Syria

Our entry to Syria was pretty odd, we had to catch a shared taxi to the border then another specialist border crossing taxi across it (the drivers passport was awesome), and then a bus from the border to the Damascus bus station and then yet another taxi to get downtown to where the hotels are. The only problem was we had no Syrian currency, we bought some biscuits from a shop at the bus station and tricked the guy into changing 4 Dinars for us, assuming there'd be ATM's and things in the big city. Unfortunately 6 ATM's later we discovered that the banking network seems to take the day off on Friday's (it is the Islamic weekend after all). But after wandering around for a bit looking very worried about how we were going to be our taxi driver, we were approached by a not terribly dubious character that spoke some English and offered his services as a foreign exchange dude. Of course this involved walking past the closed exchange office to his fabric shop where he whipped out an enormous brick of cash and gave us exactly what Jacquie had calculated as the fair exchange rate for our remaining Jordanian funds and sent us on our way. So far Dubya's Axis of Evil spiel was looking pretty thin.

Damascus is a pretty run down, busy sort of place. So busy the locals actually use those overpass bridges that optimistic governments often erect over busy thoroughfares. We had some trouble finding a hotel as the guide book recommended ones had suffered from both recent high inflation and a glut of guide-book reading tourists. But after getting lost trying to find a backup option I found a reasonable room on the 2nd floor of a startlingly non-right-angled old courtyard house. Every time we climbed the two flights of stairs there were terribly amusing head bending and body leaning episodes as we tried to stay aligned with the escheresque floor, wall, and ceiling angles.

While I am not really a fan of bazaar's as a shopping destination, having gotten over the exoticness of it all quite a while ago, I had read a herald article about the Damascus Grand Bazaar, and I was surprisingly undisappointed. It is probably the oddest placed Victorian building on the planet with a long long central mall with heavy cast iron arches crossing overhead with the occasonal hole in the opaque panellng (probably glass) between the arches letting in spots of light, it was one of those rare buildings that actually made me happy. Of course there were a whole mess of shops and people desperately trying to sell us all manner of junk, food, spices, and even the occasional knick knack that you might like to take home with you.

Passing through the more warren like section of the bazaar you eventually come to the Umayyad Mosque, one of the few mosques we've actually been allowed into throughout the middle east, they go so far as to provide goofy grey robes for all the inappropriately dressed females (basically anyone not already wearing robes). The building is actually really significant as it is one of the oldest mosques around, started being exclusively Muslim in 706 after being a shared use church/mosque since pretty much the start of Islam. It also supposedly houses both the head of John the Baptist and the remains of the great Arab General Saladin. Beside from that it is actually quite attractive and family friendly place. With kids running around, people resting and talking around the outside men and women praying in adjacent sections the same mosque (it seems that mostly if there is actually a women's section to a mosque it is above and out of sight of the men's section).

Continuing on from the Mosque there is more bazaar then the old town opens up into the Christian Quarter which is a little more well to do, is decorated with the occasional original nicely preserved roman column, and even sports the odd liquor license. Why do Christians get their own quarter in the heart of a very very Muslim country? Obviously because they're in the bible (t00). Unfortunately the Chapel of Saint Paul was all closed up tight when we eventually found it, but it commemorates the spot where the Apostle Paul got lowered over the city walls in a basket to flee his persecutors.

We are the worst tourists ever when it comes to buying souvenirs, but we almost always manage to sample the local food stuffs and in Damascus we were pretty keen on the local take on soft jubes, which appear to actually be made with fruit but will congeal into one sticky uber-jube if you leave them in the heat. This led to one of my finest hours as I devoured an apple sized sticky monstrosity with Jacquie looking on in horror (now how often does that happen).

We also visited the National Museum of Damascus on what was a scorcher of a day. The musuem was unusual in that they'd taken the front of some fortress or another and reconstructed it around the doorway so there was a big faux castle gate welcoming you in. The museum had quite a good collection of statues and things from around the region but all was forgotten when we discovered that there was a reconstructed Byzantine family tomb underneath the building that was at least 15 degrees cooler than anywhere else. Not just that but all the little drawers that the various people had been interred in all had a nicely carved portrait of the occupant on the front.

After Damascus we hit the road out to the finest Roman ruins in Syria at Palmyra. We were there before the tourist season and it was insanely hot, but we had the place pretty much to ourselves,and could wander around the ruined roman road and baths through all the columns and arches chasing lizards to our hearts content. We had our first motorcycle souvenir seller as a local fullah drove right the way across the site to try and sell us some arabic 'tea-towel' headwear. Apart from the reasonably standard roman ruins, there is a fairly rare Temple of Bel (or Ba'al) on site, but apart from the (closed) tunnel for bringing the sacrificial animals it was pretty standard too. Big stone walls closing off a courtyard, and a small better decorated inner shrine for the priestly fold to do their thing in. Unfortunately by this time we were pretty much cooked and all the local taxi drivers were smarter than trawling the deserted ruins for fares so we had to walk back to town in the 40 plus heat. Luckily there was a small restaurant where we loaded up on fluids and were provided with samples of local fruit by the owner.

Making it back into Palmyra town we headed to the bus stand where we had left our backpacks, until we were cut off by an approximate facsimile of the American Army. Smoke was pouring out of burning oil drums, as a huge crowd of locals gathered to watch some heavily armed jeeps race up and down the streets under the watchful eye of several movie cameras. But by the time we got there they seemed to have gotten their shots and we cam become much more interesting to the assembled children than the movie making.

That same night we made it into a small town called Hama famous for its oversize all wooden water wheels (aka norias). Hama is actually quite a pleasant, quiet little town and we had a good time wandering around on foot. Down the river we passed several of the norias that are kept turning for the tourists. They were built to raise water from the river into several aqueducts leading away from town. The really distinctive thing about them is actually their noise as they continuously creak along on their wooden pivot, but don't seem to be terribly effective at moving water.I wouldn't want to own a farm relying on them.

Out of Hama we did a day trip in a van to two near by crusader fortresses. First up was the smaller fortress of Masyaf situated in a small village it looked the worse for wear but turned out to be quite a fun explore with just me, Jacq and the japanese guy and three random eastern europeans we had brought with us. The fort is quite twisty and as you climbed up or (indeed down into the depths) you were never really sure where the next door would pop you out.

After Masyaf it was onto the main event, Crac des Chevaliers. Before tackling it though we braved the tourist trap restaurant our driver recommended. Against all expectations we had an enormous and reasonably priced mixed mezze lunch served by definitively the most camp man we had met in many months. Fortified we wandered into the castle, and up the huge broad entry ramp. The castle featured a broad wall between the keep and the nearest hill which had spectacular views across the valley, while the keep itself was damp, cool, and many arched and felt like you really could shelter quite a sizable army safely under its thick stone walls and roofs.

Next (quick) stop was Aleppo where the main thing to see was the citadel in the centre of town. Somewhat conical with a huge broad base you enter up a causeway and then find that someone left a small village up the top. There were narrow alleyways, unoccupied shops and homes, a small palace and even a small roman style theatre (they really are everywhere, I think we need one in Dargaville).

Latakia is a very (culturally) western town on the west coast of Syria up near turkey, full of students and bad attempts at western food. But it was somewhat relaxing and we took off on a fairly long walk along the promenade along the cliffs above the Mediterranean Ocean. We were there on the weekend and it seemed like a very popular place to be, loads of families lined up to buy fresh boiled corn, and occasionally heading into the expensive restaurants thereabouts. We spent a while watching the sunset and looking for Cyprus before taking a taxi home and thinking about getting to Turkey the next day.