Syria - Part 4
Old Damascus
December 2008
I love these kinds of days to walk about looking and stopping and trying this street or alley and then that café. My first encounter is watching a guy trying to free his bicycle from a huge shipment that was delivered the night before trapping his bike between the shipment and a street lamp. This poor fellow has to lift these huge and heavy bags of I don’t know what to get to his bike and it looks back breaking.
December 2008
I love these kinds of days to walk about looking and stopping and trying this street or alley and then that café. My first encounter is watching a guy trying to free his bicycle from a huge shipment that was delivered the night before trapping his bike between the shipment and a street lamp. This poor fellow has to lift these huge and heavy bags of I don’t know what to get to his bike and it looks back breaking.
My first destination of the day is to the Hejaz railway station. Trains still operate from Damascus to Jordan. If I had more time I would be on the next train to Amman for an overnight. There is talk of continuing the line to its original destination of Mecca as it was envisioned long ago. Just recently in the Arab News, there was an article announcing, “Saudi and Turkey have reaffirmed their desire to restore and rebuild the historic Hejaz Railway that linked Damascus with the holy city of Madinah by a narrow-gauge rail line.” Syria and Jordan would also have to pitch in to rebuild tracks on their sides. If this project comes to fruition, and if completed as envisioned, it would connect Istanbul to Mecca. I would be first in line to buy a ticket for this historic route. As a matter of fact, the Hejaz railway is currently celebrating their centennial anniversary with the inaugural launching in 1908.
The railway station in Damascus is an easy walk down the street from the citadel. Lawrence of Arabia is by my side as the majestic station comes into view. I get goose bumps from the sight of it. I think of my cousins who are train buffs to the core knowing they would feel the same way. I also know they are going to ask all sorts of technical train questions so I seek out answers. Outside there is an old train engine and I take a picture of the engine to remember it by. It is an Arnold Jung Engine No. 120 dated 1908. This may mean something to them. Inside, the stained glass panes from above washes the floor in color. There are posters on display and an out of place book store inside. The bathrooms are surprisingly clean. A few people come and go buying tickets, probably not thinking too much of what the atmosphere was like 100 years ago in this very spot. I do, and want to be transported back to that time.
Back out in the brilliant sun I look for a place to change money. There is a bank across the street from the train station requiring two street crossings and with the traffic not much better than in Saudi, I look for people to cross with, safety in numbers as the saying goes. At the bank the wild goose chase starts. This bank does not change money, the one down the street does. With there being several streets I ask again at a travel agency. The nice agent tries to explain to me where to go but finds it easier to send the office runner to take me. He takes off in a mad dash and I semi walk run to keep up with him. Turns out the place is closed and I end up at a local hotel where men sit and smoke in a dark lobby. Mission accomplished; time to eat.
I end up at Al Arabic Restaurant, a mid range establishment with four tables and chairs and a busy clientele. Some restaurants look rather posh and expensive while others make sandwiches to take away. This one is perfect with food I can see before ordering and a place to sit and write. I am welcomed right away and have my tea and a host of plates splayed before me before I could even take out my writing materials. Everything looks appetizing and I can’t wait to dig in. There are many things to sample like cooked fava beans in swimming in Syrian olive oil which is highly regarded in these parts, a hard white cheese and a soft white cheese, apricot jam, a pile of pickles and olives, a savory cheese pastry, a hard boiled egg and pita bread. I take my time eating, writing, and thinking about where to next within the old city. I watch people come and go, mostly local men but two tourists also appear with their Lonely Planet planning their day.
