They really do wear tea towels on their heads in Syria. For a country that gets a decent amount of bad press, I can understand how the less-informed at first might be a bit apprehensive about the place, and even my mum at first thought I was nuts for wanting to travel overland through the region. But it must be said that Syria’s reputation as a terrorist hot-spot is ill-deserved. On the contrary, the Syrians have to be the nicest people I’ve met on my travels so far. And it’s the little things that make Syria such an amazing place to visit; spotting my first can of Pepsi with the label printed in Arabic, the enormous wads of Syrian pound notes you end up carrying around in your pocket, the intricately decorated motor vehicles with horns that sound more like somebody has just downloaded the latest ringtone to their ‘car’. The fact that everywhere you go you are seeing something new and exciting, that you can’t see anywhere else in the world. Syria is a place largely unspoilt by western influence as yet, though that is changing slowly, so I’m glad to have had the opportunity to visit the place now, before it does go down the gurgler in terms of becoming overly touristy, or worse – before another war breaks out in the region, which let’s face it, is always on the cards in the Middle East.
The western preconception is to associate keffiyeh (head scarf) wearing Arabs with jihads, AK-47’s and the kidnapping of foreign correspondents (hmm…). The reality couldn’t be further from the truth. Even if you are a little out of your comfort zone when you first arrive, there are so many men wearing the traditional garments that they quickly become a wonderfully colourful feature of everyday life. The next thing you notice is that apart from the usual security forces at the border checkpoints, your average Arab does not in fact walk around shooting an assault rifle in the air whilst yodelling blood-curdling cries for holy-war. If you have spent the best part of a day in Syria and are still not convinced that all Arabs are not terrorists, the mere sight of a local Bedouin cruising down the highway on an old paddock-bashing motorbike will completely disarm you. I regularly passed the local nomads or farmers (or they passed me) on the highways of Syria. Wearing their traditional robes with sandals, sun hardened faces complete with goatees and eyes shaded with fake designer sunnies, they looked like the local version of Jimmy Dean as they zoomed along the road with red and white head scarf flowing freely in the wind. It was such a comical sight but as I saw more and more of them along the roads in and out of Aleppo and heading south towards Damascus, that I soon realised that these men were hard workers of the arid land, living exposed to the elements and their outfits were near perfect for the job at hand. As traditional and ceremonial as the tea towels sometimes were, they clearly had their roots with a more practical application in mind – something that I would come to appreciate in the near future.
So clearly Syria is not terrorist state that the Western government makes it out to be. In fact if you read up on the history of the place you can almost appreciate the misunderstanding that has led it to be included on the same list as other ‘axis of evil’ nations as tagged by the Americans. I won’t go into it too much, but it’s an interesting read if you ever look into the recent history. The previous leader of Syria – Hafez al-Assad – might not have been the most democratic of leaders, but he certainly had his own people in mind as he juggled the Lebanese and Israeli unrest to the West, and then in 1990 when Iraq decided to invade Kuwait, Syria had a very hard time not only agreeing and complying with UN sanctions to their largest trading partner, but also had to play along and keep their fickle, trigger happy neighbours on-side. In a region full of so many religious and minor-interest groups (all seeming to be armed to the teeth) this is not an easy situation to be in. For around twenty years until the mid 90’s, Syria was even the main peace keeping force in Lebanon after the civil war tore the country to pieces. Eventually they withdrew bowing to external pressures, and without a stabilising power, the fighting broke out again (with Hezbollah and the most recent conflicts).
Hafez al-Assad was loved by the Syrian people, even if they did want a little bit of a shake up with the Government. When he died in the early 1990’s it was his second son Dr. Bashar al-Assad who took over the reins. Bashar was not the groomed choice for the role – his older brother was supposed to be the new leader, but his love of fast cars saw his untimely death in a motor-vehicle accident. And so Bashar, who was actually living and studying in England to be a doctor (he even married a UK born woman of Syrian background) returned home to join the armed forces and begin training for his future role. Bashar is now President of Syria and it’s impossible to forget. His photo is displayed everywhere you go – from pictures hanging inside shops, posters on windows, stickers on the side of cars and banners flying in the streets. There are even elaborate stone mosaics and statues in every city. The Syrian people are warming to Bashar gradually and though his popularity has not yet reached that of his father, one day it possibly will. Many people cannot yet decide whether his educated background will be a good thing to bring about political change; can he break away from the current government and introduce proper reform to Syria, or is he is just a puppet leader? There are often accusations from the media and other institutions insinuating both arguments, and he once famously retorted to a question by saying “well make up your mind, because I obviously can’t be both…” Anyway, there’s a little background on a relatively small country, stuck between a rock and a hard place in terms of all that which happens around it in the Middle East.
