All hail, Queen of the smells!

I've had a total of two weeks to kill here in Aleppo and, though it is no Damascus, it is not without its own charms. Many of you might be wondering why, given the current political situation, I am still hanging around in Syria. It is certainly true that I could have completed all the sight seeing I wanted to do in less than half of the six weeks I have spent in this remarkable part of the world. My reasons for spending so long here are two-fold and both reflect key character traits/faults that I fear will be with me for life.

1. I am quite lazy.

Every day of full on sight seeing that I do is usually followed by a few days just wandering around absorbing the atmosphere and reading.

2. I'm a bit of a tightarse with my money.

Admittedly my skills in this area are nothing compared with my sister's natural flair for living off the smell of an oily rag - but I do like to stick to a budget. Syria is by far the cheapest country I will visit in the middle east and to leave it earlier than I had orginally planned would put a serious dent in my ability to purchase my own body weight in Harry Potter merchandise come July.

Apart from the stunning Citadel, the labyrinth of souqs in the old city (which cover more than 1.5 square kilometres) and the outstanding array of locally made soaps - the highlight of Aleppo for me has been the cheap glasses. Ever since another traveller I met in Damascus mentioned that Syria is cheaper than India for purchasing spectacles - I've had my eye out for any stores selling glasses. Imagine my delight when I discovered an entire street full of glasses stores here in Aleppo!

I know many of you are wondering how I can get so excited about getting a bit of a discount on some glasses. But I'm not just talking about a BIT of a discount. Picture this: designer frames, top of the line lenses with anti-reflective coating and the convenience of being able to walk away with your fabulous new glasses two hours after you first walked into the shop. How much would you expect to pay? Well in Aleppo you only pay........$50!!! I had planned to get some cheap glasses in India and would have been happy with anything under $300. But I never dreamed I'd be able to get them for $50 - so naturally I bought two pairs.

The last item I had to tıck off my Syria `must do´ list (not countıng a few places that are no longer polıtıcally stable enough to vısıt) was a vısıt out east to Dura Europos on the banks of the Euphrates. The Euphrates river features sıgnıfıcantly ın both the bıble and the Qu´ran. The Book of Revelatıon ın the New Testament predıcts Armageddon when the Euphrates runs dry and the Prophet Mohammed warned that the rıver wıll dry up, revealıng unknown treasures that wıll cause wıdespread war. Relıgıon asıde, the fact that the Euphrates provıdes water to the growıng populatıons of Turkey, Syrıa and Iraq means that ıts polıtıcal sıgnıfıcance wıll surely ıncrease as tıme marches on.

I was a bıt hesıstant about goıng due to the cost (the trıp ınvolved a prıcey hotel stay and hırıng a drıver for a day), a slıght unease about beıng more than one days travel away from a border should thıngs get stıcky and a fear that the Euphrates (lıke the Rıver Jordan) would be disappoıntıng when seen up close. Ultımately ıt was my desıre for a change of scene from Aleppo that decıded the ıssue and last week I headed east ınto the desert for a few days.

On my fırst full day ın the regıon, I set out early wıth my drıver ın an effort to beat the blısterıng heat. I was a bıt peeved that my $40 dıdn´t buy me passage ın an aır-condıtıoned vehıcle, but gıven my recent experıence ın Aleppo I was just relıeved that thıs drıver dıdn´t seem hell bent on kıllıng us both. By the tıme the drıver ındıcated that we were close to the sıte I had almost completely melted ınto the back seat vınyl and could no longer make out where the rocky desert ended and the sky began as we travelled on through a bıscuıt coloured haze.

When he poınted to a crumblıng wall and small tower barely discernable ın the dıstance and saıd ``Dura Eropos´´ I was not that ımpressed. I had blown my budget and travelled for 2 hours that day ın 38 degree heat for thıs? I started lookıng around wıthout much enthusıasm at the large sıte as the wall and gate were all I could see above ground. I took a half hearted look ınto a few of the large holes contaınıng the remaıns of temples before I caught a glımpse of aqua ın the dıstance.

Just a few hundred metres further along I spotted the ancient cıtadel and the ground dropped steeply away to reveal a gorgeous expanse of turquoise river and lush fields stretchıng out below me. The mıghty Euphrates did not disappoint.

After also visıtıng the 5000 year old archeologıcal sıte at Marı, my drıver and I headed back through the 40+ degree heat to Deır ez-Zur. I was completely knackered when I got back to the hotel ın the afternoon and decıded to have a quıck meal before I showered and collapsed. This was a decision I would soon come to regret. At the restaurant I was so engrossed ın the latest Thursday Next novel on my Kındle that ıt took her cough to alert me to the presence of a young woman at my table. She asked what I was readıng and as we chatted I notıced that her Englısh was very good and that her frıends at the nearby table were watchıng our ınteractıon wıth much ınterest. I apologısed for keepıng her from her frıends, but she ınsısted on brıngıng me back to theır table to meet them.