With a hearty breakfast under my belt, I walk back towards the citadel to experience the covered souqs. The Al Hamideyah souq is by the citadel and the billboard with the president is right above the souq entrance. Once again, I step back in time. The place is dark and dusty and is slowly coming to life with shop keepers opening their doors and people walking around. This place gets really busy in the afternoons and evenings. A man is kneeling on white paper and is doing something. I go over to watch. He is demonstrating a classic American toy most American homes had in the 70’s – the Spiralgraph. Other men gather around him curious about how the plastic wheels makes these beautiful colorful designs. Some are intrigued and buy the small set. I look at the variety of window displays: clothes, lingerie, candy, spices, and soap. The end of this hall leads out to the plaza in front of the Grand Mosque of Damascus, also known as the Umayyad Mosque. What makes this exit/entrance so grand is the row of stalls selling foil decorations. It is a mass of glitz and shiny colors and with the sun setting them aglow, it makes for a festive welcoming to the mosque. Before visiting the mosque, I stand and watch small children chasing the pigeons and then I turn my back to see an amazing site. An old Roman arch giving hint to the grandeur of this city which played an important role in both religion and trade. They say Damascus is believed to be the oldest continuously inhabited city in the world and being in this spot makes me feel connected to the past and present. I would include this on my list of “23 places to see before you are 50”.
I have a bad habit of not researching a country until after I visit the place and this is one time I regret not reading about Syria before the trip. I enter the mosque and right away I am in awe of the beauty, the peace, and the holiness of the place. It is noon prayer and I sit, watch, breathe, and focus on being in the moment. I breathe in the calmness, the devotion, and the gentleness of the mosque and breathe out thoughts about the past and future. There are men, women, families, couples, pilgrims, and tourists all mingling together as in the past when Christians and Muslims lived side by side. I walk around the inner courtyard not knowing two important facts. One, the tomb of Saladin, the great Kurd leader who liberated the Arab territories from the crusaders, stands in a small garden adjoining the north wall of the mosque. Two, the mosque holds a shrine which is said to contain the head of John the Baptist. I missed both of these requiring me to return for another visit.
Not far from the mosque is the El A’zem Palace. This is a place I could settle into nicely. Plenty of rooms to host visitors, gardens to cool off in, and easy walking distance for shopping. I rest in the gardens with a guard/guide and we chat aimlessly and have a few laughs. I can tell not many people stop and listen to him describe the history of the place; another friendly soul making Damascus feel like home.
Here is a description of the palace I am borrowing this from SyriaGate.com
The Azem Palace was built, in the 18th century, as a palatial residence for Assad Pasha al-Azem, Ottoman governor of Damascus for 14 years. It is considered a great example of Damascene houses. The governor had diverted the waters of Barada to his gardens and summoned most carpenters and masons in Damascus. He also ordered for roman columns from Bosra to be brought in along with the ancient paving of Banyas.
It is divided into separate quarters, one for the kitchens, one for the haremlek, where the governor's family used to live in private, and the third was the selamlek where the governor and other male members of the family would receive guests and conduct their business. Along the south side of the selamlek is a liwan that is very deep into the wall to free it from sunlight during the day. Next to this liwan is a room where the governor would receive his guests, there is a beautiful fountain at the center of its marble floor. The selamlek is, for the most part, used as the Museum of Popular Arts and Tradition.
Each room is designed and decorated to show you some of the typical Damascene traditions, including preparation for Hajj and preparation for marriage.
I go back to visit Mardini, the soap guy, and he walks me down to his other soap shop, about ten shops away, and we sit and have tea. He tells me about his children and his soap business in Aleppo. I buy soap from him to take as gifts to families I am going to visit in the next few days.
I carouse the shops in “just looking” mode making mental notes of possible gifts to buy. I am like a kid in a candy store because I like everything. The old copper pots, the textiles, the glass, the soaps, the nuts, the furniture, the kitsch souvenirs, and the sweets. I remind myself to stick to my cardinal rule of traveling – only carry-on. A shopkeeper mentions a glassblowing studio outside the gate where I am staying. I get rough directions and set out to find this place. After seeing the glass studio at the Glass Museum in Tacoma, WA I wanted to compare the two. It is outside the gate in an industrial area. I stop several times to ask for better directions but still not sure how to get there. I turn around in defeat and walk back over to the gate. Something makes me turn around and try again. This time it is as if I know where the place is and I walk right to it. Inside the small studio two men are blowing glass to an audience of one – me. I want to take pictures but don’t want to distract the glass blowers. They are making a set of drinking glasses and they work with ease drinking tea and smoking as if they have made 1000 of these before and they probably have. The back section stores the glass inventory covered with a thick coat of dust. There is blue glass, green glass and clear glass. I buy a few small pieces and one is for my brother to add to his extensive shot glass collection.
