Damascus

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On the road to Damascus, and later to Jordan.
I read the words ‘On the road to Damascus’ in a church yesterday in the Christian quarter of Damascus. It’s one of those sorts of famous lines isn’t it? Like ‘It’s Wednesday, it must be Cairo’.
We spent two days in Damascus. Our accommodations’ were located outside the old city, about 20 minutes walk to the main souq, and another 20 minutes into the Christian quarter if you wanted an alcoholic beverage. I spent most of yesterday in or around that quarter exploring churches, not bars, so by the time we went back for our Last Supper tour meal, I think I’d walked a million miles. To the point today where my feet are quite sore. Still, what better ways to get an appetite and then work off the meal with a 40 minute walk to and from the restaurant.
The old city of Damascus was surprising. It looked very medieval with the two tiered overhanging levels, the windy narrow cobblestones streets, the doors that give nothing away as to the lives lived behind them. Streets designed for any sort of transport other than motorised. Don’t bother buying a big SUV here; it just won’t fit in the narrow lanes.
As night falls the streets come to life. The cafes are full; the ice cream stalls with their lemon ices rolled in pistachios have queues out into the lanes, the fresh juice stalls; strawberry, orange and some other berry I think was a loganberry. The stores in the souq and surrounding areas are open until around 10pm, it’s pretty much a 12 hour day for these shopkeepers. The difference here in the souq or bazaar compared to Istanbul is this is predominantly local, Istanbul was predominantly tourist. They will still try to seize the moment as you walk past, but you are able to observe a local pace of life here. Once the main stall holder’s close up for the night, the itinerant traders pop up, bubble guns, dancing dolls, vegetable cutters, knickers, camis, yapping fluffy puppy toys with physco coloured eyes. Make sure you don’t buy the demonstration model; it’s been crawling around the floor of the souq. Is this honestly how these people make a living? It just doesn’t seem sustainable.
We left Damascus this morning on a public coach headed to the Jordanian border. Border formalities don’t appear to be straightforward in the Middle East. We had left our Syrian guide behind, aided with his two page illustrated instructions along with some helpful English translations from some fellow passengers, we got thought the two border stations two hours later. In between the two border stations is a swanky duty free store, in the middle of nowhere in the desert. Clearly there are no limits on how many cartons of fags you can buy and bring into Jordan. I saw men buying a dozen cartons in one sale. Or are there limits? Outside we observed men stuffing cigarette cartons into all sorts of spaces in a vehicle from under the bonnet to inside the wheel wells, and even under his kids clothing. Another man sat on the footpath stripping the fags out of the original packaging.
At the bus station in Amman we were met by the company representative who delivered us by mini bus to our hotel in what we have now discovered is the poorest and most isolated part of town. Our tour group is to grow to the staggering number of 22 tomorrow. We all feel a bit miffed.

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Photos

Basil the money man
the guy from the castle restaurant

Meat anyone?
butchers in Aleppo

Kids at play
in the Mosque in Damascus with balloons from Turkey