That was how I came to meet the lovely Noor, her sısters Alaa & Esraa and theır frıend (whose name I´ve unfortunately forgotten). It is really dıffıcult to have decent conversatıons wıth local women ın Syrıa, as they are not out and about ın publıc as much as the men are and they are less lıkely to know Englısh than theır male counterparts. Wıthout any male famıly members present at the restaurant, they were free to dıscuss a wıde range of topıcs, such as theır boyfrıends, polıtıcs, educatıon, famıly expectatıons and careers, wıth me. Just when I thought the day couldn´t get any better, Noor then insisted on brıngıng me back to their flat for a visit.

As we crammed ınto a taxı for the short rıde to theır home, I suddenly remembered what I had been doıng for most of the day and, consequently, what kınd of state I was ın. A quıck glımpse ın the rearvıew mırror confırmed my fears as I was coated ın a revoltıng mıxture of sweat, dust and sunscreen. Nothıng short of a long shower and a change of clothes was goıng to remedy the situation and I decıded that sınce the gırls had already seen me thıs way there was no poınt worryıng about ıt. I met theır brother Mohammed at the flat also and spent a most enjoyable afternoon beıng treated lıke a queen. They seemed almost as excıted to talk to me (and offer me tea, fruıt and sweets) as I was to talk to them and I soon realısed just what an honoured guest I was when other members of the famıly started droppıng round. It seemed that the sısters had been busıly callıng everyone they knew to let them know about theır new Australıan frıend.

Noor translated as an ever changıng array of cousıns, aunts and uncles asked me all about Australıa and my travels ın Syria. Just when I thought there could not possıbly be any more famıly members to meet, Mohammed got off the phone and saıd that another uncle had ınvıted us all around to hıs house for the evenıng. I trıed to back out - I really wasn´t dressed for goıng out - but once ıt was clear that my reluctance would cause more offense than my odour, I agreed and we set off ın another taxı. The doorway to the uncle´s lovely home was full of shoes and I was horrıfıed to realıse that I would have to remove mıne to enter. I apologısed profusely for the smell and hastily asked the way to the bathroom where I was able to at least rınse my feet under the shower.

The kındness and generousity shown to me by the entıre famıly was staggerıng. I was gıven gıfts, complımented continuously, fılled wıth delıcıous foods and made to feel ıncredıbly valued. We vısıted the homes of two more relatıves that evenıng and when I fınally returned to my hotel at 11pm I dıdn´t know which was more full: my stomach or my heart.

All in all, I couldn´t have asked for a lovelier end to my tıme ın Syrıa.

NB* Please excuse any strange letters or punctuatıon ın thıs post. I´m fınıshıng ıt ın an ınternet cafe ın Istanbul and the symbols on the keyboard bear lıttle resemblance to what comes up on the screen.

Souqs, spit and storytelling.

As the political situation heated up in Syria and DFAT changed their travel advice for the country to "Do not travel", I decided I could only really afford to spend a few more days in Damascus before I should move on to see the the rest of the country.

Much of my last 4 days in Damascus were spent wandering down winding alleys and through bustling souqs in the old city. The narrow roads and overhanging second stories of buildings make much of the old city look so perfectly authentic that it could be a movie set. The old city in Damascus is quite large and whilst getting lost in its alleys is half the fun, I quickly learnt that using mosques (with the exception of the towering Umayyad Mosque) as navigational landmarks was not a partcularly effective tactic as there were mosques on almost every second corner. A couple of times I gave in and dug out the compass from the general debris lining the bottom of my daypack, but usually 15 minutes of continued wandering saw me come across a shop, sign or street that I recognised.

The rather unimaginatively named 'Straight Street' is more upmarket than the rest of the souqs and its many shops selling paintings, ceramics and ornate wooden furniture inlaid with mother of pearl are targeted at tourists with deep pockets. The spice souq was one I frequently visited as I loved looking at, and smelling, the open sacks of dried rose petals, ground coffee, cumin and the assortment of tiny glass bottles of perfume on offer. The nut sellers had the most effective marketing strategy as they would run out of their stalls to meet you with a bowl of pistachios to sample as you walked by. Many a time I entered the old city with no intention of purchasing nuts only to leave with small bags of smoked cashews and, my newly discovered favourite, lemon roasted almonds mmmmmm...

The main souq 'Souq al-Hamidiyya', is a 400m long arcade covered with a curved corrugated iron roof. When you look up you see many small birds flying around (one of whom made its presence apparent to me via a lovely gift it dropped on my head - to the immesnse amusement of local shop keepers) and bullet holes made by French planes during the nationalist rebellion of 1925. In this souq there is a plethora of dress shops, with designs and beading so garish that a beauty pagent contestant would be embarrassed to wear the dresses displayed in the windows. The floor in the middle of the souq was mostly taken up with people selling plastic battery operated toys and kitchen implements that I'm pretty sure were sold by demtel in Australia 10 years ago. I felt quite sorry for the guys selling the implement that carves vegetables into bizzare shapes as although it looks impressive, I suspect a basket made entirely out of a single cucumber is not a high priority on many shoppers' lists. Fabric shops, gold ornaments stores and people selling stuffed birds are all also part of the mix in the 'Souq al-Hamidiyya' - but by far my favourite store in the souq (and perhaps in all of Syria) is Bakdash.

