The Last Supper

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On behalf of myself I’d like to welcome you once again to the source of your insanity.

Prelude
These past two days have brought me very close to death… in more ways than one. Firstly, I kept seeing a blinding white light… but we were in the desert and I could hear voices so I reasoned that I wasn’t dead yet. The reason was that we walked for hours and hours around various sites on very little sleep and after a long bus ride.

Chapter 1 - Palmyra
On Friday morning I was aroused by the alarm I had set for 6:30 and spent the next two and a half hours waiting for Masumi to get out of bed. We were going to be taking a two day trip as she’d sequestered a short holiday with the cancellation of an excursion. Our destinations were to be the desert ruins of Palmyra and the castle ‘Crac des Chevaliers’. After allowing the sleep-loving-lady to prepare herself we made our way to the bus station and searched for a fare. A man approached us and took us to his office, but upon discovering that the time his bus was leaving did not suit us he kindly took us to another office and organised an earlier bus through another company. After the extremely lethargic attendant sorted our tickets we moved to the first floor of the bus station and had some orange juice/tea and an Aussie-style sandwich filled with salad and chips (thanks to Masumi’s effort), I couldn’t help but think “this is the shit!”

Then we got on the bus, which was equally as good as the sandwich. We were seated right at the front and this gave us access to certain perks, one of which was tea. The trip was eventful and filled with meaningless conversation. We were speeding along the straight desert roads at the lovely pace of around 140km/h, overtaking everything in sight. The waiter (guy who gives you water and lollies) was asleep for most of the way but did awaken occasionally to serve water and have a cigarette (smoking is allowed ANYWHERE and by ANYONE at ANYTIME in this country), using my cup as an ashtray without asking. We saw some other interesting things on our way… folk living in tents, sheep, people carrying shopping bags through the desert… a ute driving along with a tray filled with men dressed in exactly the same get up, various dangerous driving habits, a truck covered in rocks that were dropping off the back and hitting our bus until we managed to overtake it and various other things that defied definition.

After getting off the bus at our destination we were approached by a man named Muhammd who owned a hotel and offered us a driver for the afternoon and a hotel room for the night for the sum of just over $35. Accepting this we were taken to his hotel where we were drilled on various topics and given a very detailed introduction to the Syrian man’s romantic prowess. This was all done over a cup of their beloved tea.

Then we headed out into the desert for a little look around the ruins. This began at the Temple of Bel, where we spent most of our time. We soon realised that time was running out to catch our bus and probably should peruse the rest of the ruins. We did this and I even got to ride a camel!!! The funny thing about this was that the initial price for this ride was 200 pounds, but abruptly dropped to 50 pounds when we refused. We were spoken to by many people who’d memorised short phrases and jokes in Japanese and English. We had until 3:45 to get back on our bus and decided we should quickly take a look at the amphitheatre in the ruins, so doing this quickly we made our way back to catch the bus at the location we thought the driver had said. It turned out that we were correct in assuming we didn’t understand him and had missed our bus to the tombs. After walking around for a bit we were lucky to be discovered by our bus and thrown into a nearby rented car containing some other tourists heading for the tombs, on top of this they were Aussies… didn’t expect that. The tombs were not so good… we were not impressed. They were essentially stone buildings... with bugger all inside. Anyhow, after being dropped back at the hotel we sat down for another cup of Syria's finest tea with the hotel owner's son, who again ran us through a list of chauvenistic jokes and detailed the Syrian man, Masumi played along, and possibly a little too much, he called her again on Sunday to let her know he missed her... hehe. We waited around for our bus to arrive on Arabic time (half an hour after the specified time) and take us to the top of the mountain to see a castle.

We finally boarded the rickety (yes, just like a fence about to fall apart in the wind) old bus and proceeded to struggle up the hill at less than walking pace. The bus was the oldest member of the tour, being a '51 Mercedes. We finally made it to the top and the view was nice. The castle felt more like Disney Land than anything else we decided as it had railings to hold on to everywhere and lots of restored sections giving it the appearance of a movie set. We did have a couple of stereotypical experiences here. The first of which was that on our way in we were offered none other than Syrian tea with the guys at the counter... we kindly declined but they insisted we have some on the way out. The castle was a tourist spot, and the second experience was none other than a busload of Japanese tourists... hehe. After making our way back to the entrance we couldn't find our boy for his cup of tea and decided to make our way outside to have a look around and wait for the bus. Just as we were about to sit and look out over the desert in peace we heard a shout from above, the man had returned to discover we had escaped his tea offer, so we politely made our way back up for what would be our fourth or fifth cup of tea for the day. The only thing that seemed to be more tiring for our poor bus was the trip back down, for which it had to be roll-started! However, we made it back in one piece.

