Flightster

Syria: Images and Impressions from Damascus and the Desert

• by Alan Perlman
• on October 15th, 2010
• 2 Comments

Enigmatic and seemingly dangerous to many of us outsiders, Syria is one of those misunderstood countries I wish more people would make an effort to visit. Granted, it’s not an easy place to get to. And if you have an Israeli stamp in your passport, you can forget about passing through customs.

Before flying in from Jordan, I stashed my primary passport, Israeli-stamped from a 2008 trip, into a hidden pocket in my luggage. I pulled out a second two-year passport used for situations like this and took off a Hebrew-engraved ring I was wearing on my right hand.

At the international airport in Damascus, the country’s capital city, I lowered my head, inched forward through immigration and, my fear beginning to manifest, prepared myself for a long and intense interrogation.

“You American? Welcome to Syria!”

Shows how irrational fear can be.

Damascus, the Old City

Widely recognized as the oldest continuously inhabited city in the world, Syria’s capital is wild, exotic, still teeming with the kind of raw and primordial vibrancy that’s disappeared from so many cities throughout the passage of time.

During his visit there in 1869, Mark Twain wrote:

Damascus measures time not by days and months and years, but by the empires she has seen rise and prosper and crumble to ruin. She is a type of immortality…. Damascus has seen all that has ever occurred on Earth, and still she lives…. Though another claims the name, old Damascus is by right, the Eternal City.

On the south bank of the river Barada lies the old city of Damascus, an area enclosed by Roman walls, guarded by seven monumental gates, a uniquely preserved presence and hubbub unlike the rest of the city.

I was wildly intoxicated with the old city, its intoxicating scents, mosaic fountains, colorful souks and thin stone staircases. During the late afternoon, I wandered its twisting conduits in a state of atmospheric rapture. Through arched doorways and cobblestone alleys, I walked aimlessly, timelessly, sampling Arabic pistachio-coated ice cream and freshly made fruit juices. Behind alley walls, renovated 16th and 17th century courtyards housed upscale, trendy restaurants. Eaters smoked flavored shisha and mopped up swirls of mezze, or a spread of appetizers, with donut-shaped falafel and triangularly wedged pita.

Every so often, the enchanting and penetrating call of the muezzin moved through the cramped, winding paths like an exotic soundtrack.

The Desert

One day, I ventured out into the desert.

My first stop, the Bagdad Cafe, a roadside haven between Damascus and Palmyra. I ordered tea, coffee and biscuits, marveling at the various knickknacks on the walls–bottle caps, postcards, art, currency, patches, all collected over the years from passing tourists. A group of tourists lugging large, black camera equipment sat down for some water.

The second stop, Palmyra, an oasis in the middle of the Syrian desert. Palmyra is one of Syria’s main attractions and is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. Its isolated ruins are wild to look at. In the middle of the day, no one else was around. I stayed for an hour, took several hundred photographs, had lunch at a nearby hotel and drove onward.

The third stop, Krak des Chevaliers, one of the most important preserved Crusader fortresses in the world. Located close to the border of Lebanon on a 650-meter high hill, this medieval military castle was described by T.S. Lawrence as “perhaps the best preserved and most wholly admirable castle in the world.” It was built in 1031 and is also one of Syria’s UNESCO World Heritage Sites. Late in the day and lots of people were there. I snapped this photograph of a school group from high atop one of the castle turrets.

Interestingly enough, my driver had informed me to say I was Canadian upon purchasing my ticket at the castle gate. Outside of Damascus, he explained, people might not be as receptive to an American. I likened it to a foreigner traveling in America’s deep south. I wondered whether a 24-year old Syrian had ever visited Tennessee, what his or her impressions were, whether or not he or she was treated amicably.

As I stepped up to the registration book, I thought of my entrance at customs, of the many pleasant conservations I had in Damascus, of the incredible hospitality I had been shown.

Per the advice of my driver, I went ahead and signed myself in as a Canadian. Just to be safe, you know?

Alan Perlman

Alan Perlman travels the world as an international cost-of-living surveyor. When he's not hunting for the price of female undergarments in places like Syria, Rwanda and Turkmenistan, he's hanging out in Boston, MA, staying active, meeting people and brainstorming business models. You can read more about Alan and his plans to conquer life at his blog, The 9 to 5 Alternative.