My Adventures in Syria

Back in the SAR

2010-05-23T11:50:00.002-07:00

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Who?

2007-07-22T02:20:00.000-07:00

On the subject of non-controversial posters seen around Damascus, I bring you...well, YOU.

I saw this on a side-street near Sahet Arnus. It makes (slightly) more sense when you can see the shop itself. Apparently, this business will put a picture of you (who else?) inside of a crystal block.

From the 5-o'clock shadow to the delicate placement of the model's (or, more likely, the shopowner's brother-in-law or something's) hands, there is nothing not to love about this bizarre advertisement.

Creative Syria's Creative Forum

2007-07-07T13:25:00.000-07:00

Click here to go to Creative Syria's new topic for discussion: If you had the choice, what would you change in Syria?

My contribution to the discussion is below. Feel free to comment here, but keep in mind that leaving your comments on Creative Syria's page will offer more of a contribution to the discussion as a whole.

In my opinion, the most essential change that needs to be made right now is that

Syria

needs to stop making changes – in one area, at least: the arrival of Western fast-food chains.

If you had told me two years ago that there would be a KFC in Damascus by now, I wouldn’t have believed you. Sure, we had Hesburger (jokingly called “Hezbollah Burger” by us and our friends…probably in bad taste) out in the Dummar suburb. It was never clear to us why this Finnish burger chain was allowed in the country and all the American varieties weren’t. The Hesburger manager’s explanation was that any company with Jewish investors was not allowed to set up shop in Syria. Whether his explanation is accurate, I’ve never been able to find out. In any case, that’s certainly not the reason I think these businesses should continue to be blocked from entering the country.

Rather, Syria should remain fast-food-free because to do otherwise would go against the nature of its attraction. Damascus is billed as being the oldest continually inhabited city in the entire world. The genuine quality of its ancient streets, souqs, and culture is almost palpable. In my opinion, a slough of garish chain restaurants would only cheapen this atmosphere without providing enough benefits in return.

It’s true that these kinds of businesses often provide stable, well paying jobs, often for women. And American fast-food restaurants may very well give a boost to the economy and increase the perceived convenience factor for foreign tourists.

But the first two benefits can be achieved through other means, and the third may actually deter as many travelers as it attracts. Certainly, more traditional Syrian restaurants (and other types of businesses) can – and should - offer positions to women. And the kind of traveler who comes to Syria for a purposeful, independent visit is likely not one who also appreciates the effect of golden arches over a narrow, ancient alley.

Where else in the world today is there such a place without a McDonald’s, Hardee’s, or Pizza Hut to destroy its enchanting atmosphere? Granted, I know there are other countries without American fast food, but that is just one of the things that makes Damascus so unique and authentic. Because how foreign can a country really be when you can still biggie-size a burger and fries, or be sure of a clean public restroom with toilet paper and hand soap? Not very, in my opinion.

Some may counter that the introduction of Western fast-food establishments to Syria would usher the country into the 21^st century – finally. To this I say: I hope Syria never enters the 21^st century in certain respects. A more modern approach to cumbersome bureaucracy and high-speed internet would be welcome, of course. But holding on to the values of past generations means that the corner grocery store, an emphasis on strong family ties, and an extremely safe community are traditions that are still alive and thriving.

Syria doesn’t even need these kinds of restaurants. Why does a country that is already home to fabulous eateries like Elissar, Beit Wakil, and the Parfait even need a McDonald’s, Burger King, or Hardee’s? Besides, the introduction of the authentic Western restaurants would make rip-offs like “Pizza Hot” and “Popay’s” redundant.

Perhaps I’m just being selfish. I will admit that in many ways, I want Syria to remain the same charming place it was when I lived there. Yes, there were moments (especially when I was pregnant) when I wanted more than anything else to be able to order something ultimately familiar, something like chicken nuggets or a vegetarian pizza topped with fresh mushrooms, real American mozzarella cheese, and sterile, generic olives out of a can. But these moments passed and in the end, I was left with a profound sense of appreciation for the capital city that Damascus is, not what it could be.

If they must come – and I realize that eventually, they probably will – at least let them try to fit in with the aura of the city. Villa Moda recently opened a branch in Damascus – in the Old City, no less. But the designers of the boutique were careful to make the shop an integral part of its surroundings, not an eyesore.

So go ahead: open up more jobs for women, more businesses to drive the economy, and free up some of the state controls. But don’t use American fast-food restaurants to accomplish these things – they’ll stab you in the back every time.

Seen on the Syrian highway

2007-06-23T12:17:00.000-07:00

I made a special goal on our most recent trip to Syria to capture some images of strange loads seen on the Syrian highways. I've said before that everything in Syria is a surprise, and believe me, their vehicular traffic is no exception.

A big, but probably extremely light, load. My best guess is that these will be cut into mattresses. I know all we ever slept on in Damascus were foam pads like these.

Here is a truck containing bottles of ghaz - fuel for the stove. This must be a distributor truck that delivers the goods to the smaller Suzuki trucks. The Suzuki trucks (kind of like the one in the top photo) then putt around the neighborhood with smaller loads. There is always one guy driving and one guy sitting in the bed of the truck, banging on the cans with a wrench and yelling "ghaaaaaaaaz! ghaaaaaaaaaz!" at the top of his lungs. Ostensibly, this system is great because when you run out of ghaz while cooking a meal, you can easily run out and get more. In real life, however, mostly you just end up being annoyed at the noise. The price we pay for convenience, I suppose.

I spotted this strange load in the traffic circle east of Sheikh Saad. If you look closely, you'll see a pickup truck with a water storage tank in the back of it. To keep it steady, there's a guy riding in the back with it. The water storage tanks generally go on the roof of the apartment building. Sometimes, you have two tanks, and one of them is in the basement. If you run out of water from the roof storage unit, you can pump up spare water from the basement storage unit. In theory, anyway. We ran out of water on occasion in Damascus, but I don't think we had a basement unit, on account of the fact that our building didn't really have an empty basement.

Who says you need a U-Haul truck when you're moving? This is a version of the truly ubiquitous Suzuki truck I mentioned earlier. They have extremely small cabs and not very much power, but they certainly have maximum truck bed space. This is the functional vehicle in Syria. We used one to move into our apartment in Damascus. A friend of ours got turned away from entering Jordan at the border and hitched a ride late at night back to Damascus in one (driven by a total stranger and filled with others in his same predicament, I might add. And also free of charge).

I'm not sure what is inside the bags in this gigantic pile. At first glance, I thought it might be bags of bags, perhaps fresh in from a harvest of the land near the highway (it's always strewn with cast-off plastic bags). Upon closer inspection, however, I think it might be something more substantial. It can't be too substantial, though, because even by creative Syrian standards, I don't think this truck could handle too heavy of a load.

Keep a clear eye on the roads of Syria - you just never know what you might see.

World's youngest muezzin

2007-06-17T13:28:00.000-07:00

I already shared with you the lovely sound of the call to prayer as heard from Jebel Qassion overlooking Damascus.

But have you heard the call to prayer as rendered by Miriam Damascus?

That's right - "muezzin" has been added to her repertoire of sounds, alongside "cat," "dog," "fire truck," and "yellow car."

Jesr ar-Rais: The Transportation Underbelly of Damascus

2007-06-14T12:59:00.001-07:00

I have a love/hate relationship with Jesr ar-Rais (The President's Bridge). On the one hand, I've spent hours of my life in this place, waiting for, boarding, or exiting some form of public transportation. Jesr ar-Rais has always gotten me where I've needed to go. It's an "all roads lead here" kind of place - not too far from downtown, the Old City, Baramkeh, or the University of Damascus. Plus, it's conveniently located off of Autostrad. It is the very symbol of an efficient, thriving public transportation system.

On the other hand, Jesr ar-Rais is like a neverending shabaab convention. If you're going to survive a trip across it, whether over or under, you have to steel yourself against being eye candy for the masses. There are also sundry messes you have to pick your way through, and I don't mean just lane after lane of services and busses coming and going suddenly, spitting out exhaust as they do so. There are also vendors hawking their wares, and snack salesman camping out with huge vats of hot corn-on-the-cob.

There's the pile of trash that has inexplicably gathered at the bottom of the high-traffic staircase to the top.

But the scariest hazard of all is that red van that sometimes pulls up near the west end and somehow brings a cloud of bees with it. Yes, actual bees. I have never been able to figure out what this red van's purpose is - I always just make sure to stay as far away from it as possible.

To take a peek under Jesr ar-Rais is to catch a glimpse of the bustling industry of the people of Damascus. Everyone is coming or going, setting off for work or finally done with errands for the day. Services and busses line up in (mostly) orderly fashion before scattering around the city on their various routes.

It was an unfulfilled wish of ours to make a master map for the service routes. The key to the plan was to find out where services sleep at night, something we were never able to discover.

Services are a marvelous thing. They're not unique to Syria, but the service drivers of Damascus have the execution of their task down to an art. You can ride for as long (or as short) as you like for only 5 lira, and the driver even makes change without taking his eyes off the road, at least not for long. Services will pick you up and drop you off just about anywhere along their route. Sometimes, the driver or fellow passengers will even orchestrate a shuffle in seating so that women (especially veiled women, but not only veiled women) and men don't have to sit next to each other. If you have a small child with you, you can always count on help loading him/her in and out of the service.

Enhanced services feature a door that opens by a control from the driver, and sometimes creative lighting within the vehicle for interesting evening rides. There was one service in particular that ran the Vilaat Garbiye route - we called it "service of the night" because it featured a dark blue van color (instead of boring white), fluorescent lights inside, fancy headlights outside, several different deluxe horn sounds, and stickers and fringe all over. Whenever we were lucky enough to catch it, we rode with satisfaction as other service drivers hailed the driver of the "service of the night" and expressed their admiration.

From looking at the surface of the bridge, you wouldn't think so much is going on underneath.

But believe me: there is tons going on down there.

Bashar and Hafez around town, some more

2007-06-12T03:14:00.001-07:00

In response to a few of the comments from the last post: I am purposely refraining from making this a politically centered article, much less a politically centered blog. I am posting these pictures because I find them to be so uniquely Syrian, and I think they say a lot about the culture that produced them - whether or not you agree with all the political implications.

Plus, they're fun.

Also, I take issue with the claim that these kinds of pictures are only on pro-Assad people's cars, homes, shops, etc, as well as the claim that they're all government made (however, it is true that most of these excerpted photos are probably from such sources). But if you try to tell me that "the government" produced a sticker of Bashar al-Assad with his wife and kids surrounded by a superimposed rose garden and encircled by a gaudily pink glitter heart (such a sticker is in my actual possession), and then chose to distribute it to the public by having a guy selling it and others like it on Jesr ar-Rais, then I'm sorry, but I don't believe you. There has to be a market for such things in order for them to be (so shoddily and kitschily) produced - and I don't think it's necessarily a statement of full support (or fear!) of the regime for someone to buy one.

Politics (mostly) aside, I bring you a few more pictures from around Syria.

This poster is hanging next to the entrance to the Souq al-Hamadiyye, not far from the statue of Salah ad-Din. It says, "God will protect Syria."

My only regret about this picture is that it's so blurry, because it has one of our favorite posters on it. Do you see Bashar in the picture above the bus? Then, do you see the ghost of his father hanging out over his shoulder? Even if the symbolism was unintended, it's brilliant.

There is also a poster we used to see in many places that actually had a picture of the heads of Hafez, Basil, and Bashar, kind of floating on a black background. We used to call this one (irreverence alert!) the Trinity. You know: father, son, and holy ghost.

Here is a sign celebrating Bashar's recent win in the election. That's all I will say about it.

This is actually a gorgeous mural not far from the road to Baramkeh. I think there is a similar, bigger one in the Panorama museum, but that one focuses more on the diverse peoples of Syria. This one has a few of those elements, but also some representations of events in recent history. See, for example, the dam built with Soviet cooperation in the north of Syria.

I think this one takes the cake. What more needs to be said about a cult of personality than that there exists on the road outside of Aleppo a giant picture of Bashar al-Assad's head? And that it's not even a flattering picture? (It's almost as bad as the one of Hafez that's hanging up in the border crossing areas, where he looks like he's suffering from a bad case of rosacea.)

I heard that Bashar himself actually requested that people not display photos of him or his family, presumably in order to stop the image worship that started with his father. I wonder if this was the photo that spurred that request. If so, I don't think I blame him.

Bashar and Hafez around town

2007-06-11T04:43:00.000-07:00

It's difficult to explain the cult of personality surrounding Syria's most recent leaders. The same phenomenon does not exist in the United States. We do not plaster our vehicles with holographed silhouettes of George W. Bush (even if we are fans of him), nor do we put up billboards urging him to hang in there when international events turn sour. The closest we get to expressing national pride in visual form is by displaying the American flag on stickers or shirts, and even that is technically against the flag code.

But Syrians love to honor their leaders as individuals. Representations of Hafez, Bashar, and even Basil al-Assad, in many different forms, can be found all over the country. Here are a few examples found in Damascus.

Can you find Hafez in this photograph? Hint: he's larger than life and on top of a tall building. And he probably lights up at night.

This one says it all. I suspect the heart lights up at night, too, though whether the lights are white or red (or if they flash in alternating patterns) is anyone's guess.

Here is a more stately tribute to Bashar - no aviator sunglasses here.

Old posters of Hafez have nearly peeled themselves off of this wall. He died seven years ago - have the posters been up since then? (I just checked and it was seven years ago exactly yesterday.)

Another classy tribute, this time adhered to the window of a service. It is not unusual to see entire rear windows of vehicles dedicated to Bashar al-Assad and his family. And by 'family,' I literally mean his wife and children. Often, they are depicted as being on holiday in either the Swiss Alps or in a sunny, beachy location. Oddly, both pictures feature the same pose.

I have a few more examples to post later. Unfortunately, we were unable to photograph any of the afore-mentioned holograph-Bashar-in-aviator-sunglasses. Fortunately, we have one on our car back in Tucson, though it's not as large as many I've seen.

To be continued...

The Mezze Mural of Mystery

2007-06-10T12:07:00.000-07:00

The service (vilaat gharbiye) I used to ride to work drove past this mural every day. And even in a whole year of living in Damascus, I was never able to figure out what, exactly, it was a mural of.

As best as I can figure out, it has something to do with Iraq. But that’s about all I’m certain of.

Even if the contents of the mural were, by some miracle, explained to me by someone, one mystery remains: what are kids doing drawing pictures of soldiers shooting at people on a public wall?

It makes only slightly more sense than this (which, if I remember correctly, was actually staged) (it's Israeli children writing messages on missiles destined for Lebanon during the conflict last summer).

Can anyone figure this out better than I’ve been able to?

Categories of Syrian Hijab

2007-06-01T04:01:00.001-07:00

(If you're the one who made this picture, please let me know. I tried to find out its source but was unsuccessful.)

**Edited to add: The artist is Puppeteer, which explains the last item in the graphic. Thanks for the tip, Golaniya!

This is a pretty accurate representation of many of the kinds of hijab you will see in Syria.

For my take on the veil in Syria, read Hijab Envy 1 and Hijab Envy 2.

The only version I really notice is missing from this depiction is just plain 'manto.' This is my favorite style - it's like 'manto sport' but with a plain white hijab and a classier version of the trenchcoat. I maintain that if I ever took on the veil, this is the style I would choose (am I allowed to do that?).

And if anyone gets the last one, let me know. My friends and I are stumped (actually, not anymore. See above!).

Our mascot friends

2007-05-26T10:56:00.000-07:00

I love billboards and advertisements in foreign languages. I think there is a lot of language that can be learned just by observing the posters and signs around you. But even if not, there is always fun to be had learning about foreign mascots.

Squeeze is a sickeningly sweet, Tang-like powdered beverage that you’re sure to be served if you visit a Syrian friend during the summertime. I have no problem with their product – it’s their advertising campaign that disturbs me. This is their “mascot:”

Yes, a mustachioed, smarmy Egyptian dressed in Hawaiian style is the face of Squeeze in the Arab world. I was more inclined to buy Squeeze before I saw this billboard and its accompanying TV commercials.

Speaking of smarmy, here is my all-time favorite Arab mascot. It’s Uncle Chips!

I think the question here is not so much “would you buy chips with this guy’s image stamped on the package,” but “would you allow this man to be in the same room as your kids,” don’t you think?

The best part is that in Jordan, there is a brand called Mr. Chips. And the mascot Mr. Chips, by all appearances, is a law-abiding, well-dressed, upstanding member of the community. Why his slimy brother can’t keep his act together (or at least shave off the dirt ‘stache) is beyond me.

The last mascot I’ll show you is another snack brand (in case you haven’t noticed already, the Arabs take their snacks very seriously). Here’s another chip mascot, Mr. Corn:

I don’t know what it is about Mr. Corn that I find so amusing. Maybe it’s the apparent lack of inspiration involved in its design, or perhaps its childish rendering. In any case, he looks like he’s way overdue for a makeover.

An all-American Syrian

2007-05-20T06:45:00.000-07:00

Let me tell you about Charlie.

He lost his leg when he stepped into traffic and was hit by a car years ago, but that’s not the most interesting thing about him.

If you ever go to Baramkeh, a major transport hub in Damascus, you might meet him. He hangs out there most days – maybe even every day. Every time we’ve gone to Baramkeh at the start of a trip to Jordan or Lebanon, he’s been there.

The first time I met him was as we were setting out on a trip to Irbid, Jordan in September of 2004. As our small group of travelers was standing around waiting for our service taxi, I heard someone call out, “Hey, blondie!” I had been subject to a lot of different catcalls from strange men on the streets of Damascus, in both English and Arabic, but until now, “hey, blondie” had not been one of them.

Our small group of travelers turned around to see Charlie. He loped towards us and continued talking in English. “Whatcha doin’ out here, eh, fellas? You’re a heckuva long way from the States.”

You see, Charlie speaks a very rare and rudimentary form of English. He spent several years working for the American navy in Lebanon during the 1960s. And as you may have guessed, that’s where he learned English. His speech is made up entirely of 1960s military slang, and it hasn’t changed or evolved in the 40 years that have passed since then.

The Wednesday before last, we showed up at Baramkeh to get a ride back to Jordan. We were waiting outside the service taxi as usual when suddenly I heard, “Hey, blondie!” Only this time, I think he was talking to Miriam. And this time, we made sure to get a picture.

And so he hangs out at Baramkeh calling the girls “darlin’” and the boys “buddy.” A conversation with Charlie is so bizarrely out of place in Damascus, Syria, that after it’s over and you’re driving away toward wherever, you’re not quite sure it really happened.

Charlie says he doesn’t have a job, but I think he does – it’s entertaining (and probably helping many of) us tourists and reminding us, in case we’d forgotten, that everything in Syria is a surprise.

And if that is his job, at least he’s very good at it.

Local Nuggles and Gordon Bleu

2007-05-08T07:35:00.000-07:00

Almost our first act upon arriving in Damascus was to go to lunch at one of our favorite restaurants, Siwar al-Sham. It’s a non-pretentious place behind the Meridien hotel, serving a combination of Syrian and European cuisine. But the prices are so low that it actually shouldn’t even be called “cuisine.”

We came here a lot when we lived in Damascus, and the waiters often gave us the Arabic menus. Our favorites were the soups and the Arabic dips (I think little in-utero Miriam subsisted almost entirely on Siwar’s baba ghanouj). Sometimes, however, we were given the English menus, and that was always a special treat. And today I bring you something obtained at great peril to my personal sense of shame at being caught taking a photograph in public: a picture of that menu.

This is a newer version of the menu we remember. They removed a few items (no more “local nuggles”) and corrected a few of the more egregious errors (“gordon bleu,” for example). Bizarrely, however, new errors were somehow introduced to items that were previously correct. We spent a few minutes deliberating, and we think that our old favorite, “steak with lemon juice and garlic” is now “slices with citric acid and garlic.”

Miriam Damascus with a hummus mustache

Other highlights include “spinal cord pane” (I wonder if that’s like the “juicy pain” they give you on the Aleppo-Damascus train?), “tongues salad,” and “Spresso.”

For the record, we had baba ghanouj, hummus with meat and pine, and vegetable soup. It was delicious, unlike those nasty local nuggles.

Welcome (back) to Sham

2007-05-08T06:46:00.000-07:00

Damascus received a bit of a makeover while we were gone. Specifically, they took some ugly areas of town, removed them, and replaced them with small parks.

One of these areas was the Souq Saroujah (?) near the Old City. To tell the truth, this Souq was always a mystery to me. It had the highest “unsightly hell-hole” to “proximity-to-major-tourist-destination” ratio that I’ve ever seen. Although it was technically a souq, it was not one of those charming bazaars full of atmosphere you would hope to find so near the Old City. Instead, it was a filthy, abrasive market where the vendors overcharged you for bananas.

The other place where we noticed an improvement was our very own Sheikh Saad. First, they took down the derelict wall near the traffic circle so that the small park there is visible from the street. Also, the mosque is finally complete. They put in a median with trees and some off-street parking (!). Finally, they removed the “tire district,” as we used to call it (it was actually a group of car repair garages), and put grass and trees in its place.

