SYRIA (1)570
Kilometers – 23 Days22
September – 14 October 2007
MAP
22-23 September – Atakia, Turkey – Aleppo, Syria – 110 kilometres
Leaving
Atakia, Turkey, I nervously approached the Syrian border, wondering if visas were
issued on arrival. However, what could only have been the visa gods must have
been looking after me, as I met four motorbike riders travelling overland to
South Africa. They introduced me to Ahmed, a tour guide, who was helping them
obtain Syrian visas. Ahmed was incredibly accommodating and helped me complete
the forms and then disappeared. Three hours later, I had my visa and was en
route to Aleppo, Syria. Sometimes I couldn’t believe my luck, and I knew I was tremendously
fortunate to meet the motorbike riders as well as Ahmed.
My
first thought cycling into Syria was, “What have I let myself into?” Syria was
entirely different. It had a different culture, language, landscape, food and
housing. Not only was it a conservative Muslim and desert country, but one of
the oldest inhabited regions in the world. Archaeological finds indicate human
habitation dates back 700,000 years.
Little
happened during the day, apart from cotton fields and typical Syrian
communities consisting of a mosque, a market, and a few modest courtyard homes.
Traditionally, these homes appear unimpressive from the outside but could be
quite lavish on the inside. The houses further offered total privacy as well as
a communal family area, often fitted with a water feature or even a pool. I was
so impressed by this type of architecture that I swore that if I had the
opportunity to build a home, it would be a courtyard-style home.
Biking
into Aleppo, one of the oldest cities in Syria, was at 18h00, thus in peak hour
traffic. By then, I was quite aware that traffic rules weren’t the same in all
countries, but the horrendous traffic in Syria made no sense whatsoever. I had
no idea Aleppo was such a large city. As it was Ramadan, thousands of hungry
people were on their way home. Being a woman on a bicycle, I felt I was at the
bottom of the food chain. As if that wasn’t enough, it started bucketing down
and the entire road flooded in seconds. While trying to stay out of harm’s way,
I rode through a puddle and my front wheel got stuck in a drain cover. I nearly
destroyed a part of my anatomy, which I believed could still come in handy
later!
Miraculously,
I made my way to the city centre where a reasonably priced abode was uncovered.
The aptly named Hotel Tourist was centrally located and clean. Achmad, from the
hotel, was immensely helpful and offered to walk me around town.
The
following day was spent in Aleppo exploring the citadel, market and museum. Upon
returning, I needed a GPS to find the way along the numerous narrow,
identical-looking alleys. By evening, Achmad offered to show me more of the
town. It turned out an interesting meander ending at a typical Syrian eatery.
What a friendly bunch the Syrians are.
24
September - Aleppo – Idlib – 66 kilometres
Upon
departing, Achmad presented me with a watch. I had no idea what to make of this
generous gift, but I thanked him and cycled out of Aleppo. That was just weird!
My first full day of cycling was between Aleppo and Idlib, about 60 kilometres
straight into a strong headwind.
In
Idlib, I enquired about accommodation and, in the process, met Ahmad. He invited
me to stay with him and his wife. I was given an entire apartment and was
invited to supper. Also present were his brother and sister-in-law. It was a
pleasant experience; they did not merely sit on a mat but used no utensils and
ate solely with their fingers. Even though Ramadan, Somod (Ahmad’s wife) went
to great lengths to create various delicious dishes. It was a lovely evening, albeit
Ahmad the sole member who spoke English. Still, we communicated and enjoyed
each other’s company. They showed me how to sit correctly when eating and
laughed jovially at me, struggling to eat using only my fingers. Afterwards, I returned
to my room well-fed and grateful for such a unique opportunity.
25
September - Idlib – Latakia – 130 kilometres
From
Idlib to Latakia was a hundred and thirty kilometres. The going was slow as the
road led over a mountain range and was coupled with a headwind. However, the
people I encountered were immensely accommodating. Still, asking for directions
remained tricky as only a few could read an English map. That said, for the
best part, Syrians observed me, mouths agape. Their astonishment was primarily
due to me being an unaccompanied woman… on a bicycle. Still, virtually all were
keen to communicate. In the process, I was offered more food and drink than anyone
could consume.
Towards
the end of the day, it took cycling through hectic traffic and into a stiff
breeze before reaching the historic port city of Latakia.
26
September – Latakia
Syria’s
traffic was astounding. There appeared no rules and, if any, I hadn’t caught
onto it. The driving seemed aggressive and the constant hooting deafening. Everyone
seemingly did their own thing, surprisingly without any accidents - quite
astonishing really. Syria was home to the three-wheel pickups. These vehicles
carted anything, from people to building rubble. It was pretty easy to keep up
or even overtake them, usually to the children’s great delight.