When we returned to our hotel, the owner had organised for us to go to an Arabic buffet and see some traditional dances and listen to some traditional music. We did this. The night began with a drink of Avrak, Syria's liquor, which I gladly accepted and discovered to be made from anise, and having a flavour very much the same as Oyzo. Then the music began, somber at first and with some romantic singing by a big guy whose height was only outdone by his breadth. He sang of romantic dreams and tradgedies involving the women in the room as he visited them one by one, and added all of our nationalities into the mix, greeting us all in turn. Then as more guests arrived, the food was served. Masumi had missed the word entree and began to dig in... however food is something she loves and was able to hold her own until the end. After the service of the main course that appeared to be a whole lamb, which was showed to the diners individually for inspection before being disected and served, the music began again. This time a few more instruments joined the fray and dancers began, slowly at first, to make their way around the room. Then as the music quickened they began to take members of the audience and teach them some moves, following this the dancing became much more difficult and vaguely reminiscent of the kosaks of Russia. This whole time the same old guy kept singing and singing with renewed vigour, and despite both the crowd and his fellow dancers lack of energy and enthusiasm he continued all night. When we finally made it back to the hotel we chatted for a fair time and managed to get a couple of hours sleep.

Chapter 2 - Crac des Chevaliers
Awaking the next morning to discover that our shower did not produce hot water was not exactly what we had planned, but nonetheless we quickly bathed and made our way down for breakfast. This consisted of many things, a couple of which were instant coffee and butter that refused to be spread.

Then we shuffled our way onto the bus bound for Homs, which got a little way out of the city, did a u-turn for aparently no reason, went back to the bus terminal, shouted something to the boys there and began it's journey afresh. I simply assumed we'd forgotten to say good-bye to the guys at the terminal... this was a conclusion not supported by my counterpart, she gave a wry smile, a bit of a giggle and left it at that... The bus was an older style vehicle and looked like it had been decorated inside and out by someone who'd spent the morning studying Picaso over a bottle of wine, the afternoon watching hippies fornicate while taking LSD and the evening decorating. However, it made it to it's destination where we hopped in a taxi determined to rip us off, which he managed. Next we arrived at the second bus terminal, for minibusses that would take us to our destination, Crac de Cheveliers. There we searched out a bus, and one offered to take us as a taxi service for 200 pounds... when we refused and said we'd found a fare for 30 pounds they told us to hop in, laughing hysterically and began to drive. However, they weren't driving us to the castle, they took us 20 meters down the bus terminal to a new bus that would take us for 30 pounds... odd folk.

The journey of 60km to the castle was a pleasant one, but took a little longer than expected as the roads were crowded with busses parked every-which-way and folk wanting to walk along them as well. We also had to drop people off along the way, the first of whom had sat themselves at the back of the minibus and got themselves into quite a mess clambering over everyone to get out. This trip was great fun, but when we arrived the rains began. We were quickly soaked as we bound along the battlements searching for shelter. As I sat inside the castle walls I couldn't help but feel a sense of power, this place had been built for war. The walls were made from huge, thick stones and the structure perched on a mountain surrounded by many valleys with limited passage to the castle itself. I tried to put myself in the position of an invading army and quickly decided that the reason this castle was still standing did not wholly owe itself to it's position, but the overall ominous feel of it. It would be a terrifying sight from down below to any invading force, and I think if I had considered invading it and then seen it, I'd probably have told the boys to pack up and go home, it wouldn't be worth trying. We waited for the rain to ease a little and then made our way to other sections of the castle. These included the kitchens, chapel, battlements and many other areas unlabeled. We were also constantly intercepted by school children wanting to ask the 2 questions they knew in English "What's your name?" and "Where are you from?" Some of them even asked three or four times, and a few went so far as to take our photos. I now know what Michael Jackson feels like... hehe.

After scrambling over the masses of children we tried to find a lift back to the city, which seemed all but impossible for a low price. So, in her style Masumi did a bit of bartering and managed to get us a reasonable fare back to the city. On our way back we spotted a cow that had strayed from a herd and wandered on to the freeway. The recent storm had also left all the trees leaning over, which Masumi thought was hilarious and wouldn't stop imitating for the whole ride back... strange times. The trip back was rather less eventful than our trip out.

Chapter 3 - Closing
The final day of my trip involved a trip out to Old Damascus again where we ate and picked up a few souvenirs. On the final morning we got a taxi and after bidding farewell to Masumi as she went to work I made my way to the airport. A big thanks to Masumi for everything. And a big thanks to everyone who’s been reading, this will be the final entry in this saga.

Peace, love and mungbeans.

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Comments

[Greg (Japan)]

Wow!
Wow - you really get around. Thanks for all the great pics!