Whoever was in charge of making that particular decision deserves a medal. The tire district was a blight on Sheikh Saad – those car repair shops attracted large groups of leering shabaab, were the source of annoying sudden loud noises, and took up all of the sidewalk and half the street so pedestrians were forced to walk in traffic.

The only other big changes I noticed were that there is, in fact, a KFC in Damascus. I had heard this before, but I refused to believe it until I saw it with my own eyes. I sincerely hope that other fast food chains do not follow. Where else in the world today is there such a large city – nay, an entire country – without a McDonald’s, Hardee’s, or Pizza Hut to destroy its enchanting atmosphere? OK, I know there are other places without American fast food, but that is just one of the things that makes Damascus so unique and authentic. Because how foreign can a country really be when you can still biggie-size a burger and fries, or be sure of a clean public restroom? Not very, in my opinion.

Also, Amideast is closed. I have no idea of the story behind that one, but it makes me sad.

Otherwise, Damascus seems to be much as it ever was. And that is a wonderful thing.

Syria Web Album

2007-03-20T13:40:00.000-07:00

Syria

Well, it only took me two years, but I finally put up all of the best pictures from our time in Syria (2004-2005). In my defense, Google's Web Albums didn't exist until fairly recently...

Enjoy!

Still more adventures

2006-10-04T20:34:00.000-07:00

My Adventures in Tucson is up and running. See you there!

The spice of life

2006-10-04T10:05:00.000-07:00

I never saw a region take its spices so seriously as the Middle East. They sell them in bulk in open-air markets - I've always said everything is sold by the kilo in Damascus, and spices are no exception. If you want to take home two pounds of oregano, in Damascus, you can do it.

When you walk through the spice section of the souq in Damascus or in Aleppo, the aroma is almost overpowering. It's almost too much, especially because it's usually mingled with the smell of the fresh meat section just down the way, or, heaven forbid, the perfume section the next aisle over.

The vendors often create elaborate spice displays such as the ones above. These particular works of spice-y art are in the Aleppo souq.

These are the shelves at a spice shop in the Sha'alan neighborhood of Damascus. As you may recall, it's a language-learning strategy of ours to take pictures of menus so that you can memorize any unfamiliar words. I don't think we got very far with this one, though, because some of these spices aren't known to me even in English!

Here is the other side of the spice shop. In addition to the canisters on the shelves, this shop also had large barrells of spices on the store floor.

My favorite thing about this spice shop was that one of the "spices" for sale was actually Milo, that pseudo-Ovaltine drink from Nestle.

So whether it's 500 grams of za'atar or enough Milo to last you a few months, you can be sure that Syria's spice vendors can meet your needs.

Giant red ball, anyone?

2006-08-03T11:36:00.000-07:00

Aleppo is known for being more conservative than Damascus, and you can tell just by looking at the crowd. Even at just a casual glance, it is apparent that more women wear the veil in Aleppo, and when they do, more of them choose the full black covering.

This particular crowd is mingling at the souq area in the Al-Jdeide quarter of the city, not far from Bab al-Faraj.

If you're in the area, you can buy one of these huge red balls for yourself. They're only five lira, direct from China.

I find the contrast in this picture between the garish red ball and the quiet, conservatively dressed women very striking. I also remember how the busy, bustling souq atmosphere disappears suddenly and entirely as you step off the main thoroughfare into one of the cobbled sidestreets in Al-Jdeide.

You may recall that our favorite splurge hotel and restaurant are located in this area.

But whatever you do, do not take the overnight train from Aleppo to Damascus. It may only cost five bucks, but you will wake up feeling (and smelling) like you spent the night an ashtray. Trust me on this one.

Reverse music

2006-08-02T06:43:00.000-07:00

In America, large vehicles emit a beeping noise when they go in reverse to warn anyone who may be standing in their path. In Syria, they have a bit more class - when cars or buses back up, they play a catchy little tune. The tune always bothered me a little bit because although it would get stuck in my head, I never knew what song it was. I asked a lot of Syrians if they knew what it was, but no one could give me a definitive answer.

Fast forward to now. For fun, I programmed the tune into Jeremy's cell phone and made it his ring tone.

The other day we were out and about with some of the students and Jeremy's phone rang. One of the students, a girl from France, laughed and said she couldn't believe we had "Lambada" as our ringtone.

Finally, someone who knew this song! I was able to come home, look it up on the internet, and hear the original, non-monophonic version in all its glory.

Now my only question is why on earth drivers in the Middle East chose a 1989 dance song sung by a French band inspired by the native music of Brazil, Peru, and Bolivia to be played every time they put their cars in reverse.

(There are plenty of places on the internet where you, too, can watch the video and hear the song, but I won't link to them since the band is French - let's just say that their policy on displaying one's undergarments while dancing doesn't match my own.)

Today, we are all Lebanese

2006-07-18T06:07:00.000-07:00

Today, we are all Lebanese.

From Beirut to Damascus

2006-07-16T05:10:00.000-07:00

From Beirut to Damascus

It's what I miss about you

2006-07-01T12:37:00.000-07:00

After sunset in Dummar, just on the other side of the mountains from Damascus.

Some thoughts before I turn in for the night...

I miss Syria. Here are some things that I find myself missing.

I miss little white service vans and never paying more than 50 lira for a taxi, even for a ride across town. I want to eat Uncle Chips, not Mr. Chips, even if he is sleazier. I miss having a mosque on every corner. I miss the genuinely amicable relationship between Muslims and Christians. I miss the Old City! I miss gorgeous coastal scenery like this. I miss public transportation that criss-crosses the country so you can get anywhere without owning or renting a car. I miss Qadmous buses and, yes, even the obnoxious Egyptian movies they play on board. Heck, I miss Happy Journey buses, too! Or at least seeing them from the outside.

I miss Dance and Ruby and Hum-Hum and Jexy and Metro and Ugarit Cola and those Malto crackers that were always kind of vaguely disgusting but single-handedly got me through my first trimester. I miss that goofy David Beckham poster near Baramke where he's endorsing Casterol (or a similarly random product) and his name is misspelled.

I miss pining away after all those Western restaurants, like Pizza Hut and Cinnabon. I miss being excited when a new Western product showed up at the grocery stores - I well remember the day when they finally got Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. It was all my class at Amideast could talk about the next day.

I miss saying "shu" and "mu" and not feeling like I have an accent.

I miss living in a place where the guy at the corner grocery store doesn't speak English.

There's so many things that I miss. I love Jordan and I love Jordanians, but that doesn't mean I can't miss Syria and Syrians.

Our best friend, Syria

2006-06-24T01:36:00.000-07:00

I wrote about these events at the time they happened, but here are additional pictures and videos.

A week after the university rally, a city-wide demonstration took place, culminating in a pro-Syrian celebration at the stadium in Jelaat Park. As you can see, this pro-Syrian and anti-nothing (almost) march was a very jovial affair. And although we're counseled by our embassy to stay away from public gatherings such as this, Jeremy managed to go undercover and get some good photos and videos.

Unfortunately, despite a few shots from different angles, we never found out who gets Freedom, Justice, and Our Love. The last line of the poster was obscured in every one. My guess is that it said Syria or Palestine. Ten points if you can spot the mukhabarat agent in this photo (and we know they were there, because one of them approached Jeremy about taking pictures).

I don't know where the march began, but these pictures were taken as they marched down Autostrad near Kuliat al-Adab. Eventually, they wound their way up El-Eskaan and parallel streets, including "Iron Maiden" street that runs directly next to our apartment, and then up Sheikh Saad to Jelaat Park.

"Yay, Syria!" was the primary message of the day. The secondary message was "Yay, Bashar!"

I can't understand exactly what they're chanting, but it certainly has rhythm. The building in the background is one of the DU dorms, the one on which someone spray-painted "Che Vive" in big letters (what is the Arab fascination with Guevara, anyway?).

I don't know where they got this pickup truck, but I love it.

The nastiest the rally got were two signs we saw that said "Bush, Go To Hell," and "Bush, Shut Up." That was it. From my point of view, it was a tame, fun, citywide celebration of Syrian nationalism, and everyone seemed to be on their best behavior. I'm sure some of you could tell me you saw otherwise, but on the whole, it was an impressive display.

Our good friend, Lebanon

2006-06-24T01:17:00.000-07:00

Syria was an especially interesting place to be in February, March, and April of 2005 in the aftermath of Rafiq Hariri's assassination in Lebanon on Valentine's Day. That event, and the subsequent calls for Syria's complete withdrawal from Lebanon sparked a level of political activity in the country that I had not yet witnessed. Previous public displays of politics consisted of displaying President Assad's picture on one's automobile. If you were an especially fervent admirer, maybe you had a picture of his family on there, too, riding bikes in the Swiss Alps or among the tulips in Holland.

There were also very occasional (and small) anti-American demonstrations held outside a building on the north end of Jesr ar-Rais leading into Abou Romaneh, but those usually consisted of someone taping an American or Israeli flag to the road and then cheering as cars unwittingly drove over it.

But after Hariri's death, there was an upsurge in the public display of Syrian patriotism, or at least allegiance. First, there was this display of Syrian solidarity with Lebanon, held on the campus of Damascus University on 2 March 2005. Students gathered outside of Kuliat al-Adab, played music over a loudspeaker, and waved Lebanese flags around. That's as far as it went.

Something bigger was coming up, though, and it would spread farther into the city than the campus of DU.

Call to prayer

2006-06-06T23:43:00.000-07:00

The view from Jebel Qassion over the city of Damascus is breathtaking, especially as evening falls. There are so many mosques in the city that when the call to prayer comes, the intermingling of the voices of the different muezzins is eerily romantic.

All the little green lights are shining from the minarets of every mosque in the city.

Biking to Ugarit

2006-06-05T01:24:00.000-07:00

Springtime in Syria is the perfect time to travel. In the western and northern parts of the country, wildflowers are in bloom and the sun is beginning to shine reliably again. In the east, it’s not yet too hot to be exploring ruins.

One of my favorite trips we took in Syria was to Lattakia in mid-March. The Mediterranean coast of Syria is refreshing any time of year, but in the spring, the orange groves that spread across the countryside are just beginning to bloom and so the air, cooled by sea breezes, smells heavily of orange blossoms.

The historical site of Ugarit (Ras as-Shamra) is located near Lattakia. If you stay at the Blue Beach (Shaati al-Azraq), it’s even within biking distance along a pleasant, flat country road. Bicycles are available to rent for a few dollars at the traffic circle in front of the Cham Palace.
Jeremy and I went with three friends, and chose to rent a four-person bicycle to ride to Ugarit. Since there were five of us, I squeezed into the middle of the back seat and did my best to weigh as little as possible.

We started off briskly and made good time at first. Gradually, however, our excitement wore off and we realized that the 4-person bike was a piece of junk. The tires were low on air and the gears did not turn smoothly. What’s more, the metal it was made out of was really heavy, making it hard to pedal even with four of us working at it. We took a pit stop by this stork, who was tied by the side of the road, to decide what to do – there were still several kilometers to go before Ugarit.

We decided to stash the bike somewhere and take a service the rest of the way. After struggling for another kilometer pedaling our increasingly massive, awkward bike, we saw a stone building off the side of the road that looked vacant. We rode the bike over and hid it behind the building, and then caught a service to the ruins of Ugarit.

Most of what’s left at Ugarit are foundations of ancient buildings, which makes it a great place to play hide-and-go-seek or sardines. The setting, of course, is gorgeous, with the Mediterranean Sea and the mountains on the border with Turkey visible in the distance. In its prime, Ugarit was located right on the coast of the Mediterranean, but the sea’s coastline has since retreated.

After clambering around the ruins for a while, we caught a service back to the bike’s hiding place and rode it back to the rental shop, and they were none the wiser.

You would think we would have learned our lesson, but when we were in Lattakia a month later, we rented bikes again. This time, we went for single bikes, so everyone could have their own. Before setting off, Jeremy was skeptical about his bike. He pointed out to the renters that the wheels looked dry and cracked. The employee assured us there wouldn’t be a problem. But as soon as Jeremy pedaled into the parking lot at Ugarit, one of the tires popped with a loud bang.

On the way back, Jeremy flagged down a passing Suzuki truck to take him and the bike back to town and even managed to get some of his money back from the bicycle renters.

Despite all this, I would still recommend riding a bike from the Blue Beach to Ugarit. It’s a pleasant ride and a great way to stretch your legs after traveling by more traditional methods in cramped buses and services. Just don’t hold me responsible for anything that happens to you along the way. :)

Street dance

2006-05-31T12:19:00.000-07:00

While wandering around among the backstreets of the Souq al-Hamadiyya, Jeremy and I stumbled upon this gathering. It was great fun to watch - everyone seemed to be having a great time, even as they blocked traffic along the small alleyway, both pedestrian and vehicular. It looked like the groom's wedding party from a distance, but as we grew closer, we could tell that it wasn't quite the same. A bystander confirmed that it was not, in fact, a wedding dance, but he couldn't tell us exactly what it was, either. Upon closer inspection, we could see that it wasn't a groom in the center of the circle, but a water salesman.

So I'm still not sure of the occasion for celebration. Whatever it may have been, it sure was a lot of fun for everyone involved, including us onlookers.

Smells funny

2006-05-21T09:28:00.000-07:00

Here's another item hanging up at Kuliat al-Adab, except this one was put there by my husband. He saw this advertisement in a newspaper and cut it out to put on their classroom wall (it may not be there anymore).

Looking at the picture, I still can't believe this is a real advertisement for a real product. I think the fact that stuff like this exists is a small part of the charm Syria holds for me - where else does stuff like this happen? I don't mean silly English in Japan or instructions translated from Chinese. I mean a cologne, called NOSE, that has a picture of a guy's nose on it, and it's not at all disingenuous.

What's not to love?

Guessing game

2006-05-20T11:28:00.000-07:00

This French alphabet poster is hanging up in Kuliat al-Adab.

One of these things is not like the others...

Can you guess which one?

Back in the Arab world

2006-05-10T02:53:00.000-07:00

My Adventures in Jordan is up and running. Insha'allah I'll have time to update this blog, too.

Beautiful Quneitra

2006-04-29T21:00:00.000-07:00

So there's this town in the Golan Heights called Quneitra. You can only visit it by obtaining a special permit from the Ministry of the Interior (the obtaining of which is a blog post all in itself, but that will have to wait for another time). To get there, you take a regular old service to Khan Arnabah, and then wait inside a small guard shack to have your permit inspected. The guards must work round-the-clock shifts, because the shack is fitted out with sleeping bunks and a small stove.

If your permit is in order, you're allowed to proceed to the town itself, which is currently under UN administration (if you want to know more about Quneitra's history, I advise you to look elsewhere, lest I make a political statement on this blog). There, you are assigned an "interpreter," who doesn't speak a word of English. His main job is to walk you around the town and make sure you don't go anywhere you shouldn't. Ours was very friendly and helpful.

Quneitra is one of the most gorgeous places I have ever visited, which makes what happened to it even more shameful.

Here you can see bulldozed homes in front of the area's prominent hilltop, which is covered with Israeli satellites and such (our friend's GSM cell phone displayed the message "Welcome to Israel" as soon as we entered the area).

This is the hollowed-out Orthodox church. The interior has some Hebrew newspapers plastered on the walls (and some Arabic graffiti, I should add).

A panorama view of the town from the roof of the town hospital, which is quite a wreck these days.

I can't say that I enjoyed my visit to Quneitra - I don't think walking through the bulldozed ruins of a once-normal town can be enjoyed. I did, however, think it worthwhile. The setting of the town is absolutely lovely, and I can really sympathize with the feelings of those Syrians whose families come from the Golan and who cannot live there now.

A day's work

2006-04-28T21:13:00.000-07:00

Syrians are very industrious workers, and some have jobs that you just can't find in the US. Here are a few (more to come if I can dig up the pictures).

This water salesman is vending water in the center of Damascus. Some beverage salesmen have a special call that they use to advertise their service, and they also clean the water or tea glass with a nelaborate flourish after each customer. You can find the most entertaining ones in the Souq al-Hamadiyyeh. (As a side note: I know I keep mentioning this, but look at this guy's coloring! Besides his costume, he could be walking on the streets of Stockholm and fit right in!)

Grandpa and Grandson together in the Aleppo Souq. They are selling magazines, candy, and various other items.

Also in the Aleppo Souq. We asked permission before taking a picture of this woman. She assented, paused, posed, and then went on her way, all without losing her carefully balanced load.

A shopkeeper in the Souq al-Hamadiyyeh. Believe it or not, there are far glitzier stalls than this one with so much gold on display that it's almost blinding.

Crying Dima

2006-04-27T19:21:00.000-07:00

We've asked many Syrians and no one can give us a definitive answer: Why is Dima crying?

Just can't get enough

2006-04-19T11:05:00.000-07:00

A promised land of sorts: a view of Damascus from Jebel Qassioon

Well, it's official: we're going to visit Syria this summer!!!!! I spent part of the morning filling out Syria's much-improved visa application, scrambling to find those old passport photos, and mourning the loss of $300 (the visas are $100 a pop, and the baby has to pay, too). I just hope the Syrian Embassy can get our passports and visas back to us before we leave the country in two weeks.

I don't think I've mentioned it on this blog, but Jeremy, Miriam, and I will be spending the summer in Amman, Jordan. The new blog, My Adventures in Jordan, will be here. We debated for some time about whether to visit Syria while we were in the neighborhood. The problem is that the decision has to be made waaaay ahead of time since an American can't obtain a visa to enter Syria in Jordan, at least not reliably (there's always the odd report claiming otherwise). And the $300 price tag was admittedly a deterrent.

But we've decided to go for it - how can we go so close and stay away from our former home? - and I'm really excited. To tell the truth, I've felt a bit...unfaithful for planning to live in Jordan for the summer. I've been reading the new Lonely Planet Jordan and looking up Talesmag's Amman reports, and it seems like I'm doing it behind Syria's back. But now that we'll be visiting Syria as well, I think I can bring the relationship out into the open.

I can't imagine loving Amman as I did Damascus, or having comparable adventures. But I guess time will tell, and hopefully I'll have something to write about at the end of it all.

Home Sweet (Syrian) Home

2006-04-17T20:56:00.000-07:00

Let's take a tour of a Syrian apartment, shall we? This particular apartment (ours) is typical in the sense that most of our friends lived in similar dwellings, some lived in better, and some lived in worse.

Here's our front door, on the fourth and top floor of our building. As you may recall, there is no elevator, which wasn't a problem until I was very pregnant. We loved the round knob in the middle of the door - I felt like a Hobbit every time I came home. The Christmas wreath hanging over the door...what can I say? We put it up and then never took it down. If nothing else, it helped differentiate our door from everyone else's since it was not uncommon for me to become so involved in climbing the multitude of stairs that I'd go up one flight too many to the roof and panic, thinking that our apartment had somehow disappeared.

The main living area of our apartment was decorated in classic Louis XIV style, or at least that's what we called it. And believe me, this is very typical. The decor you see above and below is not even the most ostentatious to be found in Damascus. The more gilded, ruffly, and chandelier-y, the better.

The chandeliers were lots of fun. The one in the top picture had many candle-shaped lightbulbs in it, but I don't think more than half a dozen worked at any given time. If the draw on power for our building was especially strong, several of the bulbs would go out and then come on again when the power surged. The chandelier in the second living room picture hung really low. My husband and I are short, but some of our taller friends never did learn to duck when they walked under it.

If your apartment is on an upper story of your building, you probably have a balcony. Nicer apartments will sometimes have two or even three balconies. Here's the view from ours, overlooking the all-important clothesline.

The Syrian bathroom is somewhat of a curiosity, but I've stopped short of posting a picture of ours on a public website such as this. In many apartments, the bathroom is an all-in-one; that is, it's a completely tiled room containing a detatchable showerhead ("dush-telefon"), bidet, toilet, sink, and mirror in one. The best thing about this design is that it was super easy to clean. All I had to do was soap everything up and then spray it down with the showerhead. After showering, you squeegie the tile floor dry (there is a drain in the corner). The other cool feature of a Syrian bathroom is that it's often equipped with a buzzer that rings in the living area of the house. None of our friends were ever able to explain its exact function - they'd usually come up with some explanation involving a forgotten towel.

If you live in the Old City or in a country villa, your house probably looks different from ours, but now you at least know what one typical apartment is like.

Wide Load

2006-04-12T21:26:00.000-07:00

This angle doesn't do it justice, but this is a particularly precarious load on a truck on the highway from Tartus to Homs. Overloaded trucks and Suzukis are a common sight, and this load of lumber isn't the worst I've seen. We often saw tiny Suzukis loaded up with what seemed like a dozen huge, red, plastic barrels (I think they're the ones used to store water on the roof). Unfortunately, we were never able to get a picture of one.

Notice the Happy Journey bus on the right.

Also notice that the driver of the service we're in is not in any particular lane.

And in case you were wondering, yes, the truck did manage to make it underneath the bridge in the distance without losing his load.

Even more children of Syria

2006-04-07T12:23:00.000-07:00

Children playing in the courtyard of the Marqab crusader castle.

