Why not go to Syria?

I was walking around the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul when I got the idea to come to Syria. The bazaar gave me memories of Tabriz in Iran, not because of any similarities, but because of the glaring differences - the mass of tourists, the relatively dour Turks, and the hard-sell. My original plan had been to potter gradually along Turkey's Black Sea coast and on to Georgia. However, leaving the bazaar that morning, it's fair to say the prospect didn't really fill me with excitement. I remembered hearing from various people about the bazaars, or souks, of Aleppo and Damascus, and about the famously hospitable Syrian people.

So here I am in Aleppo, northern Syria, a country I never planned on visiting until four days ago......

I had left Dublin on a mad dash across Europe to get to Istanbul. The ferry took me from Wexford to northern France. During the trip the Irish coast guard had to land, by helicopter, medical staff on deck to assist an ill, elderly passenger. The next day in Paris, I watched United clinch the Champions League, not a bad start I thought. The next day though, the French (had to be the French) train drivers were on strike, leaving me a 15 hour bus journey to Prague to connect with a train to Budapest. That went smoothly enough, and the next two nights were spent on the rails, from Budapest to Bucharest, and onwards to Istanbul.

Istanbul was different this time, it seemed much more modern and European than I remembered. Even a trip up to the conservative neighbourhoods of Fatih and Fener didn't shake the feeling - I was bored and waiting for something to kick the trip into gear. Talking to other travellers, some of them had similar feelings about the place, and what I heard of places like Safranbolu and Amasya, places I was planning on heading to, only served to raise my restlessness. I thought about just heading straight for Georgia - even bought a train ticket for Erzurum - but the thoughts of those great Middle-Eastern souks, and friendly welcomes, meant that when Syria popped into my head, it wasn't going to leave until I visited.

So I changed the train ticket, and the next day I was deep in southern Turkey, on a train cutting through the snow-capped Taurus mountains. At times, the train and railway line were the only signs of civilisation for as far as the eye could see, surrounded by plains and far-off mountains. I spent that night in Antakya, and crossed into Syria the next day (yesterday).

The difference between Turkey and Syria is huge. Not only is Syria noticably poorer, but the people are easy-going, polite, and (with some exceptions), honest - unlike many of the Turks of Istanbul, the type of place where you ask someone the time, and they try to sell you a watch. I've only been here a day so far, spent most of it wandering around the great souk here, drinking tea with the shop-keepers, trying to show them how they do the hard-sell in Morocco...."You've got to be more assertive......in Marrakesh they do this...." But the shop-keepers here are as relaxed as everyone else - the closest to what the guide books call 'hassle' I've gotten is one guy saying to me "Hey! if you want to spend your money, come to my shop some time..."

One other strange thing - before the souk closed last night, I was chatting to this guy in a carpet shop who had great English, but a weird accent. Anyway, as I turned to leave, and said my goodbyes, I could swear I heard him say "Goodbye gorgeous!". So, about fifteen minutes later I was chatting to a different shop-keeper.

Shop-keeper - "So, where is your tour group?"

Me - "Oh, nowhere, I'm travelling alone."

S-K - "Alone? No friends?"

Me - "Eh, yeah, that's it."

S-K "Don't worry, I can be your friend here...."

Me (backing off slowly thinking 'WTF') - "Ok right goodbye Shukran!"

Later I bumped into an Australian guy I had seen in Antakya, and chatted to him for a second. When I mentioned what happened, he told me, in that great Australian 'extactly what it says on the tin' way, "Didn't you know mate? They're all fucking queers!" Excellent - I had arranged to have tea with these guys again on Saturday when the souk reopens, so I'll try and find out more from them then. I remember now reading somewhere about this, and, having made a mental note to avoid any midnight strolls through Aleppo's parks, I wandered back to the hotel to read the English language, government-controlled 'Syria Times'.

About 50% of the articles begin with "The government, under the leadership of President Bashar al-Assad......", before recounting the man's exploits for the last week. Most deal with relations with Iran, and 'Arab unity'. However, it's interesting to read the articles on Israel - for anyone following the news, it has become public in the last week that Syria and Israel have been holding secret indirect peace talks for the last year. Now, this has left the government-controlled papers (ie. all of them) in a schitzophrenic state, as on one hand they keep reporting on the 'evil Zionist occupiers', while on the other they must explain why their great President is discussing peace with such a filthy regime... 'whose evil is unparalleled in this world' (quote taken from an article today). God knows what the Syrians themselves make of this strange state of affairs - it's probably best not to ask though.....

Anyway, that meeting with the Australian guy highlighted one of those things you tend to experience a lot travelling alone - a certain dynamic that occurs when you encounter other solo travellers. A few things can happen. If one is lonely and dying to talk, but the other just wants to be left alone, this can only result in embarrassment for the lonley guy if he makes an approach.

Sometimes, both will be lonely and dying to talk, but too shy to open conversation - in this case, they sit, or stand (whatever) in a way that would allow for conversation, if only the other guy would start talking. Occassionally they will glance over at each and make eye contact. If someone does eventually start talking, they will probably end up as best mates (for a couple of days - long enough to swap e-mail addresses).

If, however, both want to be left alone, they will both act as if the other doesn't exist - as if, in this sea of Arabs, with their checkered kefiyahs, wirey moustaches, dark skin and shirt and slacks, the only other guy who looks like you, with pale white skin, 3/4 length trousers and battered t-shirt, standing just four feet from you, is a native.

Ok that's all for now, today I visited an old ruined monatery on a hill, surrounding a pillar where an old Christian monk called St. Simeon spent 40 years living as an ascetic. I think I'll head to Damascus soon, but I can't see myself spending very long here in Syria - the temperature is through the roof, and the cool mountain altitudes of Georgia are calling. I'll try and write more about Syria after I leave.

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