Monday April 3-Sunday April 9
On Monday we arrived in Iskendrum, formerly Alexandretta, our last night in Turkey for a week, as we are going to Syria, which both of us are looking to a lot. Iskendrum is a dull and dirty port city, undistinguished except for the fact that it belonged to French administered Syria until 1939 when the French gave it to Turkey as a bribe to stay out of the war. This had an unpleasant effect on its many Armenian citizens who had fled there in 1915 to avoid the Turkish genocide of 1.5 million of their fellow countrymen.I discover from Robert Fisk’s excellent book on the Middle East that we are in the epicentre of the genocide and this is a very sobering reflection.
On Tuesday we leave Turkey. What a contrast….departing Turkey is a nightmare of chaotic bureaucracy, with stamps and endless shoving queues in front of meaningless kiosk windows, while around 200 huge lorries try to barge their way through a narrow opening. In Syria we are welcomed politely and sat down in the tourist office and fed sweet tea, olives, tomatoes and pitta bread dunked in olive oil. We part graciously with $100 each and all the stamps and taxes are miraculously paid and completed for us. With a hand on our heart we say “ salaam “ and we are off. I think we are going to like it here. First stop is the 5th century Basilica of St Simeon Stylites, who famously spent 40 years sitting on top of a pillar. From this comes the word “pillock “ Amazingly the pillar, or rather its stump is still there. On to Aleppo, and the famous Barons Hotel, which has hosted such luminaries as Lawrence of Arabia, Mussolini and the peripatetic Agatha Christie. In fact Lawrence’s bill is framed in the bar. He drank Corton Rouge in 1914 for 12 Syrian Pounds. Would that we had been so lucky. Barons is way past its sell by date. The BOAC posters and bakelite phones are funny to start with, but the run down nature gets to one after a bit . As did the hotels oleaginous fixer, called Walid.
What Walid did do however is to fix us up with a charming guide called Murhaf, an archaeology student, who showed us around the fascinating old soukh, the Armenian quarter, and the impressive and huge citadel, which looms over a city of some 3.2 million.. Murhaf told us that he won’t guide Americans or journalists any more as they are too much trouble, what with their secret service tails and all those reports one has to make. Brits and others don’t seem to warrant this attention, which is a little disappointing as we had been looking forward to our very own secret policeman, who could have been very useful, especially when haggling for carpets in the soukh. At this stage, I’d like to record our impressions of Syria, one of George Bush’s triumvirate of evil. Well, first of all these are the most friendly and genuinely welcoming people we have met on our trip so far. In fact, people shout “welcome” at you from passing cars. The food is very good, very Lebanese, and Lebanese wine is cheap and available. Booze can be had in Christian run restaurants and with 20% of the population Christian, that’s not hard to find. There are no beggars, very little hassle except in a soukh and even that is about 10% of Marrakech and, oddly, for a police state, very few police around. Quite unlike Turkey, where they are everywhere, busting innocent English tourists for driving just a few kilometres over the limit, and generally being a nuisance. I think that George Bush should come to Syria and stop talking out his arse. One criticism, the traffic….god…..the traffic…everyone drives with one hand permanently on their horn and all over the road. At first we thought that there was priorite a droit but then we found out that’s its priorite a whoever gets their nose in first. Women are more covered than Turkey and in some, but few cases its is a black scarf over the head with no eye-holes. I am amazed to see many cloaked women with the most amazing , what we would call F-me stilettos poking out from the bottom of their robes..
On Thursday we drive first to Al Barra and Serjilla, two of up to 600 abandoned cities that litter this part of the country. Abandoned at different times and for different reasons, but in the case of Serjilla, the most complete, evocative and even spooky, in the 5th century. Later in the day we arrive at the Qual ‘at Marqab, a fine 12th century crusader fortress. It is black, made of basalt and sits atop a spectacular peak, dark and brooding, with a magnificent view of the med. The next day we consulted the Lonely Planet guide to the castle and wished we had done so earlier. It says “ although it is possible to visit the large wilderness that is the northern part…the area is snake infested.” Oo-er, matron. We spent the night in a port called Tartus and were amazed to see all these women, very fashionably dressed, sitting in bars and cafes smoking nargilehs.
Friday morning we had to have a hole in the tyre fixed, our first car problem. We then filled up the car and understood why we had to pay a diesel tax at the border. The tank cost £8 to fill, as opposed to at least £60 in the UK. Then on to the Krak des Chevaliers, which Lawrence called the finest castle in the world and which I had been looking forward to seeing very much. We had forgotten that Friday is the Moslem day of rest and the castle, which is undoubtedly fine, was swarming with Syrian school children. And when I say swarming I mean there were 100’s of the little buggers. We drove on to Damascus in the afternoon and I went for a jog to try to get our 13 course meze lunch to go down .I attracted a few stares, a few shouts of “ welcome “, but nothing worse.
I like Damascus, perhaps there is less to see than at Aleppo, but it still has a magic to it, and its soukh and Christian quarter, with the buildings whose covered balconies jut out into the street and nearly meet, is arguably more attractive , even if less well preserved. The main drag that runs right through the soukh and across the old city is the “street called Straight” as mentioned in the bible. Wasn’t supposed to actually be straight, but seemed pretty much so to me. There is also the Umayad Mosque, the third most important ( I think ) in the Moslem world. It is spectacular and has shrines to Saladin, correctly called Salahuddin, and John the Baptist, whose head is in a very impressive green and gold catafalque. The outside area of the mosque is full of children playing football and running about having a good time while their parents have picnics. Inside, people lounge about chatting, while others get on with the business of praying. Perhaps if Christian churches were a bit more like this, rather than mausoleums, some people might even go to them.
We leave Damascus on a Sunday, which feels like a Monday, because to Moslems that’s just what it is, and head out into the desert, leaving the blaring horns behind us. Along the way we come across a road sign advertising Iraq 172 km, but good sense prevails and we continue to Palmyra after a brief pit stop at the Baghdad Cafe. Carlsberg doesn’t do Greco-Roman ruins, but if they did they would be Palmyra.