As it currently stands, Syria is just rediscovering tourism (or tourists are just rediscovering Syria). And there are many reasons to love the place. I’ve already touched on how cheap it is, but it’s worth mentioning once again. Unlike many countries who exploit tourists at every opportunity, all landmarks and attractions in Syria have a set entry fee of 150SP, which is about $2. For locals, its 1/10 of this price, and this is actually a good thing because they really don’t earn that much money, and it encourages people to visit these attractions and learn about their own country’s history also. The other big drawcards include the remoteness of the place – it’s a bit too far from the EU to see hoards of local Brits coming here for stag weekends and the annoying visa process also means that a trip to Syria needs a little more careful planning for most Europeans than say, popping across the chunnel to France. Even driving there means going through Turkey, a non-EU schengen country. And even though I just said that Syria is safe, it still does have that ‘edge’ to it. You never know just what to expect. It’s exotic, the whole country is arid and dry, and the way of life is very much non-western (not even a McDonald’s in the major cities to escape to!). It is so significantly different from what you are used to, that you do need to spend a few days sussing it out.
For example, despite the heat, everybody covers up. No matter if you are a farmer, labourer, office worker or just carving meat in a kebab shop – nobody wears shorts or thongs or singlet tops out in public. Nearly everyone is smartly dressed in trousers and a long-sleeve collared shirt, and those that aren’t you can bet your bottom dollar that they are a tourist. Cycling into Aleppo wearing my shorts and t-shirt earned me many stares – though they weren’t aggressive or shocking looks, more just curiosity at the foreigner cycling into town. Still, in a place where my relatively fair skin is enough to earn me a ‘gaijin’ tag (damn all that tanning in the Greek islands wasn’t enough!) I often chose to wear my jeans and a collared shirt out at every opportunity, just to help blend into the crowd. I needn’t have bothered really, but it felt more comfortable.
Despite the enormous uphill slog to get into town (Aleppo sat on a hill 700m above sea level) I was in fairly good spirits once I arrived. I was still pretty elated from having cleared the border and obtained my visa in excellent time, and also very happy to discover that most service stations and roadside shops that you stopped at had huge stainless-steel water coolers which anybody could drink free, chilled water from. That was such an excellent idea and I couldn’t believe my luck, because I was wondering how I’d go sourcing water in such an arid environment. Who would have thought the locals would have been this ingenuous? If only I could say the same for the tourist areas in the centre of the major cities, which still happily forced you into buying bottled water. At least the desert was covered.
On my full free day in Aleppo, I covered a lot of ground in the city, exploring the amazing souks, the magnificent fortress citadel and just browsing through the shops, mosques and various markets around town. The friendly hotel I was staying at had a great vibe. The owner was even dating a bird from Melbourne, and she had just flown back to Syria for her third visit and eventually they were hoping to make a trip out to Oz together. My single room set me back a mere £7 per night, and I could have gone cheaper had I opted to take up residence on the roof terrace for less than half that. But it’s nice to have your own space sometimes (mind you I did learn on the last night that there were four Slovenian girls bunking up there on mattresses, a mistake perhaps? 😉
My diet of kebabs was finally broken in Syria upon the discovery of some amazing little bakeries that sell fresh mini pizzas for about 40c each. Coupled with a shop across from the hotel that sold awesome chicken burgers, I was set. I ate an absolute monstrous amount of food, pretty much constantly seeing things that I wanted to try and buy as I explored the city, that I was always walking and munching or drinking. Yet I still managed to only spend about £5 on food each day. With more time I would have tried even more local delights. Walking through the famous souks of Aleppo was amazing – and I have to say it completely shat on the Grand Bazaar of Istanbul. It was much more authentic and bustling with activity. Notably also, there were very few tourists and though the occasional shopkeeper would try the sell on you, it wasn’t like the place was a tourist trap. Here was a genuine market place – an enormous covered souk – that was a place where locals still did their day to day shopping and where you could buy pretty much anything you needed from silk fabrics to herbs and spices. Children’s toys to burka scarves. It was phenomenal, I even saw a guy leading a donkey through the maze of narrow streets, laden with goods for transport. Yes – they still use donkeys as a way of moving things around, as well as small flat-bed carts and motorbikes where necessary.