With about thirty minutes before the sun is to set, I hop in a taxi to visit with students I teach in Jeddah. Their address was translated in Arabic and the taxi driver said he knows the location. He is probably in his late twenties and he is the first person I meet who is very angry with the government and, in particular, with the president. This guy clearly does not believe in the president because he says he has to work very hard for little money and everything is expensive. He is trying to raise a family and feels frustrated with not being able to get ahead. He is mad. He cools off while we drive around the same block several times looking for the address. Now I am the one getting mad as I try to call my friends using my mobile. It is not making out going calls. I try texting too but no response. The taxi driver does his best with the vague directions while I wait for the phone to ring. Finally it does and Tarek and Carol come out to the road to greet me.
It is lovely to visit them and their mom whom I met in Jeddah previously. I meet the last of the triplets, Tala, and the mom’s sister. The house is decorated for Christmas and the place is filled holiday excitement. They decide on a place to go out for a meal and it turns out to be Haritna, the very same place my friend Lina recommended while I was visiting with her in Beirut. As a matter of fact, I looked at the place yesterday while I was out walking around and peeked in to see a packed place with people smoking shesha, visiting and having a grand ole time. It looked like a popular place. I am excited to be going back for more than a peek this time.
The thirty minute walk over to the old city is a great way to see another area of Damascus and to see more Christmas lights. I notice that here and in Lebanon they have a huge manger scene under the tree. Let me rephrase that, they put a huge cave scene under the tree or just the cave scene minus the tree. This is the focal point and it can be quite lavish. I pass a few of these in front of churches as we walk along. The shops and cafes are trendy and are busy.
At Haritna we order food and shesha. Mounds of food arrive and and we plow through nuts, salads, pizza, dips and puff on shesha. Next comes the ice cream and I am thinking it is for the kids but Tarek tells me no because since it is cold outside they can’t eat cold food like ice cream. We relax and take in the atmosphere while Tarek decides to crawl under the table to go exploring. He comes back with a stack of ordering pads and sits down to draw picture after picture after picture. He goes back to get one for Tala and brings a magazine back for me. By the end of the meal it is decided I would join them tomorrow to go to Bosra for the day. I was planning to head to Hamma by bus but had a day to play with. That night I pack up not knowing if I would be staying with them the next night or if I would be looking for another place to stay. Either way I am ready. Sleep comes quickly under a pile of blankets on this winter night.
We have a beautiful day for Bosra. Because I did not read about Syria before coming, I wasn’t sure what the attraction is in Bosra. Turns out it was one of the first Nabatean cities in the second century B.C. When the Romans arrived the city went through a massive housing development being an important center for caravans as well as the seat for the imperial ruler. The Roman theatre is the main attraction and it is considered one of the most intact and beautiful theatres known. It is spectacular. The steps are narrow and steep and go straight up to heaven. There are wonderful views from the top. We walked through more ruins meeting the van and driver at another location and then drove the 140km back to Damascus. The adults were tired and resting while the kids came alive and sang, talked and getting antsy with being in the car most of the day.
