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24 February Thursday Palmyra to Damascus

3/2/2011

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We leave 9:30.I give Achmet a pair of thick socks, because when he saw the socks I washed the previous day he showed me his and they were thin and worn. 3 km away I realized that I might have forgotten my shoes under the car. We drive back, but no shoes, and I am perplexed about it. I’m sure I would have remembered if I’ve put them in the car. Anyway…

We drive 160 km through flat, dry desert terrain on the same road that also goes to Iraq and Baghdad and that feels really weird – to think that 130 km away is a place that has been ravaged by war, whose inhabitants are struggling to recover and live normal lives; who live in daily uncertainty never knowing when  and where the next suicide bomb will explode – very weird and I am reminded to be thankful for such incredible mercies bestowed on us, where we lived, how we lived in such safety with so many luxuries that you take for granted: electricity, water, stores filled with wonderful choices. I do not want to get blazè about a life lived in peace, safety and security and I pray that I will have a spirit of contentment and joy under all circumstances.

Driving into Damascus was a cultural experience by itself. We arrive at peak business -, peak traffic-; peak noise-; peak everything hour. We drive miles through the outskirts – an ordered maze of little shops selling, fixing, building, breaking, collecting, baking, inflating, deflating, filling any and everything. This is the real Syria – the everyday activity of ordinary, hard-working people: traders through the centuries. I try to take pictures as we pass interesting sights.

What I find extremely interesting is the apparent low value placed on exterior aesthetics, traffic rules or not-littering.  Almost every building is unfinished in some kind of a way: - getting ready to be fixed; getting ready to be a derelict; getting ready to be built; or getting ready to be added on to…

Mosques though, usually are in an immaculate condition.

Plastic bags of all colors and sizes line the streets, sit like birds on the trees or fences; containers, paper, bottles, cans as well as livestock: goats, sheep and cows co-habitate happily together with the people.
A 1-line road easily accommodates 3 cars 5cm away from each other; it is not uncommon to see a car or motorbike drive on the wrong side of the road – sometimes, not always, will they flash their lights to make you aware;
 
honking is a language used extensively and can mean anything from:

one short honk: a friendly warning I’m behind you;

 2 short honks: friendly request - scoot over I’m passing;

One long and loud honk:  not-friendly warning accompanied by theatrical gestures – what are you doing, you idiot!

One short, light tap honk: Friendly thank you – when they’ve passed you;

Loud, repetitive, long and short honks: impatient call – I’m waiting outside your door    

Willie follows his compass nose and we find the camping site with relative ease in the midst of traffic chaos. We go for a walk in the neighborhood and meet a very friendly grocer that speaks fluent English. An older man, an interior designer who has lived all over the world: Quatar, Europe and America. He told Willie he came back to Syria where he sells vegetables, because he is a farmer by heart. He gives us useful advice in where to buy what and even calls his friend who has a kebab restaurant to “warn” him about the foreigners coming. We follow his directions into the heart of the neighborhood: alleyways filled with men, women, children, cars, buses, taxis, 2 and 3-wheeled motorbikes – walking, running, talking, yelling, laughing, honking, sputtering, spilling fumes…

Hundreds of tiny stores sell their goods: clothes, shoes, candy, gas bottles, cell phones, toys, pastries, belts, jewelry, fruit, vegetables, food; ANYTHING you can think and not think of. Woven through the sounds, colors, smells, flickering lights and constant activity are homes – usually apartments where families live – big families and often more than one family share an apartment. Eyes follow us as far as we walk – not often do foreigners come here and it is excellent cultural education for us, because this is where life happens, this is what life looks like; not the tourist adjusted smoothness that you find at attractions and down/old towns. Willie and I share our thoughts about what we tend to do with differences: it is so easy to judge, find fault or criticize, because differences often make us uncomfortable as well as frustrated, maybe even impatient at times, especially when one adds the communication barrier to the mix. You feel and look like a fish out of water – a fish in the desert!

I feel like an ornament on display at the little restaurant, because we are asked to sit on high chairs at the entrance while the chef prepares our schwarmas. We enjoy raw Syrian friendliness and hospitality and eat a most delicious meal for less than 2 euros total!    

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    Caren

    "There is something about safari life that makes you forget all your sorrows and feel as if you had drunk half a bottle of champagne - bubbling over with heartfelt gratitude for being alive. One only feels really free when one can go in whatever direction one pleases over the plains, to get to the river at sundown and pitch one's camp, with the knowledge that one can fall asleep
    beneath other trees, with another view before one, the next night." -
     Karen Blixen - Out of Africa, Kenya
    'Of course as I am reading this, I know that you DO get your visas and the container DOES get released, but oh the internal struggle we face even though we should trust (as Hugo does) that God has His hands on all things and is constantly taking care of us.'


    From a Friend:
    :) Crazy to think that we are ALL made of blood, bone and water yet we speak in so many tongues that getting along together becomes a massive task within itself.

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