Syrians love to go on picnics, and they have ample gorgeous locations in which to do so. A group of women and children were picnicking in the courtyard of Marqab Castle during one of our visits. We asked to take a picture of the whole group, but the veiled women declined - and then happily volunteered their children for the task. :)

In the depths of the Aleppo Souq.

More unsupervised children having fun on their own in the labyrinthine souq of Aleppo. We also took a short video clip of these children talking, but I don't think they realized what we were doing since they just stood still the whole time (they probably thought it was just a still shot).

At the Cham Cinema in Damascus.

Can you guess what movie we're going to see?

Answer: it's Spiderman 2, which opened in Syria just a week or two after its American premiere. We had only been in the country for a very short time, and my impressions of Damascus were forming quickly. I will always remember the opening sequence of the movie: Tobey Maguire (in non-Spiderman form) weaves in and out of busy New York City traffic on his motorbike, narrowly missing being hit by taxis, semis, and car doors that are suddenly opened. I imagine the filmmakers wanted to convey a sense of breathless chaos as the main character rushed to deliver a pizza, but even after only a few days in the country, that scene was nothing special compared to Damascus traffic!

Exhausted after a day of sightseeing in Aleppo.

OK, so this isn't actually a Syrian outfit (jalabiyye and keffiyeh). In fact, that isn't even a Syrian kid sitting with my husband and me. It's my brother, Steven. But I think he looks like he could be Syrian, don't you?

More children of Syria

2006-04-05T10:30:00.000-07:00

This is 3-year-old Karim, the son of Jeremy's barber. He has two older brothers who helped out with their dad's work every once in a while, and "Karmo" liked to pretend that he was helping, too. In fact, he liked to pretend he was doing most anything his older brothers were, including fasting during Ramadan ("I'm fasting," he told us one Ramadan day, even as he chomped happily on potato chips).

Joseph also helped out at the local barbershop. It is not uncommon for Syrian boys and young men to get part-time work at a local shop, either with their father or someone unrelated.

This young girl was selling ice cream on a hot April day in Dura Europos near the Iraqi border in the east of Syria. Bless her heart. I think that's all there is to say.

This kid lived down the street from us, and I often saw him perched on the windowsill in the early afternoon around the time when school was dismissed for the day. I don't know if he was watching for an older sibling to come home or if his mother just needed a few moments to herself to get some things done, but he always seemed perfectly content. Sometimes, he even had a snack to munch on.

The children of Syria

2006-04-01T12:08:00.000-07:00

Syrians love families and children (remember?), and their kids are some of the cutest around. Here are some pictures and stories of Syrian kids from different areas of the country.

Schoolchildren in a small village in northwestern Syria, not far from the Dead City of Serjilla.

The school day was just ending as we drove through this village in our hired service on our way from Serjilla to Hama. They were minding their own business until Jeremy leaned out the front window and called "Hello!" in English. Boy, did that get their attention.

The bright blue uniforms are standard issue in Syria. The littlest kids even have small aprons that go over the uniform. Older children and teenagers wear darker blue suits with pink or blue undershirts.

Notice the blue-gray eyes of the boy in the bottom of the frame. Northern Syrians often have striking blue eyes and sometimes, even blondish hair. I've heard from several Syrians that this is a result of European Crusader blood mixing with Syrian blood way back when, but I don't believe it :).

Joseph and Mohammed from the Dead City of Al-Bara.

While we tramped on rich red soil through the olive groves and ruins of Al-Bara, these two young boys happened upon us and accompanied us for the rest of our visit. They had fun showing us an alternate route through the ruins to reach an enclosure of tombs not visible from our original location.

A "bicycle gang" hanging out in the Sha'alan neighborhood of Damascus.

This group of children was having lots of fun riding their bikes around the shopping streets of Sha'alan in central Damascus (notice that there is no supervising adult in sight).

In many ways, Syrian children have idyllic childhoods that no longer exist for American children. They can play outside without being supervised, they don't wear helmets and padding any time they play on something that has wheels, and they're often sent by themselves (at a very young age) to accomplish simple tasks for the family, such as buying lemons at the local fruit stand.

Shabaab-in-training in Sha'alan.

"Shabaab" literally means "youths" in English, but the word conveys so much more than that. A more accurate translation might be "guys" or "dudes." This isn't the greatest picture (especially of the boy in the middle), but what amused me was how these boys are dressed exactly like a lot of young Syrian men, just in miniature. The boy on the left is an especially good example of shabaab fashion.

Musyaf Castle

2006-03-30T15:04:00.000-07:00

A view of the town from Musyaf Castle.

The Crusader Castle of Musyaf is located not far from Hama. We visited it on a day trip from Tartous, also including in our route Safita's Keep, Hosn Suleiman, Qala'at Marqab, and ending at Lattakia.

Musyaf's main draw may be that it is associated with the Assassin (Ismaili) sect of Islam. Otherwise, it is another stunning example of Syria's wonderful ruined Crusader castles. As with many other tourist attractions in Syria, half of the appeal of Musyaf is its stunning location in mountainous countryside.

There were enough sudden dropoffs, dark chambers, and pitch-black winding passages at Musyaf to keep even my little brother happy. In the early spring, when we visited, there were also many beautiful wildflowers just beginning to bloom in the cracks and crevices of the 1000-year-old stones. While not as grand as Krak des Chevaliers, as brooding as Marqab, or as majestic as Qala'at Salah ad-Din, Musyaf is still well worth visiting if you have the chance.

Safita's Keep

2006-03-24T11:40:00.000-07:00

Safita's Keep is an imposing remnant of a Crusader Castle, the only part of the 12th-century castle still standing. On a gorgeous day last April, we took a bus to Tartous and found a service to take us to Safita. The Keep is located in a beautiful mountain village (whose name I can't remember - everywhere I've looked says the town is also called Safita, but I could have sworn it was called something else). The village reminds me of Zabadani, just west of Damascus, but a little more upscale. There's an atmosphere about the place as if everyone is on vacation and is thoroughly enjoying his or herself. Because of the elevation (even when you're not standing on top of the 27-meter-high Keep), the town is refreshingly cool and has a fresh breeze blowing through it. The views from the top of the Keep are expansive:

If the sky is clear, you can see Krak des Chevaliers.

We paid a service driver to take us from Tartus to Safita's Keep, Hosn Suleiman, Musyaf, Qala'at Marqab, and then drop us off in Lattakia. The sites were fascinating, breathtaking, almost deserted, and completely explorable, as usual, but the drives inbetween the sites were also very scenic and enjoyable.

And below the Keep, on the way out of town, there is this charming Cave. I think they meant snack bar (and, come to think of it, cafe instead of cave).

Shepherd boy

2006-03-22T21:30:00.000-07:00

We encountered this young shepherd boy at Mushabbak. He followed us around for a while and seemed to just be interested in what we were doing. One of our traveling companions, Carolyn, remarked that Americans could pay a stylist a great deal of money and not be able to achieve such a cool hairdo as this kid has.

Mushabbak

2006-03-22T21:27:00.000-07:00

The ruins of a Byzantine church called Mushabbak, located west of Aleppo on the road to St. Simeon's.

First impressions

2006-03-21T22:03:00.000-07:00

At the Omayyad Mosque in Damascus with a teacher from the University (left, in robes) and Iraqi women visiting from Baghdad.

Here's what I wrote shortly after arriving in Damascus in July of 2004. The audience was my hometown local newspaper, but for one reason or another, I ended up never submitting it for publication.

When my husband and I decided to move to Damascus, Syria, the reactions we received from friends and family were almost exclusively expressions of concern for our safety in what they insisted was an extremist, America-hating, terrorist-infested country. Granted, I had a few concerns of my own, but I was determined to give this yet-unseen country and its people the benefit of the doubt.

We flew out of PDX early on the morning of July 6th. Just two nights before, we were lounging with friends and family on the greenbelt of the Oak Hills neighborhood in Beaverton, enjoying the 4th of July fireworks display. The contrast between that mild, green, sunny day in Oregon and the drab, oppressive, dusty heat I found myself in just days later can hardly be described. I looked around Damascus and saw only unfamiliar people, dirty streets, and unfinished buildings. Where was I, and what had I done?

Gradually, however, I began noticing the elegant mosques that dotted the city. I saw beautiful women, both Muslim and Christian, with and without headscarves, dressed in all varieties of styles and colors. I grew used to the mournful, lilting tone of the call to prayer, and even learned to sleep through it at 4.30 in the morning. Most importantly, I realized that everyone who told me that Syria was a country full of extremists who danced in the streets on September 11th was, quite simply, wrong.

As a blonde-haired, blue-eyed foreigner walking through the winding, narrow streets of Old Damascus, I am constantly being welcomed to the country, either by a pleasantly accented “Welcome!” or “Welcome to Syria!”, or just the Arabic “Ahala wi Sahala!” Upon engaging in conversation, Syrians are surprised to find out that I’m from America, and living here. “Our governments are not friends,” they say wearily, but are quick to add that they love the American people. Next, they are endearingly eager to find out if I like Syria. An affirmative response usually earns another enthusiastic ahala wi sahala or two.

Damascus is absolutely crazy, with cars, minivans, trucks, motorbikes, bicycles, pedestrians, and horse-drawn fruit carts all trying to navigate the same roads, which are often not divided into separate lanes. Battered old minivans (called servees in Arabic) go all over the city and will give you a ride for 10 cents. The city gets crazier every day, but I think I’m growing crazier right along with it. The things I used to marvel at last week I now find myself doing—like navigating a 7-way, 4-lane traffic circle at night, on foot, weaving in and out between cars that may or may not stop for me.

My husband and I live not in an isolated diplomatic compound, but in a normal apartment in a predominantly Muslim part of the city. In the evenings, the sidewalks (and streets) are jammed with people – families, young children running around alone or on bikes, and groups of young men and young women. Shopping for everyday goods is not a daytime chore left to one member of the family, but a time in the evening for the whole family to go out together. Syrian society is largely family-oriented, and trusting and mindful of others, even foreigners. If there are no more seats on the servees, the driver will flag down another one for me. If the driver doesn’t hear me call out my stop, the other passengers pass on the message. If I’m short on money for a purchase, storekeepers often let me go with a smile and a promise to bring the rest of the money by another day.

I found a job teaching English courses at an organization called Amideast. My students are Syrian teenagers. For some of them, I’m the only American they’ve ever met. They ask what Americans think of Syria and its people and I can only say that we are often uninformed – or worse, misinformed. They speak heatedly about their frustration with their image in the western world. One female student pleaded with me to tell people what Syria was really like. “Tell them we’re not terrorists,” she said, “tell them we were sad on September 11th, too.”

So now I’ve told you. The warm, loving people of Syria have taken me into their homes and hearts to show me that there is often a difference between mainstream media representations and the truth, a difference between the perceptions of a faraway land and reality in the country itself. I’ve learned that there is a difference between a wholesome religion with millions of members worldwide and those few who would manipulate its teachings. And there is certainly more to a country, be it Syria or America, than politics, sanctions, and misunderstanding. There are people who are willing to put aside differences between governments and embrace a fellow human being.

Some recommendations

2006-03-17T21:48:00.000-07:00

This kind of thing is really my husband's job (see his blog), but I thought I'd mention a few websites about Syria that are worth visiting.

Creative Syria is difficult to do justice to in words. Just check it out. Gorgeous pictures and lots of focus on the, well, creative. The softer side of Syria.

Syria Planet was created by some enterprising bloggers in Syria. It's basically a conglomeration of all the Syrian blogs out there, and believe me, there are tons. When I started blogging back in January 2005, there were maybe a dozen blogs out of Syria; now, there are many. I believe this is a good thing.

The Damascene Blog. Ayman hardly needs the publicity, but you've gotta love his blog. Check the archives for thoughtful photo commentaries.

Edited 21 March to add: Apparently, the photo archives are located at a slightly different URL, a distinction I failed to note above. My apologies.

The Syria News Wire is good for news about Syria when BBC and CNN only give you a paltry, detail-sparse paragraph.

Real Post Reports is a wonderful resource if you're a foreigner looking for information about day-to-day life in a specific city in the world.

Sorry for the outburst, but I just had to share. :)

Happy Journey

2006-03-17T20:39:00.000-07:00

After being in Syria for only a week, my husband and I traveled with some other students to the ancient ruins of Palmyra in the eastern part of the country. Above, you see the bus we rode in. We liked to call these buses "Happy Journey" buses, because that's what was usually written on the side of the bus, as you see below.

These buses were always garishly and creatively decorated, and they never spelled "Happy Journey" quite right. The bus above has chosen the particular incarnation of "Happy Jerny."

The 5-hour trip from Damascus to Palmyra takes you through the middle of nowhere, across a striking, windswept, slightly hilly desert landscape with no signs of life but the occasional Bedouin tent or flock of sheep. There is, however, one pit-stop about halfway along the route: a place called, inexplicably, the Bagdad Cafe (original spelling preserved). The Bagdad Cafe looks simple on the outside, but the inside is an ornately decorated living room with beautiful traditional artwork and handicrafts for sale, as well as the usual Ugarit Cola and Ruby candy bars.

We pulled in front of the Bagdad Cafe in our Happy Journey bus just ahead of a bus full of French tourists. They weren't in a Happy Journey bus, though. Their bus looked more like this, a modern luxury coach (below is a picture of my little brother in front of a Qadmous bus at a pit-stop on the way to Aleppo):

I'm sorry to say we felt ashamed of our little Happy Journey bus with its plastic bunches of grapes hanging over the dashboard. But we certainly didn't get away with not being noticed - the French tourists flocked around the bus, exclaiming at the kitschy-ness of it all. A few were even laughing and taking photos in front of it.

I guess I can't blame them. The Happy Journey buses are quite a sight to see.

Cotton candy salesman

2006-02-28T17:51:00.000-07:00

Near the end of my pregnancy, my husband and I went walking almost every day. Our favorite route was up Sheikh Saad until it became some other street with an actual sidewalk, past Jellaat Park, around City Mall, and back. The cooler evening hours always brought lots of families and children to Jellaat Park, where vendors gathered to sell various snacks and treats. As in many other parts of the city, there were always guys selling fresh corn-on-the-cob from huge vats of boiling water. The guy in the picture was by Jellaat Park almost every evening, selling cotton candy to the kids.

Adventures in Lebanon

2006-01-31T17:15:00.000-07:00

When I tell people that I've lived in Damascus, the first thing they ask is if I was scared. I'm always happy to tell them that it's the safest place I've ever lived, and that I was never scared - except for this one time...

At the end of Ramadan, there is a three-day holiday called Eid. Everything shuts down so that people can celebrate the conclusion of the month of fasting. Since Jeremy had a few days off of school, we went to northern Lebanon to visit the ruins of Ba'albek. In addition to being a modern-day town that serves as the seat of the Hezbollah political party (or terrorist organization, depending on your point of view), it is also the location of some spectacular ruins that I have been very anxious to visit.

We spent the night in Beirut at a friend's house and left semi-early the next morning for Ba'albek. We shared the taxi ride with an elderly Lebanese woman who was going to a small town 20km short of Ba'albek. After a stern lecture on the importance of not saying anything bad about Hezbollah while we were in the area, the taxi driver dropped her off in her village and then wound through the town to get back to the main highway, with we two Americans being the only remaining passengers.

First of all, it's always a little uncomfortable when I realize that I'm the only unveiled woman in town, on top of being the only foreigner. This only happened a couple of times - once in a friend's neighborhood in Aleppo where every girl above the age of 7 or 8 was veiled, and another time or two in various remote areas of the country. But this town was definitely conservative.

So I was already feeling a little uncomfortable, or at least conspicuous (that's probably the better word for it). Then, you have to understand that, as mentioned above, this particular area of Lebanon has a heavy Hezbollah presence, as the posters, flags, banners, Dome-of-the-Rock miniature replicas, and colored, sloganed arches indicated. Although their days of kidnapping Americans appear to be over, Hezbollah's relationship with America is not a good one.

Lastly - and this is the part that scared me - every kid in town was playing with a toy gun in the street! What's more, these toy guns appeared to actually be able to shoot pellets or something out of them, and the kids were having lots of fun shooting at each other. It was extremely unsettling. I was sure at any moment that a kid would spot us and think it was fun to take a shot at the foreigners. And I'm not just saying that they'd do it because they're Arab - kids all around the world are known to do stupid things like that without thinking of the (potentially painful for me) consequences. We rolled up the car windows and tried not to make eye contact as they engaged in mini-guerilla-street-warfare. Again, I'm not saying anything pejorative about these particular children. American kids used to play games like that (think Cowboy and Indian) until it became politically incorrect and too "dangerous" to do so.

In retrospect, I wouldn't be surprised to find out that we are the only Americans who have ever been to that little village, and I don't think we'll ever go back. Somehow, we made it back to the highway unscathed, and continued to Ba'albek. It was an absolutely amazing place. The biggest columns in the world are there. To give you an idea of how big these columns were: to get the entire columns in the frame of a picture, we had to set the camera on its tripod so far away that the self-timer didn't give Jeremy enough time to make it over to be with me in the shot. That's what's going on in the picture above.

To finish the story, on the minibus back to Chtoura (where we could get a ride back to Damascus), we met some nice Lebanese guys who talked with Jeremy. He asked them about the children playing with toy guns and it turns out that it was just for the holiday, Eid. In other words, young children in that town don't usually play war games in the streets with pellet guns. They laughed at us when they realized that's what we had thought. And sure enough, when we got back home to Damascus, our landlady's son was doing the same thing with his friends in the alley by our apartment.

And that's the story of the only time I ever felt scared in the Middle East.

A random thing I miss about Syria

2005-12-27T22:29:00.000-07:00

There is one thing (among others) that I miss about Syria. I wish, sometimes, that when in public I could just pass off my baby to a stranger for a moment or two, like you can in the Middle East. People there are always happy to help out with a little one, whether it be handing them into a service van or helping a mother balance an armload of groceries with a small child. Here in America, it's just not done, at all. We're far too paranoid that someone will run off with or somehow harm our baby if we let them hold her.

In Damascus, I saw a mother pass her toddler through the window of a service van to the man sitting in the passenger seat, a total stranger. Her husband was the driver of the service, apparently, and it was his turn to babysit. But in the meantime, the child was content to sit with the unknown man, and the father was content to let him. I've also seen young children (but not very young) put in a taxi by themselves, the parent giving the fare ahead of time to the driver and telling him where to drop the children off. Once, when we traveled by bus to Aleppo, the bus stopped at a rest area for a few minutes. In the women's restroom, one mother handed her baby to another woman to hold while she used the facilities. I would never dare do such a thing here (though I have often wished I could) for fear that the stranger would kidnap my child. Heck, I'm even afraid to turn away from my baby for a moment when changing her diaper in a public restroom.

I can hardly count the number of times I've wished I could avail myself of a stranger's help, even for just a moment. There are some things that just can't be accomplished with a babe-in-arms when in public, and since I'm not able to hand Miriam off, those things usually just remain undone.

Adventures in Jordan and Egypt

2005-11-17T15:49:00.000-07:00

My husband and I traveled through Jordan and Egypt last Christmas with his brother and sister. The journey by ferry from Aqaba, Jordan on the Red Sea to the Egyptian capital of Cairo was quite the experience. And although it doesn't take place in Syria, and therefore doesn't necessarily fit on this blog, I've decided to share anyway. It begins as we wake up on a Wednesday morning in our hotel in Aqaba on the Red Sea.

Breakfast in our hotel was like being in the Twilight Zone. We were the only customers in the entire breakfast room, and the décor was a little outdated and had lots of teal and gold in it. They had soft music playing, but after a while we realized it was actually only one song: the theme from Love Story. But instead of just repeating the same version over and over, there were a dozen different versions that played in tireless rotation. There was original Love Story, saxophone Love Story, salsa Love Story, piano Love Story, Spanish guitar Love Story, New Age Love Story, etc. Finally it drove us so crazy that we just had to leave. We were due to be at the ferry station, anyway.

Two words sum up the entire ferry experience between Jordan and Egypt: Bureaucracy and Confusion. On the Jordan side at the ferry station, nobody seemed able to give us simple instructions on where to go and what to do. Instead, there were people on all sides of us alternately demanding money, giving us documents to fill out, giving us back too much money in the wrong currency, pointing out a dozen different lines to wait in, and urging us to hurry along. It was extremely stressful. Now I know why the guidebook recommended arriving at the dock 90 minutes early. It took us that long to get everything straightened out, including paying a surprise exit tax in Jordanian dinars, when we had been so careful to spend our last ones the night before leaving the country.

At last we made it onto the ferry and settled into our seats for the one-hour ride. We met an acquaintance from BYU who, with his family, was also trying to get to Cairo, and so we made sure to stick with them. By this time, Jeremy was growing weary of being the on-demand tour guide, interpreter, and facilitator, so he sent me to a counter to secure bus tickets to Cairo (a 7-hour bus ride from Nuweiba, Egypt, where the ferry would land). I wandered over to the ticket counter and submerged myself in the mob of shouting Egyptian men thrusting fistfuls of money towards the cashier. I felt very awkward, and it was made all the worse because there was a seating area full of still more Egyptian men at my back! As a foreign woman, I’m already on display at all times, even without putting myself in their view. I did my best to hold my place in “line,” but thankfully, Jeremy came to my rescue a few minutes later. We bought bus tickets from Nuweiba to Cairo for 9 dollars each, which I thought was quite expensive. I’ll come back to that later.