The souks are located right at the foot of the famous Aleppo citadel, and though I did not have a map with me, somehow I ended up exiting the maze of covered streets to find the huge sandstone walls of the fortress towering above me. It was easily one of the most impressive sights I’ve seen since beginning this trip – an enormous castle surrounded by a typical moat (though with no water in these days of water shortages) and with a huge gateway and tower entrance leading into the main fortified area where thousands of people once used to live and work. They really knew how to build castles to last, as it was in very good condition. I did not hesitate to pay the small admission fee and spent the next two hours roaming the depths and heights of the citadel. At one point I was glad to have a flashlight on my phone, as you could even access the old dungeons below, which were nearly in complete darkness. Then there was the spectacularly ornate throne room or such, still beautifully colourful and decorated with patterned tiles and awesome vaulted ceilings. There was pretty much no area you could not visit, and you had to be careful because without guard rails or ropes in many places, you could very easily just climb over a wall and fall to your death if you weren’t careful. It was great fun!
After spending the majority of the day in the souk and the citadel, I was in a pretty good mood having seen two very impressive sights. I decided to wander across to the other side of the town to check out what looked like a very big mosque which would have a fantastic sunset photo. I ended up getting a bit lost in the windy streets, and soon found myself far from the main part of town. I stopped at a mini-mart to grab a bottle of cola. One thing I quickly picked up on was that if you buy Coke or Pepsi in these poorer countries, you still can pay a lot more than you would if you just brought the local brand of cola. And so I grabbed a glass bottle of the local cola and handed over a 50SP note to the kid behind the makeshift counter. He wasn’t quick with change, but I stood there drinking, pretending I was just chilling out, and waiting for my change. Eventually the kid realised I wasn’t just a dumb tourist willing to part with my money (even though 50SP is only worth about $1.40). Eventually he handed me a pile of coins. I added them up later, and it turned out I’d paid only 5SP for the cola. That’s about 14c, or 10p. I couldn’t believe it – that was like giving the drink away for that price. It was about seven times cheaper than a branded ‘Coca Cola’ and nearly as good. The dodgy bloke at the border wasn’t kidding when he reckoned you could live extremely cheaply once you got inside Syria (despite the visa itself costing an arm and a leg).
Continuing on my walk, I really did get quite off track and soon wandered into what can only be described as the ‘burbs, but in reality was closer to a slum. You could tell the change in the vibe of the place immediately. I wasn’t entirely sure how well I was received by the adults who lived in the area, they didn’t seem to have a lot to say to me. The kids on the other hand were fantastic and very interested in the stranger walking around taking photos. I snapped a lovely photo of about 6 local kids all with grins as wide as watermelons and they were equally amazed when I could show them the photo immediately back on the screen of my digital camera. Predictably they followed me around, and then one of the kids managed to successfully ask where I was going. I was trying to find that mosque but was hopelessly lost and figured I should ask for which way back to my hotel. The kid knew the street, it was one of the main roads, ‘Al Bab Farer’. He not only pointed but followed me some of the way, and then I had a thought. I wonder what will happen if I flick this helpful kid a coin? And so I reached in my pocket for a 5SP coin – virtually worthless to me, well worth a Cola so it turns out! – and flipped it his way. He caught it and his eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. He knew that I was saying thanks for the advice, and then like a trooper, he followed me right to the edge of his neighbourhood until it was clear that I couldn’t get lost. The rest of the kids didn’t let up either, and once they saw that I was handing out money, some of them even came up to ask for some, but I wasn’t being that generous. Somebody tried to sell me a watch. The kid I gave the coin to came back and tried to give me a watch. I wasn’t sure where he’d got it, if he’d just stolen it or how good it was, but I didn’t want or need it and declined the offer. Soon I began to wonder what I’d started – would I manage to ever shake them off? But eventually on one of the busier roads, they did fall back, especially once it was clear that I wasn’t going to be handing out any more money for nothing. Still, it was kind of a fun, strange experience.
