Day 18: London to San Francisco - Coming Home

Summing up the trip. We arrived in London on Monday, April 12. Initially everything proceeded as planned: a couple of days in London, Oxford for Katherine’s conference on Wednesday, the 14th, and then back to London on Friday, the 16th, for our Saturday flight to Syria. We knew that British airspace had closed for an indefinite period on Thursday, the 15th, due to the ash from the Icelandic volcano which had erupted on April 14. We hoped against hope that our Saturday flight would take off as planned.

It was not to be. That flight was canceled; our rescheduled Monday flight was also canceled. Uncertainty reigned supreme for about five days. Waiting to see what would happen with the ash plume. Waiting to see if the airports would open. Waiting on the phone to reschedule our flight yet again. But unexpected pleasures as well: lunch with Susan Ware and dinner with Chris Kuelling, stranded like us.

Finally we were able to fly to Syria on Thursday, April 22. Turns out we made the right decision to stay and wait for the skies to open. From then on, everything worked even better than we had dared to hope. Touring with our guide, exploring Damascus, Katherine’s business meetings and the extremely capable Monitor team she joined, gorgeous food, lovely people. Rather than 12 nights abroad (UK for 6; Syria for 5; 1 flying), we had 18 nights abroad (UK for 11, Syria for 6; 1 flying).

Our stay in Syria was memorable for many different reasons; three or four stand out.
Because I was traveling with Katherine who was here on business, many of our travel arrangements were made for us, thanks to Emad, Silvia, and Rebecca. The comfortable hotel, great dinners around the city, our escorts to and from the airport, our tours of Palmyra and Damascus had all been arranged ahead of time. Without having to worry about or plan for these basic necessities and helpful amenities, we had more time and energy to let this place sink into our spirits, to breath it in, to appreciate its ancient splendor and current dreams.

This was my second trip to Syria. The first time in 2003 I was part of a very interesting Christian/Muslim delegation. Our group leader, Imam Bashar Arafat, who is from Damascus and now lives in Baltimore, wanted us to speak with as many Muslims (religious leaders, government officials, academics, etc.) and Christians as we could. I saw one side of the city in great detail but I didn’t have time to explore, visit shops, or walk on my own. This time I did and I established a heart connection that feels very precious indeed. I look forward to the next visit to explore the art scene more fully, find a cooking teacher, and visit the National Museum again. Each time moving a little deeper.

The warmth and graciousness of the Syrians we met seemed genuine. Some of the friendliness was perhaps prompted by commercial interests. But there seemed to be an underlying gratitude that we, as Americans, were here in Syria, learning about it, traveling about, having a great time, and a hope that we would return to the US to tell their stories, to show our snapshots (such as this one), to make this country real to our friends and family.

Our tour guide, Ghiath Abdallah, in his early 40s we would guess, was superb: knowledgeable, funny, wise, and organized. His family has lived in the same house in the Christian Quarter for 150 years. He lives there still. The youngest of four kids, his one sister lives down the street from the family home and his other brother and sister live in Athens. When Ghiath vacations, he goes to Athens or San Francisco. We hope we can repay his kindness the next time he come to SF.

In the market, merchants who wanted me to visit their shops responded when I said “No” as graciously as I could: “You are welcome here. Please come back tomorrow.”

In our hotel lobby, we were standing with a young hotel employee watching a Syrian wedding party gather in front of us. He asked, “Where are you from?” We responded, “California.” He said, “You have a beautiful country.” We responded, “You do too.” He said, “My country is not yet beautiful but it is getting there.” Wistful, hopeful, honest.

And the kids, oh the kids. The pictures say it all.
Boys from Tartous at Palmyra practicing their English.

Boys in the market in Damascus, trying to tell me something about my pistachios.

The shop of Bashar's father in the market, tended by a lovely young fellow. A relative of Bashar's perhaps?

Day 17: Damascus to London

I started the first of two days of travel with a typical Syrian breakfast, hotel buffet style: foule (beans served with fresh tomatoes, diced onions, and herbs), a milky sweet bread pudding, a sweet cream of wheat-type warm cereal, chicken with tomatoes, hummus, and bread.

A very pleasant fellow, wearing a suit, met us at 8:30am in our hotel lobby to return us to the airport in the customary black Honda. Both he and the driver rode without their seat belts. Warning beeps accompanied most of our ride. You’ll recall our experience in coming into the country which I talked about on Day 12. In leaving the country, we only had one suit and a driver rather than three men tending to us. But the seat belt experience was the same. What is this?

