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Published: April 6th 2009
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On Saturday, we woke up around 8, packed up and had a nice breakfast at the hotel. As we were leaving, we were torn between catching the bus back where we got off, or over near the pancake house, where we had seen a bus schedule posted outside. We asked a young guy from our hotel, and he pointed us in a third direction, so we headed off that way with some reservation. Along the way, approximately 10 taxis stopped us to yell, "Damascus, Damascus?", and then tell us "no money" to take us to the bus station. Last time we got in a cab that said "no money" was the guy we now call the kidnapper - the guy from the border who was supposed to take us to Hama but instead took us to his house. Also, I am now convinced that people call taxis on their cell phones to tell them two stupid Americans are trying to walk to the bus station. So new rule is no getting in taxis that shout out the window, especially if they say no money.
So, we walked instead, about 2.5 kilometers in pretty hot weather, toward the bus stop to
Damascus. As we got there, we passed a restaurant and the guy called out that this is where we should buy tickets for the bus to Damascus. It seemed a little weird, but we were hot and tired and he had a very official-looking table set up, so we went inside, gave him our passports, and then bought two tickets for 200 syrian each, which is higher than my book says it is supposed to be, although the book is 3-4 years old now. So they told us the next bus is in 10 minutes, so we waited, had some tea, hung out, waited some more, and asked again when the bus would come. Ryan was facing the door and saw lots of buses go by, apparently, so after about 50 minutes of waiting I walked down and saw a lot more people waiting outside another restaurant there. I walked back and told Ryan, who got mad and asked the guy for our money back, which caused a huuuge hubub and uproar with everyone saying "no problem, no problem" which we hear about 100 times a day.... and finally they gave us our money back. Then they pointed us to
another bus and we were so tired of waiting we just got on the dumb bus, which was baiscally full of Iraqis heading west to Damascus, chain-smoking the whole way. I guess they figured we would want to take a nicer, bus line, so they were having us wait for the one they have a deal with. However, it seemd like the other restaurant had a better hookup with more bus companies and had more buses coming and going than our restaurant. Anyway, the bus was okay, and everyone was super nice as always as gave us cookies, and the ride only took about 3 or 4 hours.
Once in Damascus, we grabbed a taxi up to our hotel, which was the only one available 4 or 5 days ago when we called ahead. It is pretty funny - it's decked out like some kind of medieval castle, with a big courtyard full of fountains and statues of knights, and sparkley glitter paint on the walls, and all the workers are dressed in red costumes.
Once we got settled, we headed on foot to the old city, which is still surrounded by the original wall. It's beautiful. First
we walked around the muslim quarter, with souqs filled with people and shops, and made our way to the Umayyad Mosque, which was first a Temple of Jupiter, then a Byzantine Cathedral, and finally an Umayyad Mosque built in 705. It is filled with extraordinary murals on the walls, and all of the detail work has been restored. The best part, though, was people-watching. We were there at around 6pm, and the courtyard area was filled wiith families, with tons of kids running around playing and slipping around on the marble floors. We sat next to a nice family who offered us some of this fuzzy green fruit we've been seeing but can't figure out what it is. We tried one once, but after having it again realized that one was underripe. They are covered in salt and very refreshing, kind of like edamame is, but much crunchier and not a bean. The women here and I know enough English and Arabic, respectively, to chat about the very basics, which happens quite often -- yes, Ryan is my husband, no we don't have kids yet, sha'allah, I say - god willing - and they look kind of sad because they
figure if we haven't had kids yet we probably can't. 😊
After the mosque, we wandered over to the Christian Quarter, where we met a nice old man named Maurice. He has two daughters in the states and recently spent 8 months in Texas and California visiting them. He said so many people helped him on his trip that he decided when he came back, he would sit outside his house and help tourists. He showed us inside of his house, built in about 1800. A typical house for this area, it has a central courtyard filled with plants and it used to have a fountain in the center, but he took it out because there are water shortages. Then around and above on the second floor are all of the rooms. Maurice told us a nice place to go for dinner, and then told us about a Franciscan church to go to for palm sunday service the next morning -- he said there was a procession of children which is very nice to see. After dinner we walked around some more and ended up at an outdoor cafe near one of the gates to the old city, where
we chatted and had a glass of Syrian wine.
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