Once I reached the hostel, I had a few hours to kill before meeting Nick, and the hostel owner, Monique, invited me for dinner at her house with her husband. Though most Lebanese people today speak a triad mix of English, French, and a Lebanese dialect of Arabic, Monique did not know any English. However even with my somewhat limited Egyptian dialect of Arabic (which is quite different than the Levantine Arabic), we were able to keep up conversation with only some difficulty. When Nick arrived around 9pm, we took a cheap cab to the American University in Beirut (AUB) to meet up with Nick's two American-Lebanese friends, Sara and Lita, who are students at the university. They took us to a chill bar, The Grogue, which was packed with a hip crowd of young international people from everywhere imaginable. Much to my and Nick's relief, the bar tenders knew what REAL American music was (not the trashy hip hop and pop the Egyptians think America is all about). We drank a few glasses of French Chardonney (finally no more Obelisque--i.e. gross Egyptian wine) and smoked Nick's Cubans in celebration. I found myself shocked to see men and women dancing together, making out at their tables, and actually getting drunk and having fun--something so normal yet so foreign to what I see here--I was actually more shocked at my own surprise rather than what I was seeing. Anyhow, I got over it pretty quickly, and just sat back, relaxed, and appreciated the exquisitely dressed and ever fashionable and beautiful Lebanese people who were out having a good time.
The next day, Sara took us to the town of Byblos, which supposedly is the oldest continually inhabited town in the world. We toured around the ruins and peeked through the Crusader's Castle, which contains the tombs of the Egyptian Mamluk rulers from the 9th (?) century. The small town surrounding the ruins is nestled into the green coast along the Mediterranean, and really is beautiful. After we perused the little markets, drank some tea, and smoked the "arguila" (Lebanese for hookah), Sara invited us to her Aunt's house for the afternoon. The next day we went to her other aunt's house just outside of Beirut for the best home cooked meal I think I've ever eaten in my life. The meal lasted for about 6 hours, included three bottles of wine, a lesson in Lebanese cooking, and of course continuous banter over Lebanese-Syrian, and Lebanese-American politics. I still don't fully understand what the whole Lebanese civil war was all about (does anybody really?), and have a hard time grasping just exactly what Hezbollah's role is in Lebanon today. The Lebanese people certainly do have a different take on the matter than what is fed to us via American media--something that the Lebanese attribute to the U.S. position with Israel no doubt.
Despite discouragement from every Lebanese person we met, the next morning Nick and I, as well as Rami and Mike, two Lebanese-American students living in Beirut we met at The Prague, set off for Damascus, Syria around 8am. We found a car at the bus station that was willing to take us on the two hour journey, and we all piled in along with a Syrian business man. We were a little nervous about getting across the border for several reasons: 1) the U.S. State Department told us that we would have to buy in advance visas for $100, 2) the State Department has instructed all Americans to leave Syria because of the heightened political tensions concerning the U.N. and continued accusations of state sponsored terrorism, and 3) the strict tensions between Lebanon and Syria following the assasination of P.M. Harriri, and the UN resolutions calling for the end of Syria's occupation of Lebanon. Despite our worries, everything went smooth as ever, and we found ourselves being dropped off in downtown Damascus minus only $17 for visa stamps and $10 for the car.
We walked around the chilly (about 50 degrees F) downtown square, and made our way to the great Ummayyad Mosque in the Old City. There were quite a few tourists, though most of them looked Arab or maybe Spanish even. For sure, I was the only 6 foot tall blonde girl parading around town. I certainly drew attention despite my efforts to stay wedged between Nick, Rami, and Mike. However, Syrians are quite different than Egyptians or Lebanese. Frankly Lebanese people don't care what color your hair is (they dye it every color possible themselves), and Egyptians are sure to call, hoot, chant, and harass a blondie, but never dare to touch or threaten you. Syrians, on the other hand, are very quiet. Though I am used to being harassed by and cat-called by some of them, they do it to each other as well, and are extremely friendly to anyone they pass. At first glance, you would think that every Egyptian was great friends with every other Egyptian and had known them for years, when in reality they are just strangers passing by on the street. But Syrians tend to be much more sober--a little disturbingly sober in fact. Though no one spoke a word to me, hundreds of pairs of eyes were glued to me wherever I went. It was a little eerie, but I got over it pretty quickly, and just tried to blend in the best I could (no matter how pathetic my attempt). Another strange thing I couldn't get over though was the disturbingly crooked smile of President Bashar al-Saad pasted on every wall in every direction. --And I thought Mubarak was everywhere-- This guy isn't going to let anyone forget what his face looks like.
Later on we made our way to the famous Old Souq (market) which is about a mile long covered by a black roof with streams of light peering through the bullet holes left behind by the French years ago. Inside the market you could buy just about anything for unbelievably cheap prices (even compared to Egypt), and despite the crowds, was quite orderly and relatively quiet. Every little kid in sight had a white ice cream cone dashed with pistachios in their hand, so we ventured to the huge ice cream store inside the market to try the Syrian delicacy for about 25 cents. Pretty good, but why not more than one ice cream flavor? After a grand and cheap feast, we found a hotel downtown for $5, which in reality was all that it was worth. I'm pretty sure that above the first floor the rooms were reserved for prostitutes, and I didn't see a single flushing toilet. But nevertheless, we had satellite TV, American movie channels, and made it out safely the next morning.
Early the next morning we hopped on a microbus to the small town of Maaoula, about an hour outside of Damascus. Maaoula is an ancient Christian town built into the barren rust colored stone mountains and caves. Tucked into the rock above the small town were several churches, and the nunnery and Shrine of St. Takla. We climbed the beaten pathway into the church, and drank the holy water inside (I guess this means I'm forever blessed?). Before we went inside, the sermon was still going on, though we couldn't understand any of it because it was all in Aramaic. Though the official language of Syria is Arabic, the people of this town still speak the ancient language, which once flourished all over the Mid East. We climbed through a cave-like passageway in the mountains, and hiked to the top of the cave ridden mountains. The air was fresh, the sky beautiful, and the feeling tranquil. Beyond the town was miles of barren rock and only a single paved road, but truly serene.
By late afternoon we were back in downtown Damascus searching for a car to take us back to Beirut. However, we made our way into a bit of a run-in with a cab driver, in which I found myself in a confusing circle of Lebanese, Americans, and Syrians yelling in Arabic and broken English over cab fares. As bickering lead way to loud shouting and harrowing looks of desparation, the city around us all but stopped to watch the commotion. The skirmish didn't last long, and no harm was brought to anyone in the end, but nevertheless I think we all were left with a nervous and bitter taste in our mouths. Though my own fears likely stemmed from my own perceived awareness of anti-Western, especially anti-American, sentiments and the ongoing political struggles between the countries, I really have no idea how much truth is in any of this. Seeing, hearing, and reading about a place, a country, a culture, and a people from the media creates a false reality in all of our minds--especially depending on where and who that media source originates. And though perhaps the best way to begin to understand and learn is to travel there yourself, talk to people, and attempt to participate in and observe everything around you, it can be extremely difficult simply because you have no window or connection into the people's lives there. Surprisingly even to myself, I'm left with better impressions of Syria and the people in Damascus then I had before I came. These trips to new places with different people serve as a constant reminder of the separation between people and politics. Not that it doesn't have an underlying effect on everywhere you go and everyone you meet, but it certainly isn't the whole story.
posted by Katie Warren @ 7:03 PM
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