We reached Damascus traffic and it was slow going. I still wasn’t sure what was to happen that evening until the van stopped at the Bab Toma gate and they said good-bye to me signaling me to exit the van. With the backpack strapped on I walk through the after work/school crowds thinking I would like to try a really cheap place to stay and experience that because I had three restful nights in a room costing about $48 per night and wanted to compare the two. I went back to the area where I had the great breakfast at the Al Arabic restaurant. Several hotels neighbored the restaurant and I went to the one on the end and he said it was $15 a night but had no showers anywhere. Each floor had 2 squat toilets and a sink. The rooms had sinks in them with really high faucets. Looks like a perfect mini shower to me. I take a room regretting my choice while sitting on the bed realizing how grimy the beds are. The mattress probably dates back to Nabatean times and no longer provides support and cushion like a normal mattress would. I didn’t dare sleep in the bed so I layered the blankets on top and bought a cheap sheet to place on top. From the chattering and yelling between floors I could tell this would be a long night. Walking from the room down several fights of stairs littered with old trays of food to the reception area, I observe this is not a tourist hotel but for men and families coming to visit the many mosques in the area. I still had about 5 hours to kill before bed time so I walked around looking for an internet place and maybe a movie theatre. I did find the internet café with help. After that I have juice, buy nuts for the road trip, and firm up plans with my friend Feras for our visit in Hamma. By 10pm I resign myself to the inevitable, I have to sleep at some time. I return to the hotel.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/35215585@N08/
http://www.syriagate.com/Syria/about/cities/Damascus/history.htm
http://www.syriatravel.co.uk/docs/arch_land%20marks%20of%20old%20damascus.pdf
http://www.sacred-destinations.com/syria/damascus-umayyad-mosque.htm
http://www.made-in-syria.com/busra.htm
Back out in the brilliant sun I look for a place to change money. There is a bank across the street from the train station requiring two street crossings and with the traffic not much better than in Saudi, I look for people to cross with, safety in numbers as the saying goes. At the bank the wild goose chase starts. This bank does not change money, the one down the street does. With there being several streets I ask again at a travel agency. The nice agent tries to explain to me where to go but finds it easier to send the office runner to take me. He takes off in a mad dash and I semi walk run to keep up with him. Turns out the place is closed and I end up at a local hotel where men sit and smoke in a dark lobby. Mission accomplished; time to eat.
I end up at Al Arabic Restaurant, a mid range establishment with four tables and chairs and a busy clientele. Some restaurants look rather posh and expensive while others make sandwiches to take away. This one is perfect with food I can see before ordering and a place to sit and write. I am welcomed right away and have my tea and a host of plates splayed before me before I could even take out my writing materials. Everything looks appetizing and I can’t wait to dig in. There are many things to sample like cooked fava beans in swimming in Syrian olive oil which is highly regarded in these parts, a hard white cheese and a soft white cheese, apricot jam, a pile of pickles and olives, a savory cheese pastry, a hard boiled egg and pita bread. I take my time eating, writing, and thinking about where to next within the old city. I watch people come and go, mostly local men but two tourists also appear with their Lonely Planet planning their day.
With a hearty breakfast under my belt, I walk back towards the citadel to experience the covered souqs. The Al Hamideyah souq is by the citadel and the billboard with the president is right above the souq entrance. Once again, I step back in time. The place is dark and dusty and is slowly coming to life with shop keepers opening their doors and people walking around. This place gets really busy in the afternoons and evenings. A man is kneeling on white paper and is doing something. I go over to watch. He is demonstrating a classic American toy most American homes had in the 70’s – the Spiralgraph. Other men gather around him curious about how the plastic wheels makes these beautiful colorful designs. Some are intrigued and buy the small set. I look at the variety of window displays: clothes, lingerie, candy, spices, and soap. The end of this hall leads out to the plaza in front of the Grand Mosque of Damascus, also known as the Umayyad Mosque. What makes this exit/entrance so grand is the row of stalls selling foil decorations. It is a mass of glitz and shiny colors and with the sun setting them aglow, it makes for a festive welcoming to the mosque. Before visiting the mosque, I stand and watch small children chasing the pigeons and then I turn my back to see an amazing site. An old Roman arch giving hint to the grandeur of this city which played an important role in both religion and trade. They say Damascus is believed to be the oldest continuously inhabited city in the world and being in this spot makes me feel connected to the past and present. I would include this on my list of “23 places to see before you are 50”.