Latakia
warranted a day of investigating as the site had been inhabited since the 2nd
millennium BC. Still, the city was only founded in the 4th century
BC under the Seleucid Empire’s rule. Eventually, Pompey saw the Seleucids as
too troublesome and made Syria a Roman Province. Latakia was subsequently ruled
by the Romans, the Ummayads and the Abbasids, all between the 8th–10th
centuries of the Christian era. One would think it was enough for any city, but
it wasn’t for Latakia. Following World War 1, Latakia was assigned to the
French, and only reintegrated into Syria in 1944. Phew!
Strangely,
not much remained of its troublesome past except a Triumphal Arch and the ruins
of the Temple of Bacchus.
27
September - Latakia – Tartus - 85 kilometres
I
emerged to brilliant weather and was eager to get underway. The ride was pleasant
as it ran next to the ocean until reaching Tartus, situated further south along
the Mediterranean coast.
I
came out in lumps and bumps, all terribly itchy, and instead of getting better,
it seemed to worsen. Irritated, hot and tired, I booked into an overpriced
chalet only to discover the place infested with creepy crawlies. It was a day I
felt incredibly sorry for myself. Albeit next to the coast, the coastline was
filthy and littered with all kinds of rubbish. I thought better of it to swim,
not purely because of the garbage but because I was afraid of offending the
conservative Syrian Muslims.
28
September – Tartus
The
following morning, I woke with a swollen eye and even more itchy bites – not
something I considered possible. In no mood to explore, I still looked around
the historical centre inside the Crusader-era Templar fortress walls, but few
old buildings remained. Still, the city was home to a smattering of interesting
sites. Unfortunately, the surprisingly few tourists made me stick out like a
sore thumb and in no mood to be stared at, I scurried back to my room.
29
September - Tartus – Homs – 110 kilometres
My
route continued to Holms via a busy highway where my arrival was reasonably
early, thanks to a good tailwind.
Still,
I could make no head or tail of the traffic. Despite the red lights, no one stopped,
and traffic police were required to help regulate the madness.
Later,
I took a taxi to a recommended restaurant. The evening turned out rather bizarre
as the taxi driver stayed and joined me for the meal. He spoke no English, which
made the evening somewhat uncomfortable. I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to buy
my taxi driver a meal. Whatever the culture, it would’ve been far more
comfortable eating on my own.
30
September – Homs
As
little of Homes was seen the previous day, it justified an additional day. I
walked the ancient markets, ate overly sweet pastries, and drank tiny cups of
strong coffee. It was sweltering hot and I wondered how the women managed being
completely covered in black. The men, at least, looked marginally better off in
their long white robes.
The
city was a jumble of noise and colour. Hooting seemed part of driving and the numerous
mosques called people to prayer ever so often.
1
October - Homs – Damascus – 80 kilometres
The
scenery abruptly changed as the route swung inland from Homs to Damascus. The
only thing visible was a vast desert. Gone were the olive trees, pomegranates
and figs and nothing but barren land surrounded me. A ferocious wind picked up
and visibility was down to a few metres of a grey/yellow haze. I battled onward
but knew I wouldn’t get far in such unforgiving conditions. I had my head down
to try and keep the sand from my eyes and scarcely saw the van parked alongside
the road. A sweet French couple stopped to offer me a ride to Damascus. I
succumbed to temptation as this was too good an offer to decline and jumped in.
In no time at all, we were in Damascus.
They
parked their van in the backyard of St Paul’s convent, and I pitched my tent in
the convent’s herb garden (hopefully I didn’t flatten the parsley).
2-6
October – Damascus
Departing
the convent was early as the gardener started watering the garden. After waving
goodbye to my saviours, the way into the city centre was in life-threatening
traffic. The inexpensive abode uncovered needed cleaning before settling in to
wait for my sister Amanda’s arrival, coming to Syria on holiday.
The
plan was to use public transport to travel to Syria and Jordan. With a shock, I
discovered my passport was practically full. On inquiring, I learned it wasn’t possible
to order a new one in Syria, Jordan or adjacent Lebanon. Another lesson
learned. I stared myself blind at the expiry date and never considered the
number of remaining pages. This left me little choice but to return to South
Africa, order a new one and hopefully be on my way a.s.a.p. A costly lesson,
indeed.