In between the stresses of figuring out where to go and what to do, in the process of which we handed over our passports to an Egyptian official so that he could expedite the entry process, we had a few minutes to relax in our seats and enjoy the ride and the view. We could see the mountains of Saudi Arabia on the Red Sea’s eastern shore, and we approached the Sinai Peninsula of Egypt on the west. The mountains rise quite dramatically from the seashore – there is no gentle, hilly lead-up to them as I’ve seen in other parts of the world.

As the ferry docked, they sequestered all the foreigners into one cabin room. To our surprise, before they would let us out of the room and onto the shore, the officials demanded our passports! Of course, when we explained that we had already handed them over to another official, who was now conveniently nowhere to be found, confusion resulted. It took Jeremy yelling in Egyptian Arabic to finally get them to let us through.

We emerged out of the ferry into a mass of people and a sea of even more confusion. There were buses pulling up everywhere, and people were piling onto them. We had no idea what to do, so we followed the family we had met on the ferry. However, an official separated us and again demanded to see our passports. With growing exasperation, we explained, once again, that an official had taken them from us on the ferry. He looked suspicious, but let us get on the same bus as the other family. It pulled up to an even more crowded area of the ferry dock and let us off, with no direction as to what we were supposed to do at that point.

I’ll pause here and mention again the absolute chaos this place was in. It was as if no ferry had ever arrived at the port before, and even if one had, there had certainly been no foreigners on it. There were no signs, not even in Arabic, just a dozen concrete buildings holding various, unlabeled offices. In actuality, a ferry arrives at that dock at least twice a day, carrying tons of travelers from Jordan to Egypt. The lack of organization in spite of this was absolutely appalling.

By a combination of following the other family and asking various officials dozens of times, we managed to buy our visas. The visa official, however, needed our passports, which situation we again explained. He grudgingly gave the visa paper stamp to us separately, and we wandered from building to building before being told to wait at a specific concrete office. I cannot remember how many times we were asked for our passports in the process. I was beginning to think that they were already for sale on the black market, since every single worker seemed surprised that someone had taken them on the ferry. Finally, some dude showed up with a bunch of American passports, and we all gave a huge sigh of relief, but not before Jeremy had resorted to yelling, in Arabic, “THERE IS NO ORDER HERE!!!!!”

But there was still customs to go through, and we weaved our way through Jordanians and Egyptians toting cumbersome, metal carts piled high with suitcases, boxes, crates, and bicycles, as if they were fleeing the country forever with all of their possessions, and the possessions of all their extended family. The customs officials noticed the souvenir Damascus steel knife Sarah had in her suitcase, and started to make a fuss about it, despite the fact that it wasn’t sharpened at all. Jeremy again came to the rescue and finally convinced them that it was safe to take into the country by repeatedly and exaggeratingly attempting to slash his hand with it (it didn’t even come close to breaking the skin). This was a hilarious sight, and they laughed and let her through with it after all.

Now we had at last reached the bus that would take us to Cairo. I mentioned before that I had thought the tickets were a bit expensive at 9 dollars. However, I was comforted by the thought that this probably meant the bus would be really nice – after all, the most expensive bus ticket in Syria didn’t even cost 9 dollars, and those buses were still super nice. Needless to say, I was grossly disappointed. The bus had indeed at one time been a luxury bus, but those days were long gone. It was old and rickety, the seats were cramped and clunky, and the upholstery was smelly. I shuddered to think what a cheaper bus ticket would have brought us. The driver loaded our bags onto the bus with great urgency, as the bus was due to leave any minute. We dashed to a nearby kiosk to buy some snacks, and we each downed a can of pop before being informed that the bus would be delaying its departure for 90 minutes to wait for another ferry passenger. I panicked, powerless to stop the can of pop from working its way through my system, as I realized that there were no usable bathrooms at the ferry terminal. I was cursing Egypt already, and we still had a 7-hour bus ride to go.

I will spare you some of the details of our bus ride. Suffice it to say that they were some of the lowest hours of my life in recent memory. About 2 minutes into the ride, the driver put in a tape of unpleasant music. At first, I thought it was just a few introductory songs, but after two hours of nasal, atonal singing, it became apparent that was not the case. Sneakily, we turned off the speakers above our seats to dim the sound a bit, but the driver caught on and cranked the volume up even louder.

A little before the halfway point of the trip, the bus pulled into a rest stop, our only break for the whole bus ride. I was grateful for the rest stop and rushed in to use the bathroom. In the Middle East, you almost always have to pay to use the facilities – nothing much, just a few cents to cover the cost of toilet paper and cleaning. As I entered, I noticed they were only charging for the men’s bathroom, but not the women’s. My lucky day! – or so I thought. Once inside, I realized why they weren’t charging the women any money: surely no one had ever, ever cleaned this bathroom since its creation, and there certainly wasn’t any toilet paper. There were already a few women and a child from our bus in the bathroom, staring at the ramshackle stalls with similar horror, and I asked them what we should do. With the typical Arab female fortitude, they straightened up, squared their shoulders, and explained to Sarah and me that there was nothing else to do but use the toilets as they were. We had no other alternative.

With my mood even more dampened, enlightened albeit a little by the discovery of some fake but delicious Oreos (called Borios) for sale at a nearby kiosk, we boarded the bus again. By this time, I was terrified of drinking anything for fear of what the next bathroom would look like. For the next several hours we had to deal with people sneaking cigarettes even though smoking was forbidden on the bus. Jeremy went back once or twice and tried to find the offenders, chastising them and reminding them of the no-smoking policy. But wafts of reeking cigarette smoke kept creeping up to the front of the bus and choking us. I was at a breaking point. Over Jeremy’s objections, I marched to the back of the moving bus and demanded to know who was smoking. An older man meekly raised his hand and I berated him as best I could in Arabic for making me sick with the smoke. Then I softened and asked them to please not smoke because it made me sick, and if nothing else, to do it for God (you can say stuff like that in Arabic). Trembling with anger and nervousness at having confronted half a bus-full of Egyptian men, I returned to my seat triumphant.

Sadly, my triumph didn’t last too much longer before we smelled smoke once again, and I settled down into a resigned, strangled pessimism.

Anyway, we did eventually arrive in Cairo, dehydrated and somewhat demoralized. We said goodbye to the family who had accompanied us all this way and found a place to stay. We then ordered the most delicious food I have ever tasted – delivery from Pizza Hut. Throughout our journey from Jordan, Egypt had sunk very, very low in my favor. This hot, cheesy, western-style pizza was its first step toward making it up to me.

Halloween musings

2005-10-31T15:58:00.000-07:00

We dressed up for Halloween as you see here and went to a couple of parties. Some of the more interesting comments we received were:

Guy, to Miriam: Do you have any bombs strapped under there?

Guy #1, to me: Are you a ninja or a terrorist?
Guy #2: If she blows up, we'll know.

Guy, to Jeremy: Are you Jesus?

Guy, to Jeremy: Are you an angel?

Besides that, we got plenty of strange, even fearful looks. I know it's just Halloween, and maybe I'm overreacting, but since when is it not OK to dress up as an Arab, even a non-typical one? Since a dozen Arab men, who did not even dress like this, were involved in September 11, does that mean that the costume of "generic old-fashioned Arabian man" is off-limits? Of course, this would beg the question, was it ever on-limits? Why is it OK to wear a cowboy hat, a grass skirt, even a feather headdress, but not a keffiyeh or a hijab?

We asked a young man at the party to take our picture. He looked at us for a while and then moved away, without even saying a word. Now, I realize that it's possible that this young man had a pre-existing speech production problem that rendered him unable to respond, but I doubt it.

And we were just wearing the outfits as costumes. I'd hate to think of peoples' reactions if we wore such clothing as part of our lifestyle. It's times like these that I'm so glad to be able to tell people what Syria is really like, what Syrians are really like. I can only hope they'll have the courage to ask.

Welcome, Miriam!

2005-09-07T11:45:00.000-07:00

Miriam is saying hello!

Announcing the arrival of:

Miriam Damascus Palmer

Born Sunday, 4 September, at 16.08
7 lbs. 5 oz. (3.3 kg), 19.5 inches (49.5 cm)

Making cookies in Damascus

2005-08-31T18:32:00.000-07:00

Our non-oven.

My husband loves chocolate-chip cookies, especially oatmeal chocolate-chip cookies. When we first got married, I made the recipe from the Quaker Oats box and it was delicious. The recipe was actually for oatmeal raisin cookies, but I replaced the raisins with chocolate chips and left out the cinnamon. This is still our favorite recipe for chocolate-chip cookies.

Not long after we established ourselves in our apartment in Damascus, my husband began asking when I would make his favorite cookies. I knew it was going to be a challenge – there were a few obstacles in our path:

1. a few of the ingredients in the recipe would be hard to find, or very expensive, or both.

2. we had no cookie sheet

3. our only “oven” was really only a glorified toaster oven that came with strict limitations placed upon it by our landlady. For example, she told us (1) never to set the temperature above 200ºC, (2) never to turn both the top and bottom burner on at the same time, and (3) never to run it at the same time as the air conditioner, washing machine, or microwave. (Come to think of it, I never did ask her what would supposedly happen if we broke any of these rules...)

First, we set out to conquer obstacle #1. The basics, such as eggs, flour, white sugar, etc. were all readily available at our neighborhood stores. Vanilla was available, but only in powder form. Brown sugar, shortening, and oatmeal could be found in the city, but only at a premium price. Baking soda and chocolate chips were AWOL at every store I could think of to go to. We had to wait until the commissary at the embassy opened (an event that takes place rarely and unpredictably) to get those ingredients.

It took a few weeks to gather all the ingredients, but we managed it. Now we had to somehow acquire a cookie sheet. We weren’t very picky in our specifications – it didn’t even have to be a real cookie sheet. Any large (but not too large, lest it not fit in our tiny oven), flat piece of heatable metal would do. Our landlady, as agreed in our rental contract, took on the task to find one with great reluctance and soon claimed that such a thing didn’t exist. When I suggested a store down the street where, after an exhaustive search of my own, I had seen a metal serving tray that would work perfectly, she hesitated and finally admitted that in reality, she just didn’t want to buy anything.

I went to her apartment to discuss the situation and came upstairs with a cake pan, disgruntled but determined to be satisfied anyway. The pan was hardly well suited to baking cookies, and judging from the size of it, would only bake five or six cookies at a time. Nevertheless, we had now overcome the second obstacle.

It was time to make the cookies. I mixed up the ingredients, having lots of fun converting from American to metric measurements. I held my breath as I calculated the oven temperature, hoping that it wouldn’t be more than 200ºC. Thankfully, it worked out to be only 175ºC. After making sure that the AC, microwave, and washing machine were not in use, I put the first batch of cookies in the oven. True to my expectations, only six or seven cookies fit on the pan.

At first, I turned on only the bottom heating coil of the oven, in accordance with my landlady’s instructions. As I monitored the first batch, however, I noticed that the bottoms of the cookies were burning while the tops remained doughy and uncooked.

For the next batch, I tried turning off the bottom burner halfway through the cooking time and turning on the top one. This yielded slightly better results, but still not good enough. Sadly, after more experimentation, I came to the realization that the only way to mimic the convection action of a normal oven would be to switch the burners on and off every couple of minutes for each batch. And of course, with only a few cookies per batch, it meant quite a long period of time for me to stand sentinel at the oven, flipping a switch on and off at regular intervals.

Fortunately, my husband was very grateful every time I made cookies, and made sure to rave about how good they were for days afterward. For me, this made it all worth it.

You drive me crazy

2005-08-25T18:11:00.000-07:00

A street scene in Aleppo, Syria

This may not seem to make a lot of sense, but it’s true: I am beginning to miss the drivers of

Syria

. In order to understand what I’m trying to say, you need to understand one very important distinction: there is a big difference between a “good” driver and a “skilled” driver. Not for one moment would I call the average Syrian driver “good,” in the sense that he follows rules and is courteous behind the wheel. But you have to admit that the average Syrian driver is actually quite skilled, in the sense that they can maneuver through traffic and drive, simultaneously, both offensively and defensively.

The average Syrian driver has an impeccable feel for the exact size of his automobile, and can scrape through amazingly small centuries-old alleyways while dodging horse-drawn carts and soccer-playing children with astounding precision. There are virtually no American-style parking lots in Damascus, which means that drivers have to get creative when the need to pull over arises. Granted, their “creativity” doesn’t often extend past using the sidewalk, but you’d be surprised at the nooks and crannies I’ve seen Syrian drivers squeeze into. I’ve even seen a car or two parked in the middle of a road, in a small area where the road widened to allow for an easier right turn.

Of course, part of this vehicular flexibility stems from the fact that Syrians, in general, drive small cars. You don’t see many trucks (besides Suzukis, and those don’t count), vans, or SUVs driving around the city, and when you do, they likely have a Saudi license plate.

But most impressive to me is the average Syrian driver’s skill. American drivers just don’t measure up. Sure, Syrian drivers may drift across several lanes on the highway without signaling, but at least you can be fairly sure that they did it knowingly. Or, if not, then you yourself, as a Syrian driver driving defensively, fully expected them to make such a move. In America, inattentive driving is terrifyingly common – a driver drifting across several lanes of the freeway is most likely chatting it up on a cell phone or distracted by the in-car DVD player.

Syrian drivers are also intelligently aggressive. They know when to take chances and when to yield to the other guy. In America, I constantly find myself behind some dude driving like an idiot, apparently unfamiliar with even the most basic rules of driving, or else I’m dodging overly aggressive drivers who are just plain unsafe. And this is in the American traffic system that admittedly has dumbed down most every aspect of driving. You can hardly turn left anymore without waiting an eternity for a precious green arrow, instead of being trusted to be able to handle a yield-to-oncoming-traffic green light.

And I never thought I’d say this, but I kind of miss the traffic circles, too. True, they were usually scenes of chaos and mayhem, but somehow, people get where they need to go without waiting for a traffic light to tell them when to stop and go. In America, we spend eternities at traffic lights whose wait times are way too generously padded to favor the red-light runners. Perhaps less people would run the red light if they knew that the intersecting direction got a green immediately…

Part of the problem with the overabundance of unskilled drivers in America is that we will give a license to almost anyone. If you’re 15 or 16, have 30 bucks, and can pass a vision test and a short driving test, the local DMV will hand over a license to drive. Then, you can buy a nice car for almost nothing down – and pay for it for years to come on an installment plan – and voila! You’re on the road, driving me crazy!

A visit to Marqab Castle

2005-07-25T11:21:00.000-07:00

The castle on the hilltop

On a school holiday in the fall, Jeremy and I visited Marqab Castle, an 11^th century Crusader stronghold. We took an early bus from Damascus to Tartus, Syria, a port city on the Mediterranean. As soon as we stepped off the bus, the rain, thunder, and lightning started. Luckily, we were able to buy an umbrella from a street salesman for 2 bucks, which had broken by the end of the day. :)

This castle is a little off the beaten path, so we caught a minibus from Tartus to another small town up the coast, Baniyas. The roads were half-flooded, but the driver didn’t mind at all. He was driving so fast that we could actually feel him momentarily lose control of the vehicle each time he plowed through a deep puddle over the highway. Eventually we reached Baniyas and transferred to another minibus that would pass the village around the castle.

It was so cloudy and misty that we didn’t see the castle until we were right below it. It was very stunning. This castle was built from black basalt rock, so it has quite a different look to it than the sandy-colored castles and citadels that we’ve seen so far. It’s perched on top of a steep, green hill overlooking small villages and the Mediterranean Sea. The landscape in the coastal region of Syria is very similar to the Pacific Northwest, except without the fir trees. It was absolutely gorgeous.

The minibus dropped us off at the bottom of a dirt path leading up the hill to the castle. Fortunately, the rains had just stopped, so we started to trek up the path. At the time, we didn’t notice any other path going any other way, although we found out later that there had been.

I should mention here that our guidebook makes a brief, cryptic reference to a certain area surrounding the castle, near the castle graveyard, as being “snake-infested.” That’s all it said. So as the path gradually became less defined and we trudged through increasingly thick foliage and undergrowth, I was keeping an eye out for gravestones, or worse, snakes. Eventually, there really wasn’t any path at all, and Jeremy went ahead to break one. I was getting really nervous about the snakes – it’s not that I’m especially afraid of them, it’s just the mysterious way in which the guidebook mentioned them, with such a startling lack of details, that got my imagination going. It soon became apparent that we were going to end up doing almost a complete circle around the castle before we got to the entrance. In other words, we had somehow taken the wrong path. This also meant that I was sure we must have walked through the snake-infested graveyard at some point.

Finally, exhausted and little muddied, we reached the entrance and paid the 20 cent admission fee (the student price). The castle was very beautiful and quite romantic, in the historical sense of the word. Plus, we were the only people there. The weather had cleared up during our hike and so we had wonderful panoramic views over the Mediterranean Sea and surrounding countryside.

One of the things that I love about the sites in Syriais how untouched and un-touristy they are. There are no labels or signs, and no required route to follow. There are also no ropes or guardrails keeping you away from ancient uncovered wells or sudden crumbly dropoffs. You are simply left to explore responsibly for yourself. We found some old staircases up to the top of the castle’s tower and enjoyed the gorgeous views. In America, it seems like anything of any historical interest is roped off into oblivion so that you can hardly get close enough to appreciate it. In Syria, they let you climb all over it and really appreciate their amazing historical heritage.

By this time, it had started raining again, so we made our way down (the right way, this time, which took all of 3 minutes instead of 1 hour) and caught a minibus or two back to Tartus. We had planned to see Krak des Chevaliers that same day, but it was getting late so we decided to just see the Old City of Tartus instead. We started walking down the street towards what we thought was the sea, but Jeremy decided to ask a passerby, just to make sure. And of course, it being Jeremy, he manages to randomly ask the one guy who has lived in Ukraine for the past 10 years. He answered Jeremy’s Arabic in Russian, and when Jeremy answered back in Russian (we used to live in Moscow), he wouldn’t believe that he was American. He actually had to show him his passport to convince him. Well, this guy dropped whatever he had been on his way to do (it must not have been very important) and showed us around the Old City, speaking Russian the whole time. I have found this to be quite common in Syria - people are usually willing to put aside their own affairs to help out a stranger. A few hours later, after a thorough tour and a cup of tea (zuhurat for us), he left us at the bus station and we hopped on a bus back to Damascus, via Homs. The storm had started up again and so it was an exciting ride back home in a pitch-black, rickety bus that was packed to the brim with passengers.

After having seen many castles in Syria, I think Marqab ends up in second place, inferior only to Salah-ad-Din near Lattakia. Krak is definitely the biggest, most complete, and most famous, but there is just something about these smaller, more isolated, more romantically situated crumbling castles that appeals to our personal tastes.

We never did see a single snake, by the way, which means that all my worrying and fretting about it was for nothing!

Ramadan in Damascus

2005-07-13T21:08:00.000-07:00

Last year, the Holy Month of Ramadan was from the middle of October until the middle of November. Ramadan is a month of fasting for Muslims. They begin their fast at the pre-dawn call to prayer (often partaking of a meal just beforehand) and end it at the dusk call to prayer. Since the traditional Muslim calendar is shorter than the Western one, Ramadan falls at a different season each year. This means that the actual length of time spent fasting, while always from dawn to dusk, is not consistent. During the winter, it's from about 5am until 4.30pm. During the summer, however, it can be much, much longer (from 3.30am until 8pm, even).

I had some exposure to Ramadan in America, since BYU hosts an iftar feast each year to break the fast on the final night. But last year's Ramadan was my first time experiencing it in a Muslim-majority country. At the time, I wrote down a few of my first impressions. Here they are.

Ramadan started on the 15th of October. The night before, there was a special feeling in the air as people prepared for it. We learned only a day before if Ramadan would start Thursday (the 14th) or Friday (the 15th). Apparently, they have certain meteorologists view the moon to decide if it's in just the right stage to start the holiday (this is according to my English students and our neighbors). Of course, I’ve also heard that Syria waits for Saudi Arabia’s meteorologists to make their decision, and then makes the opposite decision. Whatever the case may be, they finally decided it would start on Friday.

After church (on Friday), we took a nap and woke up to the sounds of a live prayer going on at the mosque next door. The prayer ended just a few minutes before the regularly scheduled recorded call to prayer that comes on at about 5.10ish these days. Jeremy and I went out onto the balcony and it seemed that there was a deathly quiet over the whole neighborhood, like everyone was holding their breath. Then, the Allahu Akbar came on over the loudspeaker and we heard some little kids from a neighboring apartment clapping their hands. Almost immediately, we heard plates and silverware clanking as families began to eat. The city seemed to come alive again. Our landlady sent her son up to our apartment with some delicious food and told us to make sure to be available to accept food in the evenings during Ramadan. So we’re pretty excited about that. Since then, she’s sent up plenty of traditional Syrian salads, meat pastries, and other random dishes. Some foods are served especially during Ramadan - they often break their fast with sugary foods like dried dates to get their energy back quickly.