I found the mosque – disappointingly, it looked like it was being either still constructed, or massively refurbished. The place was a proper building site, which admittedly you only realised once you got up close, but from a distance you could still get some amazing photos of the four tall towers as the sun set. On the way back into central Aleppo, I randomly stopped to help some taxi driver who was changing a flat tyre. He seemed grateful though he didn’t really need my assistance. But the place was so friendly, that I figured there was no real harm in returning the good will when I got the chance. I have to admit, it’s hard not to be in a good mood when you’re on such a long holiday and every day is a new, amazing experience!
Back at the hotel on the last night, I was relaxing in front of the TV and chatting with the hotel staff and many of the other guests. It’s amazing how you can sit and watch the crappiest TV for hours when you’re a traveller, for no other reason that the show that you are watching is in English. There was no really good reason to be watching ‘Con Air’ otherwise, and I wasn’t the only one who made this observation. I guess it’s the familiarity with the movie and the language, that little reminder of home, even though I’d never go out of my way to watch a Nicholas Cage movie back in Oz. Not wasting time however, I was also having one of the guys at reception explain to me how to read and write Arabic numerals, since it would be very handy to know how this system worked so I could actually read prices in shop windows, and check that I wasn’t being ripped off if it came to that. Interestingly enough, I already knew Arabic numerals – officially they are the same as English! The ones that ‘look’ Arabic and are actually used in practice, are hindi (Indian) numerals. Who would have thought? Anyway the system is pretty easy. Numbers from one to ten each have a corresponding symbol, and you just add dots after the number to indicate 10’s, 100’s and 1000’s etc.
We were sitting there when one of the guests came back and informed the receptionist that ‘Ahmed’ one of the owners was down at the police station, and that he was Ok but he could be there a while and to let the hotel staff know. There was a little concern at first from the guests, but then the Aussie girl who was dating the owner explained to us that ‘this happens all the time’. Apparently it’s just how the police operate in Syria. Turns out every single day, the hotel has to turn over its register of guests for inspection and occasionally, the police will ask questions about something. This involves the owners coming down to the police station and quite often being there all night, explaining what’s going on. It sounded incredibly absurd to most of us, but we were assured that nothing was wrong, and that basically the police just get so bored sometimes, they will even go out of their way to find something to bring you down to the station, just for a chat. One time, one of the guests had handed over a fake note, and without realising, the owner handed it to some kid to run down to the shop to fetch some supplies and bring them back to the hotel. The shop owner recognised it to be a fake bill, and then the poor kid, who didn’t know any better, went straight to the nearest police officer shouting that the shop owner had just torn up his money! And so the kid, the shop owner, the hotel owner and the hotel guest that originally handed it over, were all taken down to the police station for the night to sort out the situation.
Anyhow, on this particular night, one of the hotel managers was talking to some tourists on the street. A situation that the cops thought was a bit unusual for whatever reason. And so they just picked him up off the street and took him in. He then called the hotel, and Ahmet headed on down to see what was the matter, to find out that one of his own friends was one of the police officers involved. All of a sudden, nobody really cared for the reason that brought everyone together, but they spent the rest of the night down at the police station smoking and shooting the breeze.
Well, I’m reliably informed that despite the above, the police are very reluctant to go near the tourists unless they have good reason to. They only pick on the locals, and in fact apparently the government and law enforcement it set up in such a way that foreigners and tourists have very good clout if it ever comes to law enforcement matters, and they take complaints about public servants and police officers and the like very seriously. Who would have thought?!
Well that’s enough rambling for now. Plenty more stories for another chapter as I hit the road south once again, on the way to Cairo.
P.S.> Happy birthday mum!