He dropped us off at the VIP lounge, took our passports and luggage, and disappeared. He returned quite promptly with our boarding passes, luggage slips, and passports. We never saw an airline person or a customs or security official or any one else for that matter, except the fellow in the lounge who offered us tea. The boarding process started, we could tell from the lounge’s monitor, and we sat while our fellow talked with his friends or disappeared into the fray outside the VIP lounge. Suddenly realizing that we were minutes away from departure, he bundled us quickly into the car and raced across the tarmac to the plane. We were the last to board.

Just in case you are wondering about this VIP treatment, Katherine was working on a special project as part of the Monitor team in Syria and was being escorted by “protocol.” I was simply along for the ride.

The plane ride to London took about five hours and we began the process of setting our watches back, this time two hours. We spent the night at a hotel close to Heathrow, had Chinese food for dinner in the hotel (surprisingly good), and enjoyed drinking water from the tap. I didn’t have time to draw a chair.

Day 16: Drawing Chairs/Preparing to Leave

I try to draw a hotel chair in every room I occupy during the course of a trip. It all started with a trip to Syria, Jordan and Egypt in 2003 and I’ve been doing it ever since. I can’t tell you why I thought it would be fun to do. I had been drawing chairs in Berkeley and Sonoma for a while before 2003, had drawn nearly every chair in the house and was getting bored with the process and my chairs. I knew that I would never get bored drawing on trips and thought there would be an endless variety of chairs. It is true that I have never gotten bored but it is also true that there is not an endless variety.

I believe somewhere in the world there is a ware house filled with five or six styles of chairs which are purchased and show up in various guises in most any hotel room. Anywhere. The warehouses may be divided into the high class, middle class, and cheap varieties but within each class the chairs are remarkably the same.

So today on my last day, I drew the chair in our Damascus hotel room. I have one more chair to draw in our airport hotel in London—but just in case I don’t have time, I want you to see the chairs I have drawn so far on this trip. London, Oxford, and Damascus.

The entire Monitor team working on projects in Syria (about eight of them plus me) gathered for dinner on our last night in Damascus at a new restaurant called The Pearl of the Orient. The food was the best we’ve had in Syria—and that’s saying something. I can’t begin to name what was in all the little bowls of dips and relishes which preceded the salads, main course dishes, and desserts. So I’ll just show you the pictures. A perfect meal to end our stay.

Mezze selections.

Salads. This one is tabbouleh. Others included fattoush.

Main dishes, served with nut-studded rice.

Desserts. This one is angel-hair pasta wrapped in a nest, filled with a creamy sweet cheese, and soaked with a sweet syrup. The other dessert was two kinds of rose-scented rice pudding, one with an orange custard on top, the other plain.

Following dinner Emad took us to the Old City to see the Mosque at night. It was about 10:30pm and he said it was still too early to get the full effect. But I thought it was pretty magical, especially with the full moon shining.

Day 15: Sauntering through Damascus on My Own

I started walking toward the Old City with only a couple of things in mind: to see whatever appeared in front of me, to move very slowly, and to buy a roll of Scotch tape to paste ephemera in my journal. I really wanted to move at the same pace as other folks on the sidewalks. It was surprisingly easy to slow down, to notice the goods spread out on cloths: remote controls, books, sunglasses. A young boy tended a scale, waiting for customers who might pay a small amount to be weighed—or so I suppose.

Half way to the Old City I found myself in a group of what I think were Iranian tourists—although pilgrims might be a better term. They were following their leader who held a sign up high for all to see. Dressed in black or printed chadors, most of them were older women with brown weathered faces. I suspect they were country folk. Although it was clear that they had their sights set on the Umayyad Mosque, they were moving slowly, some encumbered by the packages and bags held underneath their chadors. I stayed in their midst until we reached the market, feeling strangely safe and protected. No one noticed my presence.

My sights were set on the most famous ice cream store in Damascus, Bakdash. Through the front window of the busy shop, I could see a fellow adroitly forming an ice cream ball in his glove-covered hands and gently lobbing it into a plastic box of nuts.

Another fellow removed the balls from the nuts and placed them in glass bowls which a server carried off to the waiting tables of customers. One of the servers noticed that I was taking pictures and waved to me.

I asked these young men to line up for a group shot. They, in turn, asked to see the photo. I moved into the shop to show them. After gesturing their thanks, one popped a small glob of ice cream into my mouth with his gloved hand. The ice cream was cool and sweet and just delicious; the encounter which lasted no more than three or four minutes was sweeter still.

I stumbled across a lovely old man and his son selling nuts and dried fruits on a small street close to the mosque. As soon as I tarried, looking at the food, I knew that I would end up buying something. I chose a small plastic bag of pistachios in the shell, salty and so good.

There were a couple of fellows demonstrating kitchen tools, spread out on a cloth in the street. They used the tools with a confidence that can only come from lots and lots of practice. They cored zucchini, made cucumber flowers and baskets, and shredded carrots with the greatest of ease. I was tempted to buy a gadget or two until I realized they were probably like the kitchen gadgets advertised on television in the 50s: they looked good but lasted about two seconds before breaking. I came home gadget-free. But a little regretful.

