merchant.

Entrance to Citadel at Aleppo

Amphitheatre, Citadel Aleppo

View from Citadel, Aleppo

The Syrian culinary experience was another highlight; Aleppo being the epicentre of Syrian cuisine.  We indulged in tasty and cheap Levantine treats such as falafel, babaganoush, stewed camel, fatoush and lamb & chicken shawarma, as well as fresh juices and sweet baklava.  How cheap?  A three course meal at the best restaurant in Aleppo, attended regularly by Assad himself and complete with black tie waiters, complemented with the excellent Lebanese beer, Al-Maza, and lovely Xsara wine from the Bekaa Valley?  USD15 a head.  A falafel kebab stuffed with more veges that can possibly be eaten by a ravenous Zoe Swanson?  US30c.  That cheap.

Hmmm

De-lish!

Yum

In Palmrya, we watched the spectacular sun set from the castle overlooking the oasis as a dust storm slowly rolled across the Syrian desert from Iraq.  In the morning we wandered among the ancient ruins of the Greco-Roman forum, toured the outlying ruins of a Roman necropolis complete with beautiful frescos which were almost entirely intact.  Almost entirely in that the local pious iconoclasts had scratched the eyes in order to prevent the alleged religious perversion of viewing the soul of a human through its image's eyes.  Not the first or last time art has been destroyed in the name of philosophical dogma - religious or otherwise.  From there we entered the Temple of Ba'al where we haggled a guided tour.  Our guide was knowledgeable and friendly.  His manner of delivery was Socratic, which kept us involved and entertained.  Most interestingly we learned that, with the exception of a small group of male priests, the Palmyran public were excluded from the inner sanctum of the temple where a great statues of the Sun God, Ba'al and the Moon God, Hubal.  Once a lunar calendar (13 month year), the statues would be paraded in public atop a very large camel as part of an  enormous procession which circumnavigated the temple seven times (sound familiar?) before being returned to the temple to begin an enormous sacrifice of animals, the blood of which was handled by an colossal plumbing and drainage system.  Zoe and I were thoroughly impressed.  I'd recommend it as the best archaeological site I've ever seen.

Castle at Palmyra

Dawn at Palmrya

Dawn at Palmrya

Dawn at Palmrya

View across to burial towers, Palmyra

Bedouin Tribesman with Fatima the Camel, Palmyra

Vandalised Roman Frescos, Palmyra

Temple of Bel, Palmyra

Inside of Temple of Bel, Palmyra

Camel Stew, Palmyra

Next day we headed to Damascus by coach.  I was seated next to a Bedouin bloke who was on his way to buy some Chinese-made "Bedouin artefacts" from the market.  He was a nice guy but when I introduced Zoe to him as my wife (an advisable thing to do in that part of the world), he replied by simply stating he had a camel.  I was hoping it was a joke.  Anyhow, he kindly shouted us a cab into downtown Damascus and refused to take our money.  Incidentally, a similar thing happened in Aleppo where a Syrian, who'd lived in Manchester, shouted us a cab to our hotel, paid and then ran away.  Weird.