The next day, again right around 4.45, we managed to get into a grocery store down the street as they were closing up. They were frantically turning off all the lights and turning away customers as they closed before the break-the-fast prayer.

As we crossed the main highway (Autostrad), we saw two cops on a motorbike. One cop was driving, and the other was holding and balancing two heavily-laden bags full of takeout containers. They dropped one off for the traffic cop at that intersection and then went on their way, presumably delivering to other traffic cops at intersections all down the road. Syrians definitely take care of each other :).

We caught one of the last services heading into the city center before the roads became relatively deserted. The driver was also in a frantic/happy mood and racing to get to wherever before the prayer. The Souq al-Hamadiya was as close to deserted as I think we’ll ever see it. Only a dozen shops were open, and nobody was doing any shopping. It was an eerie sight and feeling, since Jeremy and I usually lose each other in that place among the huge, bustling crowds.

A few nights later, our landlady invited us over to partake of the iftar with them. We all sat around the table in their tiny kitchen. Her husband and two kids were very anxious to eat, telling her to hurry up putting the food on the table, even as they sat there and did nothing to help (sounds familiar)! The call to prayer went off, the dad hastily read a prayer that was posted on the wall, and then everyone dug in, quite literally. There were special foods that they eat during Ramadan, like fried pita bread with grape sauce, peach slurry, various salads, etc. It was very delicious.

I have the whole month off from work - I guess they figure that students don't learn English very well on empty bellies (and I think I agree).

In my religion, we fast all day once a month. So in some ways, I can identify with those participating in Ramadan. On the other hand, they do it all in one month, instead of being spread throughout the year. That has to be difficult after a while. In the meantime, we'll be doing our best not to eat and drink in public. Most of our friends have told us that it's not a big deal if we do, but it seems like it would be more respectful to not be enjoying food in front of people who are starving.

Performing in the dark

2005-07-13T14:51:00.000-07:00

The lights aren't working for Kazim

Plastic lawn chair seating

2005-07-13T14:50:00.000-07:00

...at the Kazim concert (see previous post)

A concert in Lattakia, Syria

2005-07-07T20:31:00.000-07:00

One of the most culturally interesting experiences we had during our time in Syria was attending a concert. Kazim As-Saher, an Iraqi-born musician whose musical style blends traditional lyrics with a modern-ish Middle Eastern sound, came to Lattakia, Syria in August 2004. If you’re American, it’s possible you’ve heard his duet with Sarah Brightman, The War is Over (a bit cheesy in my opinion, but there it is).

We took a Qadmous bus up to Lattakia the morning of the concert. We paid all of three dollars each ticket for the 4.5-hour bus ride on a pretty cushy luxury coach. Before we bought the tickets, though, we made sure to confirm that the bus was non-smoking. Besides wanting to prevent unnecessary damage to my health from breathing in secondhand cigarette smoke, I also wanted to avoid puking on my husband or other fellow passengers (I have an incredibly low tolerance for the smell of cigarette smoke). The last thing I wanted was to spend several hours in a closed environment while passengers puffed away at will. The Qadmous employee swore up and down that the bus ride would be strictly non-smoking.

For the next 4.5 hours, I choked on cigarette smoke from the driver, who chain-smoked the entire drive up to Lattakia. Apparently, the driver is exempt from Qadmous’ stringent non-smoking policy. *Sigh.*

Regardless, we arrived in Lattakia safe and sound. It was very, very hot and very, very humid. The nice thing, though, is that the Mediterranean Sea is available to cool off in. My only previous experience with swimming in large natural bodies of water had been the Pacific Ocean off the coast of Oregon. The water there is freezing and barely tolerable without a wetsuit, even in the middle of summer. But the Mediterranean is deliciously warm, and very salty. This makes it a lot of fun to swim in, since you’re so buoyant and can float with relatively little effort.

The concert was scheduled to start at 7pm, on the private beach of the Le Meridien hotel. We showed up at the gates at about 6.30 to try to get a good seat (our tickets indicated that seating was open). There was a huge crowd gathering outside the gates, which were closed. It was also very dark. We heard through the grapevine that they were having trouble getting the lights to work, and that’s what was delaying our entrance. It gradually became uncomfortably crowded in the small area in front of the gates, with more and more people arriving, anxious to be let in. The darkness didn’t help the air of confusion. Eventually, my husband carved a small space out of the crowd for me, holding people back with his body so that I could have some room to breathe. At one point, someone official opened the gates to let another official in. Bad idea: immediately, the crowd started to stampede through the small opening, pushing the gates (and the officials) aside. It was dark, crowded, and all of a sudden very dangerous. I never understood how people could be trampled to death before, but it quickly became very clear. Luckily, Jeremy managed to preserve the small buffer of space around me, and we made it through the gates safely.

From there, it was a mad dash (literally) down a path in the sand to the small stadium/stage they had set up. The “open seating” was nothing more than row after row of those ubiquitous white lawn chairs. We found a good seat in the second row and settled in for the show, which by the clock was due to start any minute. There were still no lights working on the stage.

As the seating area filled up, I witnessed something very interesting. The resourceful Syrians were going to the seats in the back rows, picking them up, and setting them up in front of the front rows. They also were filling in the aisles. I watched in a kind of horrified amusement as our second-row seat bordering the center aisle quickly turned into a 10^th- or 11^th-row seat in an aisle-less mass of white plastic lawn chairs occupied by seat-usurping concertgoers. Whoever thought of using unsecured lawn chairs for seating was probably kicking themselves at this moment.

After accepting the fact that our second-row seats were gone forever, we settled back to wait for Kazim to appear. The band was on the stage, practicing in the dark, but Kazim had yet to arrive. We took turns guessing what he would be wearing when he finally did come (I thought he would come out in all black; Jeremy guessed a tux-like outfit, and he was right). About two hours later, he finally showed up. But the lights still weren’t working.

He sang several songs in the dark, which I thought was nice of him. Eventually, they got a spotlight working, which helped. I haven’t been to a ton of concerts in America, but there were some key cultural differences that quickly became apparent (besides those that had already made themselves known). First of all, everybody sang along with every song. It was fascinating. A lot of people also had their cell phones out and were calling friends to vicariously listen to the live music over what I’m sure was a poor connection. After every song, at least a couple of people went up to the stage to offer bouquets of flowers, which Kazim generously accepted. The crowd also had fun yelling certain cheers between songs. The only one I could really catch the words to was “Buss, shoof, Kazim yamel eh!” The ladies behind us were huge Kazim fans. They had scooted their chairs up as close to the stage as possible, which meant that they were practically sitting on our laps, and felt the need to stand up every time he glanced over in our direction, wave their arms wildly, and yell “Kaaaaaaaaaaazim!” in a sing-songy voice. My husband still shudders when I say his name like that.

These same ladies also asked if they could have a drink of my water, which I had thoughtfully planned ahead to bring. This is another cultural difference between the West and Syria, which happened several times during our stay in Syria. If you’re carrying a bottle of water, it’s fair game. Sometimes, they’ll ask for a drink and then hand the water bottle back to you. Other times, it’s not clear, and they may just take the whole bottle and leave. I (grudgingly, I’ll admit) handed back my precious water but stipulated that only the girls could drink out of it. It was passed around a bit and then handed back (they’re usually careful not to touch the bottle with their mouths).

After a few hours of fantastic music, I found that I needed to visit the ladies’ room. We left our seats and waded awkwardly through the mass of lawn chairs that were now arranged so haphazardly as to be entirely without any aisle of any kind. Once out of the crowd, we asked an employee where the bathrooms were, only to find out that there weren’t any. Who would have thought that an officially organized, paid-ticket event attended by hundreds of people would have bathroom facilities? At least that’s the look the employee gave us. We managed to return to our seats, only to find that my water bottle had been commandeered by the ladies sitting behind us. My mistake to leave it behind, I guess.

We enjoyed the music for a little longer and then headed out. I had already immensely enjoyed the music, and it was getting late anyway. We could hear the concert music playing for most of the walk back to our hotel.

At the time of the concert, I had only been in the country for about a month. I often wonder if my impressions of the experience would have been any different if I had gone to the same concert near the end of our stay in Syria. Many of the things that I found to be a little shocking at the time have now become quite normal and even expected of others – or even myself. I’m not sure whether to feel ashamed or proud of that…

Two additions

2005-07-02T19:19:00.000-07:00

My parents, who visited us in Syria in March and April, pointed out two more "You know you've been in Syria too long if..." items:

You know you've been in Syria too long if...

...you have learned the hard way not to even attempt to put on a seatbelt in a taxi (and possibly ruined a good white shirt in the process).

...you've recognized a strange epidemic among taxi drivers - it seems that they have more than their share of misfortune in the form of a sick wife, high medical bills, and 10 or 15 children.

What's next?

2005-07-01T16:59:00.000-07:00

Well, we're back in the USA now. I haven't really decided what to do about this blog. It would almost break my heart to let it stagnate, but there aren't too many adventures to be had in the US. I think I still have at least a few posts left in me about things that happened while we were still in Damascus, so I'll probably end up posting those over the next little while.

Meanwhile, my husband is having a hard time not saying "salamtuk" when the cashier asks him if he needs anything else (in Arabic, you can say salamtuk/ik in response to such a question, meaning that the only other thing you want is that person's health. Quite a nice expression, in my opinion).

You know you've been in Syria too long if...

2005-06-28T08:55:00.000-07:00

We leave Syria tomorrow. As we attempt to cope with the idea of returning to the land of emissions controls and awkward public transportation systems (America), my husband and I came up with a short list of “You Know You’ve Been in Syria Too Long If…”

You know you’ve been in Syria too long if…

…you plan the events of your day around when you will take a shower or do the dishes in order to heat up the hot water in time.
…you know what a VCD is, and you use them as a main source of entertainment.
…you’ve lost the motivation to read, even in English.
…you know just when to speak Arabic like a person from Shagur.
…you’ll never be satisfied with Jamba Juice again – it’s all about Damascus juice shops!
…you have become an expert at entering or exiting a service while it is still in motion.
…before you came, you were not a fan of the Bush administration, and now you are even less so; or, before you came, you were in favor of the Bush administration, and now are even more so.
…you can predict the exact moment in a conversation when the phrase “We love the American people, but we hate the American government” will come up.
…you know that those guys in suits standing along the side of the roads in Malki are packing heat. Bonus points if you’ve actually seen the gun underneath their suit coat (also bonus points if you have ever spotted a guard hidden in the foliage near the approach to the Presidential Palace).
…you get excited when an American movie debuts at the Cham within 3 months of its US release date.
…you a) feel bad for not being married to your girl/boyfriend, b) want to find someone to get married to, or c) feel bad for not having children and find yourself wanting to.
…during the summer, you subconsciously scowl when you see a gas-guzzling Suburban on the streets of Damascus bearing a Saudi license plate.
…you’ve come to appreciate the beauty of those rolling fields in the countryside dotted with black plastic bags.
…(on long distance buses): don’t mess with the assistant driver. Enough said.
…you expect things not to turn out as planned.
…you no longer flinch at the sound of loud explosions.
…you curse yourself for trying to get public transportation on a Thursday or a Saturday night.
…you’ve accepted that quality bookshops are a thing of the past.
…you’ve learned to drive while successfully seeing past various dashboard and windshield obstructions such as large, fake bunches of grapes or full-size hanging stuffed animals.
…you wave on a decrepit-looking taxi in hopes that one with a less sunken-in back seat will come by.
…you find yourself getting the same total amount of sleep, but in shifts from 2am-8am and then 3pm-5pm.
…you don’t go to bed until the neighbors do.
…you purchase fruit from a horse-drawn cart.
…you get really excited when your dial-up connection actually achieves a 50.6 Kbps speed.
…you don’t really notice that there are men around you holding hands or interlocking arms.
…you’re a man and you know the feeling of being kissed on the cheek by an Arab with a 5-o’clock shadow and scratched by the beard stubble (my husband finally understands what it’s like!).
…the names Nancy, Ruby, Haifa, and Elissa have taken on new meaning for you.
…you’ve learned not to call policemen “ustaaz.”
…you find yourself watching BBC for entertainment, or, if you are a man, Oprah/Buffy/Angel.
…you can singlehandedly work out everyone’s change on a service before handing it over to the driver.
…you find yourself hoarding small change.
…when haggling at the market, you find yourself arguing over 5 lira.
…you no longer notice the hoarse shouts of the sundry salesmen who hawk their wares outside your apartment. Bonus is if you actually understand what they’re saying.
…you have finally learned how to sleep through the pre-dawn call to prayer (we’re still working on that one).

And finally, you know you’ve been in Syria too long if you’ve become a nicer person (the friendliness of the population having rubbed off on you).

Our friendly neighborhood grocer

2005-06-25T11:54:00.000-07:00

Walking home up Sheikh Saad this evening, we ran into our neighborhood grocer, Abu-Fahad. For a moment or two, I didn't recognize him out of context, but fortunately we recalled in time to say hello. After he passed, I realized that I had never once seen his entire body. What I mean is, I've never seen him out from behind the grocery counter. I had no idea if he was fat, skinny, or even short or tall, really. He has always been 3/4 covered up by the sales counter.

The grocery store he runs is amazing. It's about the size of a walk-in closet, if even. It certainly isn't even as big as a 7-11 or other convenience store in the US. And yet, he has everything. If you don't see it, ask for it, and he'll rummage around in the back or under the counter until he finds it. He also is quick to pick up on his customers' tastes. When we first moved in, he only carried certain kinds of crackers and candy bars. I don't know if he went through our trash or what, but gradually, he started carrying the kinds of snacks we liked. He also has learned to stock up on fresh milk - he used to run out all the time, but now he must have upped his order to accommodate our milk-drinking habits.

Sure, he doesn’t necessarily have a wide variety of brands – there’s usually only one kind of each product. But that means less indecision for us. In the US, trying to decide which kind of yogurt to buy can become a complicated ordeal when you have to choose between no-fat, low-fat, normal fat, light, low-carb, sugar-free, creamy, custard-style, drinkable, fruit-at-the-bottom, pre-stirred, extra calcium, 4 oz., 6 oz., 8 oz., etc. And that’s just within a certain brand, and besides the flavor. I think I’m happy to let Abu-Fahad make those kinds of decisions for me.

Unattended street kiosk?

2005-06-19T08:40:00.000-07:00

My husband took this picture outside the gates of Kuliat al-Adab (the College of Literature) at the University of Damascus. At first glance, it might look like the vendor has left his wares unattended, but look closer. There's actually a young boy handling the booth. This is very common in Syria - if Dad wants a lunch break, he'll often put Junior in charge for an hour or two. Sometimes, "Junior" is very, very young (we've seen kids as young as four or five making complicated transactions with customers involving multiple items, change, etc. One even had been trained to ask for smaller change!).

Cold showers in a do-it-yourself country

2005-06-16T03:17:00.000-07:00

Just a few of the bells and whistles that keep our apartment running smoothly...usually.

We ran out of mazzot on Saturday, so it’s cold showers from here on out. Mazzot is the fuel used to heat up water in your house. If you have a radiator heating system, it’s also used to heat the water that runs through the radiators. Rather than being an integral part of your apartment’s utility system, mazzot is usually stored in a separate tank on your roof, and you have to fill it up manually. That is to say, you call a guy and he fills it up manually. Tanks vary in size and the length of time the fuel lasts depends on how much you use it – you turn on the system by flipping a switch in your apartment. The more often you have that switch on, the faster the fuel will run out.

So we’re back to cold showers again. When we got here last summer, the mazzot tank in our apartment was empty. We didn’t bother filling it up yet since it was so hot. To give you an idea of how hot it was, let me explain that I am by no means a “cold shower” person. In fact, I am one of the most “hot shower” people I know. So for cold showers to be acceptable to me, of all people, should tell you how hot it gets here. When autumn finally came, we broke down and filled up the mazzot tank. I can still remember experiencing the miracle of hot water coming from a tap for the first time last September.

All of this has reminded me of something I quickly learned about Syria. The first thing I learned about Syria is that everything is a surprise. But the second thing I learned is that this is very much a do-it-yourself country: some assembly may be required. For example, in Syria…

…elevators are rare. If a building has less than four or five floors, there is usually not an elevator. Do it yourself and walk up the stairs! Take our building, for example: we live on the fourth floor (it’s the top floor). Thus, there is no elevator. Believe me, I’m having more and more fun heaving my pregnant self up four flights of stairs in the increasing summer heat. It’s enough to not want to leave the house :).

…automatic clothes dryers are nonexistent. Do it yourself and hang up the laundry on a clothesline. In the summer, the clothes on one end of the line will probably be dry by the time you get to the other end. I don’t think the electrical system in this country could handle automatic dryers, anyway.

…door-to-door trash collection does not happen. Take your trash out yourself to the nearest dumpster. Sometimes the dumpster is located conveniently on a nearby street corner. Other times, it disappears for weeks and you’re stuck hauling your garbage half a mile down the street. And you can forget about recycling. If you cringe every time you throw a water bottle away, the best you can do is take it yourself to a local street salesman – you know, the one who took you aside one day and told you he’d like you to bring him all your used bottles (they can turn them in for money).

…there is no door-to-door mail service. Granted, letters sometimes manage to make it to a residential destination, having been wedged in the crack of your door during your absence, but this is a rare exception. If you want to receive mail, you get a post office box, and go there yourself to pick it up. The same routine applies for sending out mail. (I wouldn’t mention this except that our friends in America never quite believe us when we tell them we don’t have an address. Really, we don’t.)

…a hot shower or hot water to do your dishes has to be a premeditated act. As I mentioned already, hot water has to be heated in advance by flipping a switch in your apartment. If you think you might want a shower in an hour or so, you had better turn on the switch now or you’ll be left in the cold. Also, don’t forget to turn it off, or you’ll have wasted precious mazzot fuel (or find yourself doing miscellaneous chores that require hot water just to use what you’ve inadvertently heated up).

…central heating is a forgotten luxury. Your apartment probably has a radiator heating system. First, turn the lever that opens the pipes that lead to the radiator system. Then, open up each individual radiator in every room by turning the dial on the side. Finally, turn on the hot water. Repeat the process in reverse when you’re finished, or you’ll find that the unused spare bedroom is toasty warm while you’re freezing in the living room.

…you light the stove and oven by yourself. There’s no handy mechanism to do it for you automatically. Light a match, turn on the gas, gather up the courage to bring the lighted match close to where the gas is coming out, and a flame should jump up.

…pistachios don’t come salty and green. Rather, you buy them fresh and peel off their fleshy outer layer first. Then you come close to breaking your fingernails trying to open up the hard inner shell. The soft nut inside, although it tastes completely different from its sanitized American version, is still quite delicious. You can also get roasted pistachios from nut sellers, but they’re still not green.

…you manage your cell phone plan by yourself. There’s no automatic renewal of your month’s minutes – you do it yourself and recharge your plan before you run out of time. If you forget, you’ve lost any remaining minutes and maybe even your phone number.

…if you have a job, you can forget about mindless, automatic direct deposit every month. Instead, you fill out your own time sheet, turn it in by yourself, and then insist, if necessary, on getting paid.

…there is no medical insurance system here. In my personal opinion, this is one do-it-yourself that I really appreciate. Rather than deal with bureaucratic insurance companies and inflated prices, medical care in Syria is simply affordable. If you need to go to the doctor, you just go – there’s no waiting for approval or referral or authorization. Sure, you pay your own costs yourself, in cash, at the time of service, but it usually works out to be far cheaper than paying a hefty monthly premium.

…you monitor the status of your passport and visa by yourself. There are no helpful letters or reminders to tell you when you’re running out of time – you keep track of it by yourself. In fact, since every country in the Middle East insists on taking up a page-and-a-half in your passport for each entry and exit, you might run out of room. And when you do, or even when the passport official has to flip more than two or three pages to find a space, you can expect a scolding.

…it’s up to you to figure out which light switch does what. I firmly believe that there are at least three times as many light switches in existence in this country than there are uses for them. A couple of the rooms in our apartment have four or six light switches in them. Invariably, only one or two of them actually do anything. It’s always fun to watch guests come over and fumble through row after row of light switches, just trying to find the one that turns on the light in the bathroom.

…refrigerators often don’t regulate their own temperature very well. We are constantly having to manually adjust the temperature setting on our refrigerator and freezer, and it’s still never quite right. One night, everything in the fridge will freeze, so we have to throw out any ruined food and turn the temperature up. The next morning, we wake up and everything in the freezer is soggy and defrosted. Sigh.

…there are no garbage disposals. Surprisingly, this is one of the things that I miss the most. Scooping soggy handfuls of icky potato peelings or pan scrapings from the kitchen sink drain every day can become more of an annoyance than you think. I miss being able to just shove everything down the drain, flip a switch, and not worry about it.

The good thing about living in a do-it-yourself country is that it builds character. It also builds an appreciation for the many modern conveniences we do have.