Walking back to the hotel, I followed the path past the old train station that is becoming increasingly familiar, moving at a saunter, noticing the shwarma shop, the Syrian equivalent of a pizza place, and the shop were I had successfully purchased my tape (not Scotch). I waved to the fellow who had sold me the tape; he waved back. I was surrounded by people traveling the same route at the same pace as I. It was lovely.

Dinner was at Naranj, a beautiful restaurant in the Old City. The five of us (our numbers are growing) had, among other things, fantastic kibbeh (meatballs mixed with spices and bulgur) in a yogurt sauce which was creamy, warm, and so comforting. Apparently you can heat yogurt and prevent curdling by adding some cornstarch mixed with water and slowly heating the yogurt, stirring it constantly. Sounds like a lot of work but the effort was so worth it.

Day 14: Exploring Damascus on Our Own

Because of the excellent tour yesterday and a pretty good map of the city, we felt comfortable setting out on our own. Our first stop was the scarf shop, The Silk Road, in the handicraft market we had visited briefly yesterday. We were charmed by the young fellow selling such beautiful fabrics and demonstrating his weaving skills on an old Jacquard loom for which he had more than 150 key-card patterns. We looked through his gorgeous selection of scarves and decided that we were going to incorporate more style and pizzazz into our pretty conventional attires by wrapping beautifully soft and vibrantly colored pieces of cloth around our necks. We ended up buying some beauties. And then we set off toward the Old City.

On our way we found that walking across busy streets can be quite a challenge. While there are traffic lights and even some pedestrian crossing lights and way more traffic cops swinging batons than you would see in most countries, the traffic is chaotic. We developed a strategy: we position ourselves behind or next to two or more people crossing the busy street and stay behind them, without looking at the oncoming traffic, until we reach the other side. It seems to work. We are still alive to tell the tale.

The Christian Quarter was our destination. We had both found it so calm and quieting yesterday and wanted to have a little taste of it again. What we hadn’t realized that being Sunday many of the shops were shuttered. But it really didn’t matter. We found the Hotel Talisman where Sam Barnes and our dear friend Rivka stayed on their trip last fall. We wish we could have stayed in the Jewish or Christian quarters of the old city but Katherine’s work here didn’t allow us that choice. We had lunch, wandered around at a leisurely pace, poking our heads into deserted ateliers, and ultimately headed back to our hotel, feeling quite proud of ourselves for negotiating the crowds, the traffic, and a new city.

We ate dinner at a fish restaurant called Al Yam, close to the hotel. It was splendid. Four of us started out with the usual hummus, eggplant dip, fattoush, pickles, and the rest. But then the show began. Silvia chose our fish: a beautiful large red snapper.

It was whisked to the kitchen, cooked encrusted in salt, and returned to the table for our inspection. We applauded.

I followed the crew into the kitchen and watched as the chef broke the crust with the side of his knife, gradually revealing the beautiful fish underneath.

The fish, without its salt robe, was presented to our table and again whisked away to be deboned.

The taste of the fish was so subtle and fresh, with just a touch of tahini with lemon and herbs and a lovely rice pilaf. The staff was justifiably proud and we were delighted.

Day 13: Touring Damascus

We set off early for what our guide promised would be a wonderful day-long tour of the most important sites in Damascus. We moved fast, let me tell you, mostly on foot. And it was wonderful.

Our first stop was the National Museum. My favorite room was the reconstructed synagogue of Doura Europos, covered with dirt and preserved when the Persians conquered the town in the mid-3rd century AD. We also saw a small tablet of the alphabet of Ugarit in cuneiform from 1400-1300 BC that formed the basis of the Phoenician, Greek and all the Western languages.

We stopped briefly at the handicraft market next to the museum housed in the hospice area of an Ottoman-era complex from the 1550s. We particularly loved the scarf shop and the one where a fellow was blowing glass.

And then on to the Old City. While I had been to Damascus in 2003, my visit had centered around conversations between Muslims and Christians. We didn’t spend much time on tourist activities. So I was thrilled to return to the Old City.

We walked through one of the western gates into the souk or market, dating in its current form from the late 19th century, full of people shopping. Women wearing every imaginable form of head gear, including black scarves completely covering their faces. Little kids in pink and green play suits holding the hands of their covered moms and casually dressed dads. Many eating ice cream cones as they walked along.

We headed toward the Great Umayyad Mosque, dating mostly from the 8th century when Damascus was an Islamic capital. As visitors to the mosque, we had to be properly covered and for those in need, the mosque provides long beige coats with peaked hoods.