I have a bad habit of not researching a country until after I visit the place and this is one time I regret not reading about Syria before the trip. I enter the mosque and right away I am in awe of the beauty, the peace, and the holiness of the place. It is noon prayer and I sit, watch, breathe, and focus on being in the moment. I breathe in the calmness, the devotion, and the gentleness of the mosque and breathe out thoughts about the past and future. There are men, women, families, couples, pilgrims, and tourists all mingling together as in the past when Christians and Muslims lived side by side. I walk around the inner courtyard not knowing two important facts. One, the tomb of Saladin, the great Kurd leader who liberated the Arab territories from the crusaders, stands in a small garden adjoining the north wall of the mosque. Two, the mosque holds a shrine which is said to contain the head of John the Baptist. I missed both of these requiring me to return for another visit.
Not far from the mosque is the El A’zem Palace. This is a place I could settle into nicely. Plenty of rooms to host visitors, gardens to cool off in, and easy walking distance for shopping. I rest in the gardens with a guard/guide and we chat aimlessly and have a few laughs. I can tell not many people stop and listen to him describe the history of the place; another friendly soul making Damascus feel like home.
Here is a description of the palace I am borrowing this from SyriaGate.com
The Azem Palace was built, in the 18th century, as a palatial residence for Assad Pasha al-Azem, Ottoman governor of Damascus for 14 years. It is considered a great example of Damascene houses. The governor had diverted the waters of Barada to his gardens and summoned most carpenters and masons in Damascus. He also ordered for roman columns from Bosra to be brought in along with the ancient paving of Banyas.
It is divided into separate quarters, one for the kitchens, one for the haremlek, where the governor's family used to live in private, and the third was the selamlek where the governor and other male members of the family would receive guests and conduct their business. Along the south side of the selamlek is a liwan that is very deep into the wall to free it from sunlight during the day. Next to this liwan is a room where the governor would receive his guests, there is a beautiful fountain at the center of its marble floor. The selamlek is, for the most part, used as the Museum of Popular Arts and Tradition.
Each room is designed and decorated to show you some of the typical Damascene traditions, including preparation for Hajj and preparation for marriage.
I go back to visit Mardini, the soap guy, and he walks me down to his other soap shop, about ten shops away, and we sit and have tea. He tells me about his children and his soap business in Aleppo. I buy soap from him to take as gifts to families I am going to visit in the next few days.
I carouse the shops in “just looking” mode making mental notes of possible gifts to buy. I am like a kid in a candy store because I like everything. The old copper pots, the textiles, the glass, the soaps, the nuts, the furniture, the kitsch souvenirs, and the sweets. I remind myself to stick to my cardinal rule of traveling – only carry-on. A shopkeeper mentions a glassblowing studio outside the gate where I am staying. I get rough directions and set out to find this place. After seeing the glass studio at the Glass Museum in Tacoma, WA I wanted to compare the two. It is outside the gate in an industrial area. I stop several times to ask for better directions but still not sure how to get there. I turn around in defeat and walk back over to the gate. Something makes me turn around and try again. This time it is as if I know where the place is and I walk right to it. Inside the small studio two men are blowing glass to an audience of one – me. I want to take pictures but don’t want to distract the glass blowers. They are making a set of drinking glasses and they work with ease drinking tea and smoking as if they have made 1000 of these before and they probably have. The back section stores the glass inventory covered with a thick coat of dust. There is blue glass, green glass and clear glass. I buy a few small pieces and one is for my brother to add to his extensive shot glass collection.
With about thirty minutes before the sun is to set, I hop in a taxi to visit with students I teach in Jeddah. Their address was translated in Arabic and the taxi driver said he knows the location. He is probably in his late twenties and he is the first person I meet who is very angry with the government and, in particular, with the president. This guy clearly does not believe in the president because he says he has to work very hard for little money and everything is expensive. He is trying to raise a family and feels frustrated with not being able to get ahead. He is mad. He cools off while we drive around the same block several times looking for the address. Now I am the one getting mad as I try to call my friends using my mobile. It is not making out going calls. I try texting too but no response. The taxi driver does his best with the vague directions while I wait for the phone to ring. Finally it does and Tarek and Carol come out to the road to greet me.