A few of our favorite things - Syrian restaurant

2005-06-14T02:37:00.000-07:00

Having lived in Damascus for a year now, my husband and I have acquired quite a few “favorites” around the city (and country). There are certain restaurants, patisseries, and shops in Damascus and elsewhere that have endeared themselves to us with their friendly workers, pleasant atmosphere, and top-notch products. Here are a few.

Our Favorite Restaurant

The non-restaurant part of Beit Wakil's courtyard

Unfortunately, our favorite restaurant is not located in Damascus. It’s in Aleppo, in the northern part of

Syria

. As I mentioned before, it’s just around the corner from our favorite hotel in

Syria

, Dar Zamaria Martini, down a quiet lane in the Al-Jdeide quarter of Aleppo.

The dining atmosphere is very authentic, and like every other hotel and restaurant in the area, it’s located in a beautifully restored 18^th-century courtyard home. There’s a fountain in the center of the courtyard, draped with some kind of fragrant trees (lemon, maybe?). The food is the best Syria has to offer, with a few Aleppan specialties thrown in. Our favorites are the appetizers, of course, like hummus and muttable. They also have delicious roasted vegetables, like eggplant and zucchini. For a main dish, I love their shish tawouk. It’s highly seasoned and just burned enough for my taste. If it’s available, we order one of their specialties, eggplant kebab. There are so many flavors, colors, and textures in this dish that I can hardly begin to describe them. I’m not even a big fan of kebab, and I still love this dish. If that’s not available, Jeremy goes for their other specialty, cherry kebab. This is an Aleppan dish – kebab meat cooked in a deep red cherry sauce. Otherwise, you can always try their stuffed fried casings, which is basically a fancy way of saying seasoned lamb sausage. I’ve never had it, but Jeremy says it’s pretty good. At the end of all this, you’ll find yourself paying just a few dollars (probably around 5) per person. What more could you ask for?

Beit Wakil is also a boutique hotel similar to Dar Zamaria Martini, though we’ve never stayed there. They have a similarly gorgeous courtyard setting, but they’re not as willing to give discounts on the rooms.

A few of our favorite things - splurge hotel

2005-06-14T02:00:00.000-07:00

Our Favorite Hotel to Splurge On

When you’re traveling, hotels are usually just a place to rest for a few hours before you’re on the road again. But once in a while, a hotel can become an enjoyable part of the destination itself. Whenever we go to Aleppo (and are not just passing through quickly), we try to stay at our favorite hotel in

Syria

, Dar Zamaria Martini. It’s located in the beautifully serene Al-Jdeide quarter of Aleppo, in three converted 17^th-century courtyard homes. The bustling cobblestone streets quiet down in the evenings and a night’s stay includes a delicious breakfast in one of the restored courtyards. Since we have a Syrian residency permit, we can stay at the hotel for half of the foreigner rate. But Jeremy is usually able to negotiate a significant discount on top of that price, so we end up paying $40 to stay in a unique four-star boutique hotel. The best part is that our favorite restaurant in

Syria

(Beit Wakil) is just around the corner, which means that staying at Dar Zamaria can end up becoming a wonderful vacation in and of itself.

A few of our favorite things - Crusader castle

2005-06-13T08:14:00.000-07:00

Our Favorite Crusader Castle

Syria is rich in ruined castles. The most famous one is probably Krak des Chevaliers, located on a beautiful plain between Homs and Tartus, within sight of the mountains of Lebanon. Our favorite, though, is Qala’at Salah ad-Din, just outside of Lattakia.

The ruins are not nearly as complete as Krak, but the crumbling stone walls and overgrown interior areas are evocative and romantic in their own way. Its location is also more dramatic: it’s perched on top of an “island” that rises dramatically from the surrounding forest and valley. The castle walls encircle the entire top of the ridge.

To get there, you have to take a taxi from the nearby village of Al-Haffa. The road winds down a steep ravine, crosses a small creek, and then winds all the way back up. Despite the elevation climb, there’s more to do: once you reach the parking lot, you still have to walk up a long, steep staircase to reach the entrance. The entrance fee is something like 15 lira for students (probably 150 for non-students). Then, like at all Syrian historical sites, you’re free to explore. No guides, no marked routes, very few signs, and no restrictions. This is a refreshing change from the American stay-behind-the-rope-and-observe-from-afar style of tourism, but it also means that you have to watch your step to make sure you’re not about to fall into an ancient well. The best view to the east is from the top of the keep. You can also look straight down the sides of the castle hill, which is dizzying.

On the other side of the ridge, the castle descends into an overgrown area that was once the residential area of the castle. Guide books claim that it is inaccessible, but we proved them wrong on a recent visit. From the lower, western part of the ridge, you can cut through the brush and find a rock outcropping to sit on and enjoy the view.

Syrian tourist sites are rarely busy, and Qala’at Salah ad-Din is no exception. Sometimes you’ll run into a school group or two, but they usually make their rounds fairly quickly and then the castle is left to you alone. Even if there are quite a few visitors there when you go, the grounds are big enough that it is still possible to lose yourself in some forgotten corner of the ruins. We’ve been there several times throughout the year; in my opinion, the best time to go is in late February or early March when the flowers are just beginning to bloom, the sun is shining but not hot, and crowds are nonexistent.

A few of our favorite things - clothing store

2005-06-13T07:27:00.000-07:00

Having lived in Damascus for a year now, my husband and I have acquired quite a few “favorites” around the city. There are certain restaurants, patisseries, and shops in Damascus that have endeared themselves to us with their friendly workers, pleasant atmosphere, and top-notch products. Here are a few.

My Favorite Clothing Store

This is the store where I bought my first maternity clothes. The top floor is all maternity clothes; the bottom floor is their normal collection. The fashions cater to veiled women, which means that most of the clothes are very modest and comfortable. Everything is Syrian-made and the salesmen, although they are all male, are very nice.

The window display in this particular picture isn’t the best representation of their cutest clothes, but it’ll do. Alrez is located right next to Tutti Frutti (see juice shop entry) on Sheikh Saad. They also have a store inside of City Mall (Queen Center).

A few of our favorite things - patisserie

2005-06-08T12:35:00.000-07:00

Our Favorite Patisserie (The Parfait)

When my husband came to Damascus for the first time, it was in the spring of 2001. He and the group of BYU students he was with stayed in a place called Medinat es-Shebaab, “Youth City.” It was a glorified hostel of sorts: 4 people to a room, breakfast served in a dingy canteen, and one phone line for the whole building (which made phone calls home to his girlfriend inconvenient, to say the least. I should remember – I was that girlfriend). After a few days, he got sick of eating boiled eggs and flatbread every morning for breakfast, and set out in search of something new. He found a place around the corner called Barfait – The Parfait in English.

It’s a patisserie, which is more than a bakery but less than a café. They sell all kinds of pastries, cakes, and ice cream, as well as sundry little delicacies whose names I don’t know. From then on, Jeremy ate croissants at the Barfait for breakfast. When we came back to Damascus 3 years later – together and married this time – he took me to this favorite old haunt. Many members of the staff were the same, and a few even remembered him from years before. Jeremy had already raved to me about their ice cream and pastries, and I quickly fell in love with them, too.

Our favorite thing to get is just a cup of ice cream: three scoops with whipped cream, or four scoops without, for 25 lira. They have tons of different kinds of ice cream and they’re all delicious. We usually end up getting some combination of chocolate, strawberry, lemon, and vanilla ice cream with chunks of cake in it. If we’re in the mood for a snack, we love their jibnes – it’s what we call their sesame rolls with melted cheese in the center. They also have delicious mini pizzas and croissants with various fillings. For special occasions, we like to order a two-flavor ice cream cake for 500 lira. The chocolate and strawberry version is heavenly, and serves a lot of people (while still leaving enough leftovers for Jeremy and me to enjoy the next day).

If you’re in Damascus for any length of time, you simply must go to Barfait. It’s a prime example of a bustling, Syrian-owned business with excellent, friendly service and high quality goods. Their clientele is very mixed – you’ll see anyone from normal Syrian families out for a treat to fashionably dressed women picking up elaborate party trays. Of course, there is no real address for me to give you, but I can tell you that it is located down the street from (to the east) the United Colors of Benetton store in Mezze Sharqie. It’s pretty famous, so if you ask anyone in the area, they should know where it is.

A few of our favorite things - juice shop

2005-06-08T11:57:00.000-07:00

Our Favorite Juice Shop (Tutti Frutti)

One of our first days in Damascus, we set out to explore our neighborhood. As we made our way down the street, we noticed two other foreigners walking around. They were from Holland, I think, working here in Damascus. They pointed out to us this juice shop, and said it was the best juice shop in Damascus. We never saw them again, but we are eternally grateful to them for showing us Tutti Frutti, which has since become our favorite juice shop. Their juice and smoothies are so good that I can hardly stand to patronize any other shop in the city. The first time we went in, we took a picture of the menu to take home and study (there are some funky fruits available here that we weren’t familiar with). Our favorite things to order are a milk/banana/strawberry smoothie (40 lira), a milk/banana/Nutella smoothie (35 lira), or just plain, fresh-squeezed orange juice (35 lira). If it’s a special occasion, we sometimes order one of the most expensive things on the menu (and split it): a gigantic glass of blended milk, banana, and Nutella, with chopped pistachios, sliced bananas, and Kit Kat chunks distributed throughout (75 lira). They also have plenty of other elaborate fruit salad/smoothie creations that we have yet to try. I keep intending to order something new each time we go, but I just can’t pass up the old favorites.

Tutti Frutti is one of the places that I’m going to miss the most when we leave Damascus. The closest thing that we have to a juice shop in the US is a place called Jamba Juice. In reality, it doesn’t even deserve to be mentioned in the same breath as a Syrian juice shop. Besides, their sugar-loaded, fake, non-fresh smoothies cost 4 or 5 dollars each, and they aren’t nearly as tasty or healthful.

A few of our favorite things - produce stand

2005-06-07T12:46:00.000-07:00

Our Favorite Fruit & Vegetable Stand

There are many fruit & vegetable sellers along Sheikh Saad, but somehow, we had the good fortune to stumble upon this particular one. It is by no means the closest one to our apartment – we actually walk past a few to get to it. But the vendors are so friendly and the produce such good quality that we have become loyal customers. By now, they all know us well and are happy to cater to our weird foreigner tastes (Broccoli? Yes, please. Unripe plums? No, thank you). With this produce stand, we never have to worry about them slipping us all the bruised apples or almost-rotten potatoes. Everything is always super fresh and super cheap. We can usually walk away from the stand having purchased a kilo or two each of potatoes, carrots, onions, tomatoes, and cucumbers for only a few dollars. And it’s always fun to try the fruits and vegetables that aren’t commonly available in America (at least not anywhere I’ve lived). Among my favorite Syrian specialties are pomegranates (the red ones), raw pistachios, mandarin oranges, mulberries, mangoes, and figs.

Discovery

2005-06-06T07:20:00.000-07:00

My husband brought home some new music the other day. He had heard her music playing on the radio in a taxi and asked the driver who the singer was. Her name is Grace Deeb. I’m not sure where she’s from (which Arab country). Usually, it’s a safe bet to guess either Egypt or Lebanon, but you never know. The CD that Jeremy bought has her singing almost entirely in Arabic, but a couple of her songs have English or French verses in them. And unlike the vast majority of other Arab pop singers, she usually sings in the Levantine dialect of Arabic, not Egyptian, which is refreshing.

In fact, that’s why I find myself really enjoying her music: it’s refreshing. Don’t get me wrong – I certainly like my share of Amr Diab or even occasional Elissa songs. But Grace Deeb’s music stretches beyond the cookie-cutter Arab pop rhythm and beat to offer something unique. I was excited to have discovered an Arab singer whose style fit my music tastes so well. Finally, here was someone who was really different…right?

I visited her website to find out more about this talented singer, whose music style led me to believe that she seemed to care little for the mainstream Arab pop world of garish eye makeup and a plastic surgery-perfect mouth. Sadly, what did I see on her website but…well, a heavily made-up face and an impossibly pouty smile.

Granted, it’s my fault for attributing characteristics and values to her that she never professed. Still, I had hoped, and I was disappointed. Her music is so different from everyone else’s – is it any wonder that I assumed she would be different, too?

I still enjoy her music immensely, but I’ve all but given up finding a modern Arab pop star whose style I love and who isn’t afraid of how they look when they first get up in the morning. I guess for now, I’ll have to settle for halfway.

Romance lost

2005-06-02T10:48:00.000-07:00

There are few things that say “you’re in the Middle East” as well as the call to prayer. For those of you unfamiliar with what I’m talking about, here’s a hint: it’s that musical recitation issuing from the minaret that invariably figures prominently in the background of most any BBC or CNN report coming from Baghdad, Cairo, Istanbul, and all the other Middle Eastern capitals. (By the way, has anyone else ever noticed how often the call to prayer goes off during those reports? Judging solely from Western news coverage, you would think the call to prayer is going off all day long.)

There’s a reason the news channels like to feature this unique fixture of the Middle Eastern sound landscape. The call to prayer is at once an emotive, romantic element of the religion that dominates this part of the planet, as well as a commonplace event that takes place five times a day for the 1.4 billion Muslims around the world. The five calls to prayer each have their own name in Arabic and are timed to occur at certain phases of the sun’s journey during the day. They take place, roughly, just before dawn, at mid-morning, at mid-afternoon, in the early evening, and in the late evening.

Although the times for the call to prayer are standardized (roughly – it’s not uncommon for there to be a few-minute discrepancy between neighboring mosques), the style of the muezzin (the guy whose voice you hear) and the length of the call are not. For our first few nights in the city, my husband and I stayed in a well known backpacker hostel in the center of the city. The call to prayer coming from the mosque next door was absolutely gorgeous – it was everything I had imagined and hoped it would be: atmospheric, lyrical, haunting, and relatively undistorted by the originating speaker and amplifier.

When we moved to a permanent apartment, I eagerly awaited hearing the call to prayer that would become routine during our year-long stay in the country. Unfortunately, I was disappointed. Our neighborhood mosque muezzin’s style left a lot to be desired, in my opinion. The problem was compounded by the fact that the speakers (or amplifiers, I can’t be sure which) on the mosque were of absolutely terrible quality, distorting the sound awfully. But oh well – it’s only five times a day, right?

Fast forward to the beginning of this year. For some reason, our local mosque changed their call to prayer. The muezzin was different now, but not really better or worse. One thing that had changed for the worse, though, was the pre-dawn call to prayer. For reasons that remain unexplained, the first prayer of the day was now being broadcast for 20 minutes instead of the usual 2 or 3. What’s more, they seemed to have downgraded the speaker quality (something I wouldn’t have thought was possible) and upped the volume considerably (to compensate, perhaps?). Something that we used to be able to sleep through, or at least only wake up briefly for, had now turned into a 20-minute intermission in our sleep cycle. It was so loud and began so abruptly and harshly that I often jolted awake, and earplugs or a pillow over the head were a useless defense.

Lest I offend, let me be absolutely clear about what I am not trying to say about Islam, Muslims, or the call to prayer. I am not trying to ridicule their religion, or this important part of it. I am not saying that they should not be allowed to broadcast the call to prayer, even before dawn. I am also not trying to make fun of our particular neighborhood mosque.

What I am trying to say is that the call to prayer could certainly be handled in a more reasonable manner that would preserve its vital religious function without becoming a nuisance to believers and non-believers alike. For example, is it really necessary for the pre-dawn prayer to go on for 20 minutes? Probably not, especially since ours is the only mosque I have ever heard of that does this. Should the prayer be broadcast so loudly that it is unreasonably audible, even when extreme efforts are made by an individual to block it out at four o’clock in the morning? Again, probably not. When the call to prayer is so loud, it interferes with neighboring mosques’ calls to prayer, producing an out-of-synch cacophony of sound that is hard on the ears. Finally – and I realize this is a huge generalization based on my limited observations only – it seems to me that such an extraordinary effort by our local mosque to rouse people from their beds before dawn to pray is perhaps not as effective as it could be.

The other night, the call to prayer came blasting over the loudspeaker as expected. Unbelievably, it was even louder than usual. The speaker quality had also deteriorated even further. There were large sections of the prayer that were completely unintelligible because of static distortion, and a loud clicking noise could be heard rattling away in the background. My husband had reached a breaking point. He said he was going to “see what was going on.” I wasn’t sure what he meant to accomplish – I’m still not sure – but he got dressed even as I tried to convince him that he was talking crazy (is there another kind of talk at 4am?). He went outside and walked to the mosque and observed…nothing. The call to prayer was just a little louder at its point of origin. Twenty minutes later, when it was over, he came back and we tried to go back to sleep. It’s not easy, when you’re fully awake for that long in the middle of the night.

I wish the muezzin didn’t sing for 20 minutes in the middle of my R.E.M. sleep cycle. I wish he would turn the volume down, and maybe get some new speakers. I wish his style were a bit more melodious. But most of all, I just wish the call to prayer could be something romantic again, something evocative of the Middle East, something that truly inspired respect and reverence for the religion of Islam in the hearts of us unbelievers.

PS – It turns out I’m not the only one who feels this way - there was an interesting article on the BBC about this issue in Cairo. Read the comments below the article and notice that everyone who claims a loud, lengthy wakeup call at 4am is OK with them also happens to be living in a non-Middle Eastern country where the call to prayer isn’t even broadcast.

Telephone bills

2005-05-31T02:01:00.000-07:00

We had dinner at the phone bill lady’s house the other night. Does that happen anywhere else besides Syria? We see her maybe once every two months when we go into the phone office to pay our bill. Out of all the ladies who work in the office, she has been the most helpful. The first time we went to pay our bill, we had no idea where to go, what line to stand in, what procedure to follow, etc. I think all the other workers just didn’t feel like dealing with some dumb foreigners at that moment (it can get very hectic in the office since all the bills in a particular area fall due at the same time). She was very patient and showed us the ropes. We’re still dumb foreigners in many respects, but at least we know how to pay our phone bill now, thanks to her.

So last time Jeremy went in to pay the bill, she invited us over to her apartment. She lives in a suburb outside of Damascus, on the road to Beirut. She speaks very little English, but her husband, to our surprise, spoke moderately well. It turns out he used to sell concessions during intermission at a movie theater here in Damascus. While he wasn’t working, he watched the movies (all American, in English), and practiced the words and phrases he heard. He says his favorite movie is “Die Hard,” which gives you an idea of the caliber of the American movies they show over here.

The phone-bill-paying system they have going here is quite interesting. Unlike in America, it can’t be done over the phone, by mail, or on the internet. It simply must be done in person, meaning you have to take time off work, school, or whatever else is going on in your life to physically show up at the office between the hours of 9 and 2 on weekdays, 9 to 1 on Saturdays. (…come to think of it, this is the way most things are done here in Syria – in person, at the convenience of the business, liable to change on a whim. Basically, everything here runs like the DMV in the US.) Also, at least that we have been able to figure out, there is no way to know when the bill is due. Your phone just stops working. Apparently, our landlady is supposed to tell us, but although she insists on being invasive and involved in every other aspect of our life, telling us when our phone will get cut off is not one of them.

During Ramadan, I had a reduced working schedule, which made it convenient for me to be the one to go and pay the phone bill. Before I continue, let me explain something: our internet usage is billed to our phone line. In other words, we don’t use the pre-paid internet cards that are available (the cost is the same). Thus, our phone bill came to about 3000 lira (60 bucks) for the two or three months in the billing cycle. Not a particularly astronomical amount, considering that some of those costs would be reimbursed by my work (I do work for them through the internet sometimes). Anyway, I mention this because a normal, non-internet-included phone bill usually comes to about 150 to 250 lira (3 to 5 dollars).

It must have been the last day to pay without losing your phone line, because the office was absolutely packed. Also, they were closing early because of Ramadan. So everyone – the workers and the customers – were in an absolute frenzy to finish up and go home. Long lines from each payment window stretched all the way outside the building. People were jostling for position in the different lines. As I approached, I could tell that there were different lines for different areas, but the signs explaining the system were posted way up front, out of my view. So I chose one and hoped that the long wait ahead of me wouldn’t end in being told to stand at the end of a completely different line.

The guy standing behind me in line was particularly antsy. I have no idea what his damage was – there was no way the line could move any faster, and his pushing and making exasperated comments about how long it was taking were not helping the already tense situation. As we got closer to the payment window, he found an interesting way to amuse himself: listening to the worker tell each customer the amount due for their phone bill, and then re-announcing it to everyone in a loud voice!

So far, the amounts were all small: 100 lira, 150 lira, 250 lira, 200 lira, etc. Still, the guy behind me felt the need to repeat each amount loudly, making sure everyone around could hear. I was really, really dreading my turn at the window. I silently hoped that when it was my turn, the worker would assume I didn’t speak Arabic and write the amount down, instead of saying it out loud. Alas, I was not so lucky.