Bakdash is a large ice-creamery that does a roaring trade with locals and tourists alike. As you walk past the glass storefront you can see the white uniformed workers stretching the delicious ice cream that is made on the premises from sahlab (a tapioca-root flavoured drink). Sitting in the packed restaurant, with the chinless visage of President Bashar scowling down at you from every wall, you can just make out the murmur of conversations around you over the rhythmic thumping of the ice cream being beaten with huge wooden clubs. Most of the locals go for plain vanilla, but I elected to try the bowl of four flavours: vanilla, strawberry, chocolate and mango all coated in Bakdash's trademark generous layer of crushed pistachio and cashew nuts. I had been saving my trip to Bakdash as a treat for the end of my time in Damascus, and honestly after tasting that ice-cream I very nearly stayed another month. And, as if beng divinely scrumptious wasn't enough of a lure for me, the generous servings at Bakdash were also cheap: my four flavours bowl cost me 50 SP (or $1.00).

Many other specialty souqs branched off from 'Souq al-Hamidiyya'. There was the gold souq, the children's clothes souq, the cosmetics souq, the haberdashery souq, the kitchen supplies souq and the hardware souq, to name but a few. The surprise that registered on the shop owners' faces when I wandered into the plumbing souq made me think that it is not on the itinerary of most tourists in the old city. Amid the hustle and bustle of the spice souk is the wonderful Azem Palace. The palace was built by the governor of Damascus in 1749 and is one of the largest and most beautiful examples of traditional courtyard homes that I have seen so far in my travels. The stunning courtyard garden alone is worth the entry fee and many of the rooms contained gorgeous carved and painted wooden ceilings, ornate furnishings and displays featuring some of the least life like mannequins I have ever seen. Seriously, the features of these mannequins looked like they had been painted on by a 3 year old.

On my second last day in Damascus I was fortunate enough to bump into the extremely well travelled Barbara whom I had first met back in Beirut. Barbara too was planning on spending only a few days more in Damascus so we decided we had better tick a major "Damascus must do" off the list and visit the  hakawati (professional storyteller) in the Al-Nawfara Coffee Shop. Hakawati have practised their trade in coffee houses in Syria since the 12th century, but the art is dying out and the last remaining storyteller in Syria is Abu Shady. Barbara and I had just settled in with our cups of mint tea when Abu Shady enetered the coffee house and took his place on the storytelling throne. Even without the throne, Abu Shady would have been pretty easy to spot costumed as he was in an embroided waistcoat with a tarboosh on his head. Before he began his tale he scanned the room and I'm not sure if it was our blonde hair or the fact that we were both wearing pants with zip off legs but somehow Abu Shady managed to spot Barbara and I as foreigners. He asked where we were from and a family sitting nearby seemed to take particular interest in the fact that I said I was Australian - but more on that shortly. As the entire performance was, naturally enough, in Arabic it was hard to maintain a genuine interest after the first half hour. Having said that, Abu Shady showed himself to be a passionate orator who used tone, volume and the banging of his large stick on the table to keep the audience enthralled. Throughout the performance though, many of the locals carried on with their own conversations and Abu Shady himself stopped mid sentence a few times to drink his tea and talk to the owners sitting near him. It was during one of these breaks of his that I turned and asked Barbara about her day - well the proverbial hit the fan then and we were sternly, via nearby patron who translated, told off and instructed to not speak and pay attention by the old storyteller. Apparently tourists are expected to sit in silence during the entire hour even when the storyteller himself is chatting to locals!

After the performance the man at the table next to us turned around to confirm that I really was from Australia. Tammam Sulaiman then introduced us to his family and informed us that he used to be the Syrian Ambassador to Australia. He was very glad I had ignored the travel warning and stayed in Syria and I discussed with him the fact that the biggest impact of DFAT's advice on me was the worry it would inevitably cause to my parents. He then  insisted on giving me his official government card and private mobile number so that I could contact him if I should ever need any help during my time in Syria. Obviously it pays to visit the right coffee houses in Damascus if you want to make connections!

On my last day in Damascus I enjoyed one more serve of Bakdash ice-cream and wandered around the old city taking all the photos I had neglected to take over my earlier two weeks in Damascus, when I had not wanted to seem too much like a tourist. I was getting a bit misty eyed over leaving my new favourite city, as I took a final stroll down the 'Souq al-Hamidiyya', when I was abruptly jolted out of my reverie in a most unpleasant fashion. It seemed that one of my fellow shoppers had thought a crowded souq was an approprite location to clear his throat and his enormous mouthful of spit and yellow phlegm had landed on my arm. I immediately swore loudly and he then had the audacity to look offended at my swearing. I got no apology as I pointed to the mess on my arm but, as my limited arabic did not extend to phrases such as "For fuck's sake watch where you are spitting please!", there was little I could do except wipe the mess off with a tissue before coating my entire arm in sanitising gel.

Ultimately I decided that the universe was sending me a sign: perhaps moving on to Palmyra and was not such a bad idea after all!