It is lovely to visit them and their mom whom I met in Jeddah previously. I meet the last of the triplets, Tala, and the mom’s sister. The house is decorated for Christmas and the place is filled holiday excitement. They decide on a place to go out for a meal and it turns out to be Haritna, the very same place my friend Lina recommended while I was visiting with her in Beirut. As a matter of fact, I looked at the place yesterday while I was out walking around and peeked in to see a packed place with people smoking shesha, visiting and having a grand ole time. It looked like a popular place. I am excited to be going back for more than a peek this time.
The thirty minute walk over to the old city is a great way to see another area of Damascus and to see more Christmas lights. I notice that here and in Lebanon they have a huge manger scene under the tree. Let me rephrase that, they put a huge cave scene under the tree or just the cave scene minus the tree. This is the focal point and it can be quite lavish. I pass a few of these in front of churches as we walk along. The shops and cafes are trendy and are busy.
At Haritna we order food and shesha. Mounds of food arrive and and we plow through nuts, salads, pizza, dips and puff on shesha. Next comes the ice cream and I am thinking it is for the kids but Tarek tells me no because since it is cold outside they can’t eat cold food like ice cream. We relax and take in the atmosphere while Tarek decides to crawl under the table to go exploring. He comes back with a stack of ordering pads and sits down to draw picture after picture after picture. He goes back to get one for Tala and brings a magazine back for me. By the end of the meal it is decided I would join them tomorrow to go to Bosra for the day. I was planning to head to Hamma by bus but had a day to play with. That night I pack up not knowing if I would be staying with them the next night or if I would be looking for another place to stay. Either way I am ready. Sleep comes quickly under a pile of blankets on this winter night.
We have a beautiful day for Bosra. Because I did not read about Syria before coming, I wasn’t sure what the attraction is in Bosra. Turns out it was one of the first Nabatean cities in the second century B.C. When the Romans arrived the city went through a massive housing development being an important center for caravans as well as the seat for the imperial ruler. The Roman theatre is the main attraction and it is considered one of the most intact and beautiful theatres known. It is spectacular. The steps are narrow and steep and go straight up to heaven. There are wonderful views from the top. We walked through more ruins meeting the van and driver at another location and then drove the 140km back to Damascus. The adults were tired and resting while the kids came alive and sang, talked and getting antsy with being in the car most of the day.
We reached Damascus traffic and it was slow going. I still wasn’t sure what was to happen that evening until the van stopped at the Bab Toma gate and they said good-bye to me signaling me to exit the van. With the backpack strapped on I walk through the after work/school crowds thinking I would like to try a really cheap place to stay and experience that because I had three restful nights in a room costing about $48 per night and wanted to compare the two. I went back to the area where I had the great breakfast at the Al Arabic restaurant. Several hotels neighbored the restaurant and I went to the one on the end and he said it was $15 a night but had no showers anywhere. Each floor had 2 squat toilets and a sink. The rooms had sinks in them with really high faucets. Looks like a perfect mini shower to me. I take a room regretting my choice while sitting on the bed realizing how grimy the beds are. The mattress probably dates back to Nabatean times and no longer provides support and cushion like a normal mattress would. I didn’t dare sleep in the bed so I layered the blankets on top and bought a cheap sheet to place on top. From the chattering and yelling between floors I could tell this would be a long night. Walking from the room down several fights of stairs littered with old trays of food to the reception area, I observe this is not a tourist hotel but for men and families coming to visit the many mosques in the area. I still had about 5 hours to kill before bed time so I walked around looking for an internet place and maybe a movie theatre. I did find the internet café with help. After that I have juice, buy nuts for the road trip, and firm up plans with my friend Feras for our visit in Hamma. By 10pm I resign myself to the inevitable, I have to sleep at some time. I return to the hotel.
http://www.flickr.com/photos/35215585@N08/
http://www.syriagate.com/Syria/about/cities/Damascus/history.htm
http://www.syriatravel.co.uk/docs/arch_land%20marks%20of%20old%20damascus.pdf
http://www.sacred-destinations.com/syria/damascus-umayyad-mosque.htm
http://www.made-in-syria.com/busra.htm
posted by Becky of Arabia at 12:39 PM
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