Sure enough, the worker told me, in Arabic, that my bill was 3000 lira. I thought the guy behind me was going to have a heart attack. He faltered, and repeated the amount to himself several times before letting everyone else know about it, too. I was so embarrassed. He kept on raving about it the whole time I was at the window handing over the money, getting my receipt, etc. As I walked away, and it was finally his long-awaited turn, he was still marveling about it, inserting some choice comments in Arabic that I couldn’t understand (I’m sure it was about the foreign girl who must talk on the phone ALL DAY, EVERY DAY, FOR THREE MONTHS in order to run up a phone bill of 60 dollars).

I haven’t been back since. We decided that it would be Jeremy’s job to pay the phone bill from then on.

Syrian restaurants

2005-05-29T02:37:00.000-07:00

Restored courtyard restaurant in Aleppo (Beit Wakil)

One of my favorite things about living here in

Syria

is the food. It’s delicious, unique, healthful, and there are tons of good restaurants around town willing to serve it up for cheap. Some of these restaurants are located in beautifully restored courtyard houses within the walls of the Old City. In fact, I think that eventually the Old City is going to be filled entirely with restaurants – there are new ones opening up all the time.

Sometimes, you can make a meal entirely out of appetizers: hummus, muttable, baba ghanoug, muhammara, etc. This is especially delicious when the restaurant serves the appetizers with fresh, hot flatbread to dip in the various bowls. The best part is that at certain restaurants, the appetizers are the cheapest things on the menu, sometimes costing as little as 60 cents per bowl.

If you need more than just appetizers, there’s always the soups: lentil, vegetable, French onion, or cream of chicken or mushroom. Each restaurant does their lentil soup a little differently. Sometimes it’s dark, chunky, and heavy on cumin; other times it’s a lighter yellow and pureed to a smooth texture. Either way, it’s served with broiled pita chips and lemon wedges. You can also get yolangi (rice and spices wrapped up in grape leaves), kibbe, burak, French fries, and garlic bread to complement the appetizer dips.

The meat dishes are next. You can order grilled meat by itself, or a more standard European-style “main dish” with meat, sauce, rice or potatoes, and vegetables on a plate. My favorite is the Syrian shish tawouk – they call it barbequed chicken in English, but it doesn’t have barbeque sauce on it. It’s skewered chicken roasted over a fire or coals.

For dessert, you can order fresh fruit or some kind of pistachio-based pastry drizzled with honey.

You can get all of this for far less than in America, and the eating atmosphere is very unique.

On Thursday, the University took us out to dinner at a restaurant in Jebel Qassioon, looking over the city. We were part of a large group of visiting professors and a few students of Arabic. We were served a set menu – basically, the waiters brought out the restaurant’s best, course by course.

First were the appetizers. Besides baba ghanoug and muttable, there were salads of every kind: Greek style, Caesar style, fattoush, olive salad, and plain freshly chopped onions, parsley, and pickles to serve with it. They brought out fresh bread to enjoy with all of it, as well as fried potatoes, seasoned chicken wings, and garlic-roasted eggplant wedges.

I was full already just from the appetizers, but there was more to come. Next was a savory chicken dish, with seasoned rice and a yummy gravy sauce. The chicken was very tender and absolutely delicious – I only wished I could have enjoyed it more, but as it was, my stomach hardly had room.

Then, they brought out another main dish – this time, some kind of lamb creation with creamy mashed potatoes and sautéed vegetables. I could hardly touch this one, though I did manage to eat a lot of the vegetables and some of the potatoes.

Finally, dessert arrived. Fresh cherries, peaches, and apricots as well as pistachio-laden baklava variations. A perfect end to a fabulous meal.

As we left, we asked one of the waiters how much the set meal cost. It turns out that for all that (and a nargileh, if you smoke), you pay 750 lira (about 15 dollars). Certainly the most expensive meal I’ve eaten since being in Syria, but it was also one of the nicest restaurants I’ve seen, with a gorgeous view over all of Damascus. From what I remember in the US, it’s getting harder to spend less than $15 per person even at a place as ordinary as The Olive Garden.

Behind every good woman...

2005-05-25T23:50:00.000-07:00

Another billboard story, though I didn’t manage to get a picture of this one (they change the billboards so often here in Damascus!).

The latest fad in advertising here seems to be two-part billboards. First, a billboard with a question or an incomplete phrase on it will appear. Sometimes, there is no text at all, just a curiosity-inducing image. Within a few days, the second part of the billboard will replace the first and the mystery product is revealed along with the answer to the question or the completion of the incomplete phrase.

Last month, a new one showed up all over the city. It showed only a close-up of a woman from the waist up, arms crossed, looking very empowered. Written to the side was, “Behind every good woman is…” In the background, there was a vague shadow of a bottle of some kind. It was impossible to tell what exactly it was.

Sure enough, a few days later, the billboards were changed and the answer was revealed. I was fully expecting it to be an advertisement for a brand of shampoo. The woman in the picture had gorgeous hair, after all. Instead, however, it turned out to be dish soap! Behind every good woman is this particular brand of dish soap!

I was very surprised. Somehow, I don’t think an advertisement like that would go over very well with most women in America. Shampoo, perfume, even a new hip kind of yogurt – each of those could probably have fit the ad without raising the ire of American women were it displayed in the US. But dish soap?

For a moment, I found myself trying to decide whether to be offended (because being offended is a decision). What kind of message does that send, that a good woman is best represented by something as domestic and mundane as dish soap? But then, I wondered – if the bottle had been shampoo, perfume, or yogurt, would the message have been any better? I think not.

In the end, I decided that I was not offended. In fact, next time we run out of dish soap, I just might give that brand a try.

From Love to Murder

2005-05-23T14:01:00.000-07:00

Billboard on El-Eskaan in Damascus

There's one billboard spot on our block that seems to be reserved for public service announcements. Here's the latest one.

Believe it or not, the situation depicted above - a young child sitting on the lap of the driver, completely unrestrained - is far from uncommon here in Syria. The only difference is that usually, the driver isn't wearing a seatbelt, as he is in this picture.

I've even seen a man riding a bicycle through busy city streets, managing the handlebars with one hand and balancing a 2-year-old child in the other arm. Very cute, but very dangerous.

I wonder if they'll come up with a new series of billboards after this one...once they've taught us how to put children in the back seat, maybe they'll make a billboard teaching us how they should wear seatbelts. Eventually, maybe they'll even encourage the use of child carseats!

Kingdom of Heaven

2005-05-22T22:00:00.000-07:00

My husband and I went to see Kingdom of Heaven the other night. It’s playing here in Damascus at the Cham Cinema. I thought this film would be a particularly interesting one to watch with an Arab audience, given its subject matter (the Crusades).

From what I’ve read about the movie on the internet, Kingdom of Heaven has been lauded in the western press for being “even-handed,” whatever that means these days. I think they mean that its depiction of the Muslim warriors in the film is not overly derogatory, and that it also does not glorify the European crusaders. I was curious to see if I agreed. I was also curious to see Salahadin portrayed on-screen – by a Syrian actor, no less.

We arrived at the theater a few minutes before 9 to meet some friends. At the Cham Cinema, shows are listed as starting on the hour, but they usually don’t begin until half-past the hour to allow for seating, previews of the latest American B-movies and upcoming Egyptian films, and latecomers. My husband got in line to buy a ticket – the young Syrian male in front of him nonchalantly asked for a ticket to the movie “Salahadin,” and the cashier didn’t even bat an eye.

As we waited in the lobby, I noticed that there were signs everywhere announcing Syria’s own Ghassan Massoud in the film, starring as Salahadin. The movie crowd was pretty mixed – not quite all young men, though they were by far the largest presence. There were plenty of young women in the audience as well, some of them veiled. Justified or not, I always feel better if there are veiled women around. It is usually a good indicator that whatever place I’m in is probably respectable. I already attract enough attention as a foreign woman, without unknowingly breaking social taboos left and right, and the muhajjaba’s lead is generally pretty safe to follow. Oh, and I even saw another pregnant woman, which made me feel still more comfortable.

The movie was really good. I would even say excellent, except that I had my eyes closed for about 1/5 of it (I’m a bit squeamish when it comes to violence). And I agree that the portrayal of each side, Muslim and Christian, was very sensitive and balanced. In fact, it may even have been too balanced at times. I wasn’t always sure who I should be rooting for – aren’t movies always supposed to have good guys and bad guys? – and even the main character, Balian, was not a clear-cut hero, at least at first.

I thought Salahadin’s characterization was wonderful. For starters, it was so refreshing to see a Muslim character played by an Arab actor. Omar Sharif’s Fusha-speaking role in Hidalgo notwithstanding, such linguistically/culturally accurate casting seems rare for Hollywood. (I remember going to see The Sum of All Fears in Moscow, Russia. Ciaran Hinds’ performance as the Russian president was fine, as long as he kept his mouth shut. Why not cast a Russian to play a role that had so much Russian-speaking in it??) Massoud did a good job making Salahadin a non-cardboard-cutout character. He had one of my favorite lines in the film, in response to Balian asking what Jerusalem was worth: “Nothing…Everything.” (My other favorite line was when a Christian cleric of some kind, realizing defeat at the hands of the Muslim army was imminent, suggested the crusaders “convert to Islam, repent later.”)

Our seats were in front of a large group of women. Throughout the film, I noticed the ladies making the tongue-clicking sound of disapproval at choice moments (in Arabic, to signify dissent or disapproval, you can just click your tongue on the roof of your mouth, kind of like “tsk-tsk” in English). They clicked their tongues when certain important characters suffered or died or made bad decisions, but the tongue-clickingest moment, at least that I noticed, was when a few renegade crusaders captured Salahadin’s sister (and presumably killed her, although that was only implied, not shown).

It's amazing what a difference the surrounding audience can make when you're watching a movie, and I can't help but wonder what it would be like to watch the film in an American or European audience. I've heard that Kingdom of Heaven isn't doing spectacularly well at the US box office, but I think it's doing just fine overseas.

Being the foreigners

2005-05-13T10:49:00.000-07:00

The Convent at Seidnayya

My little brother and I went to the Christian village Seidnayya earlier this spring. There’s a big convent on a hill, built kind of like a fortress. The nuns there generally let visitors have the run of the place. We had fun exploring while trying not to go anywhere we shouldn’t. The convent is like a maze, with staircases to random levels that don’t connect and courtyards that are visible but seemingly inaccessible. Everything is well maintained and kept very clean. From the top level, if you can find it, there are views over the whole valley north of Damascus, as well as the town stretching out before you on the steep hill down to the valley floor.

When we were finished exploring, I decided to visit the restroom before the 45-minute trip back into Damascus. I asked Steven to hold my purse for me while I went. He waited patiently out in the courtyard, which was deserted at the time.

I’m sure I was gone for no more than two or three minutes. But when I came out, I couldn’t even see Steven. Instead, I saw a large swarm of young Syrian schoolchildren, randomly shouting out standard phrases in English like "Where are you from?" and "What is your name?" to an unknown target. Looking closer, into the center of the mob, I saw that the target was my brother! He was slowly being backed into a corner by the overeager schoolchildren. They were obviously excited to talk to a foreigner, but Steven was having trouble fielding all their questions at once. It was a hilarious sight. As I watched, one young boy took over the role of designated spokesman. The others started shouting their questions to him in Arabic and he did his best to translate them into English and ask "the foreigner" (ajnabi).

I made my way through the mob and rescued Steven. I spoke in Arabic to the children, but that just excited their curiosity even more. A foreigner is one thing, but a foreigner speaking Arabic? They’d never seen anything like it. After ascertaining through several questions that I was indeed a foreigner...

THEM: Where are you from?
ME: America.
THEM: Yeah, but where are you really from?
ME: Um, America.
THEM: Yeah, but where is your dad from?
ME: America.
THEM: No, but what is your blood? (Arabs love this question)
ME: American.
THEM (completely mystified): Then how do you speak Arabic???

...they were finally able to get answers to all their eager questions. Their curiosity satisfied, they left Steven and me alone. I was impressed with how much they wanted to speak English. And for how young they were, their English wasn’t half-bad.

Every color of the rainbow!

2005-05-09T09:51:00.000-07:00

On Easter Sunday, Jeremy and I sent my mom and little brother out to the Christian Quarter of the Old City. They were pretty sure they could get around by themselves (we had gone with them several times so they knew the way).

A few hours later, they came home. As they walked in the door, I heard a chirping sound coming from my brother’s hands, which were wrapped around something. I thought it was some kind of a toy that Steven had bought. But no – it was a real, live chick, and bright yellow. I couldn’t believe it. It was so cute and fuzzy, but I was afraid to bond with it because I knew we couldn’t keep it. Steven had named it "Chirp," and for good reason: it was chirping wildly and seemed very flustered. Jeremy took it and wrapped it in a warm towel and gave it some water to drink. It calmed down and rested for a while.

It turns out that in the Old City, mom and Steven had passed vendors selling baby chicks dyed all different colors, in celebration of the Easter holiday. Steven wanted to buy one, with the intention of giving it to another little kid. My mom gave him 50 lira (about one dollar) for this purpose, but it turns out the chick only cost 15 lira (about 30 cents)! But before he could give it away to any of the eager children in the neighborhood, they wandered a little and got lost, and then just came straight home.

But what to do with the chick? I knew we couldn’t keep it. I washed my hands of its fate and delegated that responsibility to Steven and Jeremy. They went outside, intending to give it to the barber’s kids (his shop is just downstairs from us). They weren’t out. So he walked to the main road, looking for a deserving candidate. A kid on a bicycle stopped to see what was going on (two foreigners holding a wildly chirping baby chick was attracting attention). Jeremy asked him if he wanted it, and he said yes. So he handed it over, still wrapped in its towel, and the kid rode off, happy as could be.

We hope the chick had a good home, for at least a few days.

Tar fumes

2005-05-08T15:03:00.000-07:00

Zifit! Here's the photo.

Zifit!

2005-05-04T08:55:00.000-07:00

On Sunday morning, our apartment started to reek like tar. We couldn’t tell where it was coming from until Jeremy did some investigating outside. It turns out that the rig you see pictured above was set up just outside our apartment building, spewing smoky billows of tarry goodness into our home. Our only defense against the stench, some thin, loose window panes, was breached almost immediately.

We suffered all that day until the afternoon, when the smell gradually disappeared. It looked like they had quit work for the day. They had, however, left out all their equipment and leftovers, and we saw some kids playing in it later.

Fast forward to midnight. The tar smell, to our great, great disappointment, began to return. Unbelievably – or perhaps not so much, really, now that I’ve lived here for a while – they were firing up the tar vat in preparation for work the next morning. At midnight! Jeremy went out to talk to the workers and they helpfully explained that the reason they were doing so was because tar takes 8 hours to heat up to a temperature of 400ºC (who knew?). Never mind the nearby apartment buildings full of sleeping residents, unknowingly breathing in noxious fumes.

Jeremy went to the police station but suffice it to say, nothing was resolved. The workers promised they’d be done the next day (bukra, insha’allah) and that seemed to satisfy the police officer. Meanwhile, we were absolutely gagging on the fumes. At three in the morning, we finally fled the apartment to find a cheap hotel room for the remaining hours of the night, casting nasty looks in the tar-mongers’ direction as we walked down the street.

Needless to say, they weren’t done the next day. What’s more, they quit working at the leisurely hour of 1 o’clock, for some reason preferring to let the tar cool down all afternoon so they could heat it up again at midnight. The funny part is that this work was being done on the entrance to a girls’ school next to our building. During the busiest hours of the day, when class was in session and young students were walking in and out of that entrance, there was a large, open vat of boiling tar in their way, with workers slinging it around as they labored. As soon as school let out, the workers quit, too.

We ended up spending one more night as refugees in our own city. Words cannot describe the relief we felt when we rounded the corner later that afternoon and saw that the tar-mobile had packed up and gone away. What a luxury it is to be able to breathe freely in your own home.

The way you say tar or pitch in Syrian Arabic is “zifit.” They use the same word as a mild expletive, similar to the English “crap!” or Russian “блин!” The connection between the two meanings is now unfortunately part of my life experience.

Apartment shopping in Damascus - Part 2

2005-04-30T04:03:00.000-07:00

In addition to the normal questions, there are plenty of things that nobody ever told us to ask, but that we wish they had. So, for our next trip to the Middle East, we’ve prepared a list of stuff that’s really important to ask about.

Out of all the closets in the house, how many of the doors actually function? By function, I mean that they shut completely instead of hanging open.
Is the bed mattress supported by a piece of flimsy masonite board, which is in turn propped up on an awkward rigging of cinderblocks and 2x4s? Is this arrangement so precarious that the bed squeaks loudly even if you just flex a muscle while lying in bed?
Is there even a real mattress, or is it just a foam pad, or perhaps pieces of foam pads welded together to make a big enough sleeping surface?
Are the windowpanes paper-thin? Are they loosely placed in a window frame, which in turn is loosely placed in its sliding track, which in turn does not even remotely form a seal when closed? Or, alternatively, has the window pane been broken and is now just held together with strips of tape? Regardless, do the windows offer zero sound protection and rattle whenever there is the slightest breeze?
Is there an oven? Before you answer yes, does the oven actually work? Furthermore, is it of sufficient size to fit a standard baking pan or sheet?
In relation to question 4 of the previous post, does the paint peel so badly that large flakes sometimes fall from the ceiling and land on you while you are sitting on the couch minding your own business?
In relation to question 7 of the previous post, are there any especially undesirable businesses nearby? For example, are there busy car repair shops down the street that emit loud, random explosions throughout the day, or a bakery that runs its noisy water pump at night, keeping you awake?
Similarly, are there any businesses located on the first floor of your building? If so, are any of them tailor shops that have erratic work schedules and whose industrial-strength sewing machines and sergers will shake the whole building at any time of day or night?
If there are not any businesses on the first floor of your building, and you think you are lucky to move into a quiet lane, are there potential places for businesses to move in on the first floor? Realize that if it is possible, they will move in. Also be aware that they will not complete their noisy, poundy, early-morning until late-night construction in a timely manner, nor will they all do it at once. Rather, one store will move in and gradually be completed, and only then will the next begin.
During the holy month of fasting, Ramadan, will your neighbors sleep all day and be active all night? Do these nocturnal neighbors include several employees of the above-mentioned tailor shop? Furthermore, is the owner of the tailor shop the same guy who owns your apartment building, so that there is no one you can complain to about the building shaking all night for the whole month?
Does your apartment have a Turkish toilet as well as a Western one? If so, does the Turkish toilet sometimes reek for no reason, usually when the wind blows a certain way? Is there absolutely nothing you can do about this smell, no matter how much bleach you pour down the drain or how tightly you seal the door with duct tape?
Have you been lucky enough to find a bookshelf in all the city of Damascus? Or are you stuck with using a kitchen utensils cart to unceremoniously cram your books on?
In relation to question 10 of the previous post, how loud is the call to prayer broadcast from your local mosque? Does the muezzin sing in a melodious manner, or does his particular style grate on the ears like so much aural steel wool? Does he give a special extended edition of the call to prayer at 5 am, often continuing long after every other mosque in town has finished already? Are earplugs useless against him?
In relation to question 15 of the previous post, do any of the nearby single-family apartments actually have three families living in them? Do these three families single-handedly make more noise and ruckus at night than any of the other sources of midnight disturbance mentioned above? When, at 2.30 in the morning, you finally break down and politely ask them to consider pounding on their wall with a sledgehammer or forging heavy armor at another, less midnight-y time, do they reply in a snarky manner and often continue anyway?
Is the lighting in your apartment so poor that you are reduced to using a white-light headlamp to complete simple reading tasks?
In relation to questions 17 and 18 of the previous post, does your landlady live downstairs from you, and thus, can she track your movements at will? Does she ask for the key to your apartment when you travel? Furthermore, does she ask for extra money a lot? When she has received it, does she ask for more, as if you are her personal bank?
In spite of all this, are you having a great time living in Damascus, making friends, learning to speak Arabic, and enjoying all the character-building experiences your crazy apartment offers you?

The answer to number 17, at least, is a resounding "yes!"

Apartment shopping in Damascus - Part 1

2005-04-29T11:39:00.000-07:00

Syrian apartments are full of idiosyncrasies that we Americans aren’t used to. If you ever move to the Middle East, here’s a list of things to check in the apartment. The first part of this list is practical stuff that you’ll find in many apartment-shopping guides.

Is the furniture in good repair?
Is there any evidence of bug infestations?
Is the mazzot (fuel used to heat hot water) tank full? If not, what arrangements has the landlord/lady made?
Are there signs of water damage on the walls or ceilings, usually indicated by peeling paint?
How many functioning phone jacks are in the apartment, and in which rooms?
Are there enough power outlets in the apartment? If not, are powerstrips provided?
What kinds of businesses are nearby? Will you need to travel to another part of town to take care of basic shopping needs?
Are there cleaning utensils already in the apartment? Are they of good quality?
Is the kitchen adequately furnished with the utensils that you need?
How close is the apartment to the local mosque?
Is there a refrigerator/freezer? Do they work?
Is there an iron and an ironing board?
Is public transportation easily accessible from the apartment?
Are there enough floor drains in the apartment? Do they have covers that fit tightly?
What kind of people are your neighbors? Do you prefer living near all foreigners or all Syrians?
What is the arrangement for paying the rent? Does your landlord/lady want a year in advance, or can you pay by the month?
How close does your landlord/lady live? Is this acceptable to you?
Do you feel that you can have an honest and good relationship with your landlord/lady?