We continued walking toward the Jewish and Christian Quarters, amazed by the quiet after the hubbub of the market. While these quarters have been primarily residential, our guide, who lives in the Christian area, is concerned that the quiet won’t last for long. The cost of houses has risen so much that families can no longer afford them and hence many of the old houses are being turned into restaurants and hotels that generate more traffic and noise.

We stopped for lunch at Jabri House. Like most of these old houses, it is built around a central courtyard, with all the rooms facing the courtyard. We had a delicious lunch but the best dish was falafel. I was a little worried when our guide ordered it as I have eaten falafel that landed in my stomach like lead. To my surprise and delight, it could not have been better. They nearly floated off the plate. Dipped in a light and creamy tahini sauce, they were so good.

Finally we visited several art galleries and the home of a collector and gallery owner and saw paintings and sculptures that were just beautiful. The Arts District is a vibrant and growing area of the Old City and brought us right up to the present moment.

Damascus is perhaps the oldest continuously inhabited city in the world. In a day we have seen the span of Damascene history. Neolithic settlements (8500-4500BC) in the museum. The story of Paul on the road to Damascus from the Christian Bible. The Umayyad Mosque when Damascus was the center for the Islamic world. And more and more… Finally we are here in the present moment walking through an immensely alive and active old and new city. It is quite amazing.

Day 12: Palmyra

We arrived in Syria last night about 11:00pm and were met at the airport by two guys in suits who immediately took our passports and luggage tags, deposited us in a VIP lounge, and disappeared. We waited and waited. Finally they reappeared with our suitcases and our passports, all properly stamped, and loaded us into a late-model black Honda. The driver, a younger fellow more casually dressed than his associates, drove us at high speed to our hotel. Because he didn’t fasten his seat belt, the warning signal beeped most of the way.
Security at our hotel is huge. Before we could pull into the driveway, a guard opened our trunk to check its contents. We were escorted through a metal detector and our luggage, purses, and briefcases were all run through a screening, just like at the airport.
We settled in for a pretty short night’s sleep. Plans were set for us to visit Palmyra (pronounced Pal-me-ra) at 9:30am. Our guide called at 8:30 to ask if we were ready to go. Not quite. Thirty minutes later we were in the lobby.

We set off in another black Honda in the capable hands of our tour guide and a driver for a two and a half hour drive to Palmyra, a beautiful ruin, northeast of Damascus, built in the desert on the edge of an oasis. Along the road, we saw Bedouins tending flocks of sheep and goats, a little greenery from the recent rainy season and miles and miles of sand. At one point we were only about two hours from the Iraqi border. We stopped for a break at the Bagdad Café.

I’ve seen a lot of ruins in my travels and Palmyra is one of the prettiest. The architectural style is Roman but with modifications based on older forms of regional architecture. We walked through the Sanctuary of Bel, an outdoor amphitheater, the bath of Zenobia, the all important market place (the agora), down roads lined with columns and arches. Although Palmyra was settled as early as the 2nd millennium BC, all of the ruins we saw date from the 2nd and 3rd centuries AD. Palmyra was a pivotal and wealthy trading center of perhaps 60,000 people in its heyday, linking the far east trade routes to Antioch on the Mediterranean and from there to Rome. The Romans gave the area a lot of authority and autonomy as long as the goods they desired kept moving through Palmyra toward Rome.

And then Zenobia came to power. She was the beautiful, brave, and ambitious Palmyrene queen who, with her son, took over the rule in Palmyra in 267AD after her husband the Governor of Syria was mysteriously murdered. She was convinced that she and her army, said to number 70,000 or more, could defeat the Romans. Initially she was successful, taking control of Syria and pushing forward into Egypt and Anatolia (Turkey). She had coins printed of herself in Alexandria, declared her son Emperor, and claimed the eastern half of the Roman Empire as theirs in 271AD. Her march to Rome ended, however, when Emperor Aurelian, fed up with the threat to his power, advanced to Palmyra in 272AD, forced Zenobia to surrender, took her to Rome where (stories vary here) she was forced to live in exile, committed suicide, or was executed. No report on what happened to her son. In 273AD Palmyra was sacked by the Romans and never recovered. Zenobia was quite something and I was so pleased to hear her story.

Back in Damascus, we took a walk around our somewhat gritty and shuttered neighborhood (it was Friday, the Muslim day of worship, and most everything was closed) and then had dinner in the hotel restaurant, Al Halabi, and ate, amongst other things, Kabob Karaz, Grilled Lamb in Sweet Cherry Sauce, a specialty of Aleppo. It was a fantastic dish combining the sweet/sour cherry sauce with grilled ground lamb meatballs flavored with dried mint, and strips of very thin bread lining the shallow bowl in which the dish was served. The bread soaked up the delicious sauce. It was so good.