But there's plenty more idiosyncrasies and potential annoyances that they don't warn you about...

Stickers on a hotel window in Deir ez-Zor, Syria

2005-04-27T08:40:00.000-07:00

We have no idea what exactly the top one is prohibiting. Back-stabbing, maybe?

Girl at Petra, Jordan

2005-04-27T08:36:00.000-07:00

This little girl was selling necklaces at Petra in Jordan.

Hijab Envy - Part 2

2005-04-27T08:03:00.000-07:00

Not only do hijab-clad women look classy, they also act in a sophisticated manner. Last summer, Jeremy and I went to a Kazim as-Saher concert in Lattakia. It was the end of August – peak season for hanging out at the beach and swimming in the Mediterranean. The concert took place in the evening, but it was still very hot and humid. A lot of the women in attendance looked like they had come in from Lebanon – at least, they were almost certainly not from Syria. Tight, revealing tank tops and short skirts were everywhere, along with overdone makeup, garish gold jewelry, and extreme hairstyles. Yes, these women were technically beautiful, but in such a worldly and ostentatious way. About halfway through the concert, several women came in and took their seats in front of us. They were all wearing the hijab. I couldn’t help but compare them and their sophisticated appearance to the more scantily clad ladies around us. Amount of exposed skin notwithstanding, the hijab ladies were definitely more attractive and seemed more composed, mature, and graceful as a result.

Hijab women, if they smoke at all, never smoke in public. They’re long-suffering in summer: just when your instinct is to wear as little clothing as possible, they’re still layering it on, committed to their promise. And they always outsmart us non-hijab ladies when visiting famous mosques (like Omayyad or Seida Zeinab). While I have to shroud myself in a raggity old black sheet handed out by the guy at the gate, they walk in serenely, already appropriately dressed for the occasion. The whole time we’re in the courtyard or prayer room, I’m constantly worrying that my hood will slip back or that too much of my arm is sticking out of the sleeve. Meanwhile, they’re busy enjoying the peaceful atmosphere.

Veiled women are careful to be discreet and avoid unnecessary contact with unknown males. That’s why you’ll often see three or four hijab-clad women packed into the back of a taxi so that nobody has to sit in the front seat next to the driver. Other times, they have a younger, unveiled sister sit up front, or even a small child. On services and buses, men are conscientious enough to shuffle the seating arrangement to allow veiled women to sit alone or next to other women, and not have to share a bench with an unknown man. Sometimes the driver will even call out instructions from the front, orchestrating the arrangements so that there’s an acceptable seat available for a waiting hijab woman. As an unveiled woman, I am not always extended the same courtesy. The hijab also offers protection from shabaab, the young men who love to hassle women on the streets by catcalling and making kissy noises. I’ve never seen a hijab woman get tough-guyed walking across the President’s Bridge, or whistled at when she passes a group of idle security guards.

Women who wear the hijab are good moms, students, and sisters, or so I’ve observed from watching TV. The moms in commercials who send their kids off to school with a good lunch, tidy the house, go to work, and still have dinner ready in the evenings always wear the veil. And their children are always well behaved. I’m always telling my husband that when we have kids, I need to be like a hijab-mom. Once I saw a commercial where an unveiled woman complained of being tired and run-down all the time. Who did she turn to for advice but her hijab-clad neighbor? We unveiled women are usually relegated to superficial roles in cosmetics or perfume commercials.

The hijab simply allows a woman’s inner beauty to be obvious to all. When you interact with them, you realize that you’re dealing with a real person, not a certain brand of clothing or a certain level of wealth or status or attention to personal appearance. We in the western world can learn a lot from these women who don’t show a lot of – or any – skin, yet still manage to be excellent, upstanding examples of beautiful, feminine, extremely capable women.

Hijab Envy - Part 1

2005-04-26T12:31:00.000-07:00

There’s just no reason not to admire a woman who wears the hijab (the Muslim dress code of the veil). It’s one of my favorite things about living in Syria. There are so many different styles and colors and levels of strictness the women observe, from a head-to-toe black covering to a chic scarf barely covering gorgeously styled hair. Some women don’t even wear the veil at all, even if they are Muslim (this often comes as a surprise to us Americans).

Most Westerners are familiar with the loose, black covering (I think it’s called a chador) style of hijab. But here in Syria, sometimes they don’t even have a slit for the eyes. Instead, the face is covered by a slightly thinner piece of black fabric that works like a one-way mirror: they can see out, but we can’t see in. It’s not uncommon to see a woman draped in black chatting on a cell phone while shopping, or passing an object of interest under her veil to get a better look at it before she purchases it. At night, they usually have a younger, unveiled companion, like a son or daughter, with them – I imagine it’s to help them navigate the streets in the dark.

The next level seems to be the “trench coat hijab.” These women wear long, loose, yet stylish belted trench coats in blue, tan, or black, and a simple white headscarf. The belts are usually left untied so that the body shape remains hidden. This is one of my favorite styles of hijab – it just looks so classy, all year round. I sometimes tell my husband that if I were Muslim, and if I wore the hijab, I would choose this style.

From there, it’s a descent into a myriad of different levels of hijab observance. The most common seems to be almost normal clothing styles paired with a colored or patterned hijab, except the clothing is usually longer, looser, and higher-collared. Some of the headscarves are absolutely beautiful, and the women are always finding ways of wrapping them creatively. The great thing about this style of hijab is the butt-covering feature of the shirts. I’ve learned from the natives that this can be a very helpful deterrent to male hecklers (don’t ask me why, but it works, somewhat). They pair these shirts with loose trousers or a skirt in a drapey fabric and the effect is very elegant.

There’s also an in-between category of women who wear normal clothes but never a patterned hijab, only pure white. It seems to me that these are generally younger women or teenagers, and you can sometimes see herds of them wandering around together. It makes me wonder if it’s a case of friends choosing to dress alike. In the States, girls might wear the same style of jeans to show solidarity; here, if one girl wears the white hijab, her friends do, too.

It’s pretty rare, but sometimes you’ll see a woman wearing a headscarf paired with a tight shirt and a calf-baring skirt. I’m not sure what exactly is going on here, so I won’t try to explain it. Other times you’ll see a beret or an oversized baseball cap being used as a headscarf, but it usually doesn’t work and ends up looking silly (in my opinion).

But the hijab is more than just a dress code: it’s a method of behavior as well. More about that later.

"A candy lineup?"

2005-04-25T10:48:00.000-07:00

My husband pointed out to me that this post doesn't technically relate to adventures in Syria, but I thought I'd share anyway.

Jerry Seinfeld says that when you’re a kid, your ultimate goal in life is to get candy. I agree completely.

When I was 13, my family went on a vacation to Alaska. My mom and dad stocked up on snacks for the kids during the trip – pretzels, goldfish crackers, and the crown jewel: a whole box of peanut butter Twix from Costco. My little sister and I really, really looked forward to eating those. But my dad rationed the snacks pretty well and by the middle of the trip, we had each only had one or two. This was fine with me, because it meant more Twix to look forward to.

At one point, we took a ferry between two cities. We got to sit on movie-theater style seats with a nice view over the water. It was a fun adventure for us young ones. I remember seeing the treasured peanut butter Twix stowed safely underneath my dad’s seat, thinking again how good they tasted, and wondering when we’d get to have another one.

When we got off the ferry, to my horror, the box of Twix was nowhere to be found. My dad had left it under his seat on the ferry. All those Twix, gone forever.

I still mourn the loss of those Twix. I don’t know that it’s something I’ll ever entirely get over. No matter how many Twix I can buy with my own money now, it’s just not the same.

Buying maternity clothes from men

2005-04-21T05:37:00.000-07:00

I finally broke down and went shopping for maternity clothes last week. Rigging the fly of my jeans with a rubber band through the button hole was just not working anymore. I’m not big on shopping, even in the US, but I was feeling like an oversized slob in all my pre-pregnancy clothes. Gathering my courage, I headed out to a women’s clothing store down our street, next to our favorite juice shop, that often has maternity clothes in their display window.

Strangely, all the workers at the small store were male. But it seemed to me that the other Arab women shopping paid no attention to this. They came out of the dressing room – there was only one – and preened in front of their friends and the onlooking salesman like normal. I was having trouble approaching the decidedly Arab male just to ask about a size.

But as it turned out, sizes didn’t matter anyway. Most of the shirts I looked at were marked as “standard.” When I finally gathered the guts to ask the salesman about it, he explained that it was basically one-size-fits-all. Hmm.

What was also interesting about the clothes is that they were all very hijab-friendly. In other words, they fit the standards of women who wear the veil. That means high necklines or collars, long, loose sleeves, a decidedly non-form-fitting torso, and plenty of fabric to cover your bottom. This was fine with me – the more modestly you dress around here, the less you get hassled by local males. But unfortunately, the hijab-friendly styles mixed with one-size-fits-all meant that some of the shirts looked more like dresses on me.

Finally, I found a few shirts that were actually sized, and very cute. And the bottom-covering feature is a big plus. It’s at least a small deterrent to the would-be oglers.

I decided that if I’m feeling really brave, I’ll get around to going shopping for a bra. There are these things that Jeremy and I call bra-mobiles that appear on the streets in the evening. They’re just large, flat carts piled with a random assortment of bras, peddled by a male. Now that will take some courage.

Visa #1559

2005-04-20T00:19:00.000-07:00

Earlier this month, my dad, mom, brother, and I took a quick trip to Lebanon. Border crossings are always a tricky process; no matter how many times you've done it, it's still never quite routine. Your successful entry/exit depends entirely upon the disposition of the individual border official handling your passport. If he's suffering from indigestion that day, you may be out of luck, even if all your paperwork is in order. This is especially true on the Syrian side of the border, but the Lebanese side is no piece of cake, either.

We had made it through the Syrian side and were now in a shabby cement block building on the Lebanese side, waiting for them to finish processing our passports. We hit a minor snag when I used a green pen to fill out my entry card - the border officials insisted I fill out another one in a more tame color such as blue or black.

Suddenly, one of the officials beckoned my 12-year-old brother Steven over to his window. I was momentarily seized with panic that there was a problem with his passport - what possible reason could they have to single him out?

"Your visa number," he announced in a stern voice, calling the attention of the other officials, "is 1559." At this, all of the workers' faces broke out into grins. My family looked bewildered. Quickly, before the guards decided we didn't appreciate their humor, I explained that 1559 is the number of the United Nations Resolution that calls for Syria's withdrawal from Lebanon. This particular resolution has obviously been in the news a lot lately, and is a popular one with the Lebanese people. We all smiled and laughed along with the border officials.

As the officer handed back Steven's passport, he said, "This means good luck in Lebanon." They all laughed again and we were free to enter the country.

There was a fitting coda to this story...

On our way out of the country, we passed through the Bekaa Valley on the main Beirut-Damascus highway. Just before the border, at around 11 pm, we passed a convoy of huge military trucks packed with troops, tanks, and weapons, also leaving the country. We witnessed 1559's implementation - here was Syria pulling its army presence out of Lebanon.

Kung-fu taxi driver

2005-04-17T10:54:00.000-07:00

One time we were in a taxi and the driver told us that his name was Bruce. Needless to say, this is not a standard Arab name. We didn't believe him, so he showed us his ID card. Sure enough, it was Bruce Mohammad Abdullah, or something like that, with Bruce spelled out awkwardly in Arabic script.

It turns out his dad was a big kung-fu fan 30-something years back, and so he named his son after Bruce Lee. Weird.

An unwilling participant in smuggling

2005-04-14T09:51:00.000-07:00

The best way to travel between Syria and its neighbors in the Near East (Lebanon and Jordan) is in a service taxi. These taxis are specially labeled vehicles licensed to cross the border on such commonly traveled routes as Latakia – Beirut, Beirut – Damascus, and Damascus – Amman. Sometimes the taxis are well maintained, newish KIAs with room for four passengers. More often than not, however, you’re stuck with a huge, unwieldy “land yacht” that reeks of diesel inside and out but whose cavernous interior can fit five passengers. All you have to do is buy a single seat in the taxi (usually about $10) and then wait for other travelers to do the same and fill up the car. Or, you can pay for all the seats and have the taxi to yourself.

The taxi drivers are an ambitious bunch, always looking for ways to make extra money without doing much extra work. The easiest way for them to do so is to fill up on certain goods on one side of the border at a cheap price and then unload them on the other side for a profit. From Lebanon to Syria, it’s usually western snack foods. From Syria to Jordan, it’s cigarettes. They usually stash the goods in the trunk, but some of the drivers are audacious enough to ask if they can put them inside your luggage to ease their passage through customs. When Jeremy was in Syria four years ago, his taxi driver from Damascus to Irbid, Jordan asked him and his fellow travelers (also BYU students) to hide large quantities of cigarettes in their luggage, explaining that the customs officials never checked foreigners. When they refused, the driver strapped the cigarette cartons to his body and put on a jacket over them, even in the warm spring weather. On our more recent trips, the preferred method seems to be to casually scatter the cartons around the vehicle, as if it’s normal to have two dozen packages of cigarettes on the dashboard, in the glove compartment, and by the rear windshield.

This small-scale smuggling never really bothered me, to be honest. It usually doesn’t take up any of our time, except at the designated purchase point before the border (which can be used as a bathroom break, anyway). The only way in which it starts to infringe on our convenience is when they ask to be paid their $10 per seat ahead of time. This means that they don’t have ready cash on hand to purchase the goods and want to use your money to do so. We always refuse to pay the whole amount before the requisite service has been rendered – it’s just common sense – and most taxi drivers don’t press the issue.

On Monday night, we returned home from Amman to Damascus. The various taxi drivers at the depot in Amman fought over us like vultures to get us to go in their car. When we finally got settled in a taxi, everything seemed like it was going well. Then, just before the border, the driver pulled off into the parking lot of a convenience store. As expected, he asked for his money up front. Jeremy refused, again and again, as the driver tried in all the usual ways to make his case – they usually try to claim it’s for the payment of taxes at the border, which is a total lie. Eventually, Jeremy struck a deal with the driver that if he would drop us off at a certain place in Damascus, instead of just at the central depot, we would pay him his money ahead of time. Of course he agreed immediately, and we handed over the cash. In he rushed to the convenience store to make his purchases. In the meantime, he asked Jeremy to fill out the taxi passenger register for him in Arabic – something that is really his job. I was beginning to wonder just who was rendering a service to whom.

At last, at last, we were on our way again. This smuggling run was taking longer than usual and we were anxious to get home at the end of a long period of traveling. It was already 9 o’clock at night, with a tedious border crossing and many kilometers still ahead of us. As we finally finished passport control on the Syrian side and prepared to get back in the taxi for the last time, Jeremy reiterated our agreement to be dropped off at a specific place in Damascus, not the general depot. To our surprise (or perhaps not so much), the driver now disavowed any such agreement, firmly stating that as part of his contract with the taxi company, he was strictly forbidden from taking the taxi off the main route from Amman to Damascus. If he were seen off the main route, he insisted, he could be fined. Arguing didn’t help at all, despite Jeremy’s best efforts. Seeing it was fruitless, we gave up and resigned ourselves to having been taken in.

Notwithstanding this setback, once we were on our way again I was sure we were on the home stretch. There were less than 100 kilometers of good highway remaining between us and Damascus. But suddenly, the driver turned off the highway onto a narrow village road. This was definitely not the usual route. Jeremy immediately confronted him – where were we going? The taxi driver at first tried to pass this off as the normal road between Amman and Damascus. We didn’t buy that for a moment, having traveled the right way before. Of course, Jeremy then brought up the driver’s own words about not being allowed to go off the main route, lest he be fined. These words, so recently spoken by his own mouth, somehow didn’t seem to ring a bell with him anymore. Then, Jeremy flat out told him that we knew he was dropping off his smuggled goods somewhere (this was obvious to us from the frequent cell phone calls he was suddenly making, talking about meeting with someone at a certain place). The driver took great offense at this allegation and began spewing angry, illogical arguments in response to Jeremy’s accusations, his attention to the road drastically decreasing even as the vehicle’s speed drastically increased. It took Jeremy yelling at him in Arabic to get him to slow down. I was becoming increasingly frustrated with his inability to admit – or at least recognize – his dishonesty, especially since it was delaying our return home.

Jeremy kept insisting that he return to the main highway. In the end, he called his contact back and canceled whatever drop-off had been arranged. He did, however, pull over and switch drivers with some random guy who turned out to be his brother. I’m sure that’s not part of company policy, either. And as it turned out, we didn’t even get dropped off at the main depot – the driver stopped a kilometer or two short and said it was the end of the line. When we pointed out that we weren’t even close to the depot yet, he just shrugged his shoulders. There was nothing to do but get out of the car.

To be honest, I think this small-scale smuggling is starting to bother me.

Funny things my brother has said

2005-04-01T09:20:00.000-07:00

My 12-year-old brother, Steven, is here in Damascus visiting for a few weeks. Watching him adjust to life here can be hilarious at times. Here are some of the things he's said that caught me off guard and made me laugh:

On the night of his arrival, when talking about our plans for the next day:
Me: I'm glad you guys came in when it's dark. Wait till you see the city in daylight!
Steven: Why? Is it more...alarming?

Before our visit to the Seidnaya convent, my mom and I were telling him stories about all the women (both Muslim and Christian) who go there to pray for babies. They will spend the night in the same room as a famous icon of the Virgin Mary and then eat the wicks of candles that have been burning there.
Mom: And in nine months, most of them come back with babies. One woman ate 20 wicks and came back with triplets!
Steven (a bit confused): So, don't they have men?
Mom: What?
Steven: I mean, don't they need men to have babies?

Steven is still trying to convince us to take a trip to the Bekaa Valley in Lebanon (deep in Hezbollah territory).
Me: Steven, I don't think we're going to go. Sorry, but we don't want to get kidnapped. Do you want to get kidnapped?
Steven: As long as we're released, it's OK with me.

An honest taxi driver

2005-04-01T09:18:00.000-07:00

Jeremy and I were in Hama, Syria the other night with my little brother, dad, mom, mom’s friend, friend, and friend’s friend. The eight of us formed an unwieldy group for getting transportation around the town; to get to a restaurant for dinner, we ended up splitting into two groups of four and traveling in separate taxis. There was a bit of confusion involved in flagging down two taxis and coordinating who would go in each one, then telling one taxi to try to follow the other.

The taxi that I was in got to the restaurant without a problem, but Jeremy’s taxi got lost and took another minute or two to show up. They piled out of the small car and came in to start ordering some food (we were exhausted and famished after a day of traveling). About forty-five minutes into the meal, Jeremy looked through the restaurant’s front windows and noticed the same taxi pulling back up to the restaurant. Immediately, he asked, “Did someone leave something in the taxi?” Then, he realized that yes, someone had forgotten something, and it was he! Our two cameras – a video camera and a digital camera, each worth about $400, were in a bag that Jeremy had left on the seat of the car.

Jeremy ran out to meet the driver, who handed over the forgotten cameras. He offered him money for returning them, but the taxi driver refused. We were so relieved and so grateful. A friend of ours left his video camera in a taxi in Beirut, Lebanon earlier this year, and hasn’t seen it since. All of his Syrian friends chided him, saying, “If you lost it in Beirut, it’s gone forever. You should have lost it in Syria – then someone would have returned it!” As we saw, this turned out to be very true.

Cussing in Church

2005-03-13T06:13:00.000-07:00

One of the Syrian members of our church here is one of those old guys who has been everywhere, speaks a handful of languages (including English), and loves to talk. No matter where you’re from, he’s probably traveled or lived somewhere close to it and has plenty to say about it.

Last Friday at church, we were discussing what the Bible says about how we should treat each other. [This member] raised his hand to make a comment and began speaking animatedly about his opinion. People who have studied the Bible treat others better, he said, among other things. We listened patiently as he expounded on this theme, and then, out of nowhere, came this sentence: “When they know the lessons that are written in the Bible, it makes a hell a difference!”

At first, Jeremy and I were sure we hadn’t heard correctly. He does have a slight accent, you know, and the grammar of the phrase wasn’t quite right. But then he repeated it, with more enthusiasm: “It makes a hell a difference!” This time, there was no mistaking his words. The whole rest of the group, about 6 people, kind of laughed nervously in disbelief. After a couple more repetitions of this key phrase, [this member] must have felt he made his point well enough and ended his comment.

I’ve heard people swear in a lot of situations and places, but I’m pretty sure that making a comment in church has not been one of them – until now.

Truck o'youth

2005-03-09T06:54:00.000-07:00

A Suzuki truck packed with young men cruising along with the ralliers.

An enterprising snack salesman

2005-03-09T06:53:00.000-07:00

Even demonstrators need a snack sometimes.

Billboards

2005-03-09T06:51:00.000-07:00

Here are a few of the billboards that have appeared on the streets in recent days.

"We're all with you, Bashar Al-Assad."

I think this one is my favorite.

"We're all with you, our sovereign president."