7
October - Damascus
Amanda
arrived in the afternoon and, almost immediately, the two of us set out to the
old part of town sporting narrow, cobbled pedestrian lanes. Being the oldest
continuously inhabited city globally, Damascus was steeped in history, and ancient
markets and beautiful mosques abounded. The markets were fascinating and the
traffic horrendous. Crossing a street could solely be achieved as part of a
human wall.
8
October - Maalula
Following
breakfast, a taxi took us to the Shrine of Saida Zeinab, ten kilometres from
Damascus and rumoured to contain the grave of Muhammad’s granddaughter. Once
done, a minibus took us to historical Maalula, roughly 56 kilometres from
Damascus, where houses clung precariously to the cliffside. Maalula was one of
the only places where Aramaic was still spoken, a language Jesus Christ
presumably spoke.
It
didn’t take long to get used to Syria’s lifestyle, where nothing opened until ten.
Breakfast was usually served until midday. Shops closed between four and six and
remained open until late, which suited my dear sister’s lifestyle. It was thus late
before finally turning in.
9-10
October – Damascus - Aleppo
An
early morning bus took us to Aleppo, where historical records indicate the area
has been occupied since 5,000 BC. I was excited to show Amanda the covered souqs
in the old walled part of the city (a UNESCO World Heritage Site). It’s said to
be the largest covered market in the world. Hundreds of long narrow alleys run
approximately thirteen kilometres; all jam-packed with people and goods. With
its warren of stalls, the Al-Madina Souq formed the city’s beating heart. Here
one could find anything – from spices and traditional sweets to textiles,
carpets, and the famous Aleppo soap made from olive oil. To the citizens of
Aleppo, the souqs weren’t simply places of commerce but also places of social
gatherings to smoke, drink tea and gossip.
We
sauntered around the old citadel dating to the 3rd millennium BC.
The Citadel of Aleppo, right in the centre of town, sported grand vistas over
old Aleppo, dating to the 10th century BC.
11
October - Aleppo - Hama
When
not travelling by bicycle, getting around was much faster and we moved on to
Hama. Once there, no time was wasted grabbing a taxi to the Krak des Chevaliers
castle. The castle is the best-preserved medieval castle globally, first
occupied by Kurdish troops in the 11th century. After snatching a
few pics, we returned to Hama.
In
Hama, enough time remained to view the world famous and oldest surviving water
wheels (norias), dating to the medieval Islamic period. There remained six of
them along the Orontes River and, amazingly, were still in working condition.
12-14
October - Hama – Palmyra
By
morning, we were ready to roll and boarded a bus to the oasis town of Palmyra,
an ancient city founded in the 3rd millennium BC. Famous as the
place where Queen Zenobia ruled and for the ruins of the “Pink City”, once one
of the most important cultural centres of the ancient world. In those days,
Palmyra was a wealthy caravan oasis due to its prominent location on the trade
route between Persia, India and China. One of its principal features was a colonnaded
street measuring 1,100 metres in length. On our visit, Palmyra’s ruins still
rose out of the Syrian desert. It revealed the remains of roads and the temple
of Ba’el, considered one of the most significant religious buildings of the 1st
century AD.
Palmyra
was where we befriended a chap who invited us to visit his family living in the
desert. The trip involved a camel ride to a Bedouin camp. We hurriedly packed
our belongings and soon rocked across the vast desert by camel. The trip took
the best part of the day and we reached camp in the afternoon with sore
backsides. Although interesting, the situation was slightly uncomfortable as no
one understood one another. Amanda and I were unsure of what was expected of
us. We foolishly smiled at them and them at us. We were clearly the topic of
conversation, if understood correctly, as we received an offer of a few camels.
Hahaha. It couldn’t have been many as we were way past the age of receiving any
reasonable offers!
By
evening, we accompanied the family to a waterhole to give the camels water. On returning,
a sand-bearing wind (or Khamsin) raised a wall of dust, quickly engulfing the
entire region, and darkening the sky. One could see it moving in from a long
way off, and by the time it reached us, visibility was reduced to only a few
hundred metres.
At
camp, I was surprised at how insulated the tent was. Inside, the tents were
beautifully decorated with woven carpets on the walls and the floor. Amanda and
I sat with the men in the main tent. At the same time, the women (complete with
traditional facial tattoos) lived and cooked in separate smaller tents. This
arrangement made me feel awfully uncomfortable. Once done, the food was brought
in on large trays. Traditionally, the men eat first, and the women what is
leftover (another awkward moment). We were served rice topped with a chicken
thigh. Being a vegetarian, I didn’t want to offend and thus closed my eyes and
quickly consumed the chicken thigh, hardly chewing the meat. To my hosts, this
action translated as hunger and, to my horror, I was promptly given a second
portion!
The
next morning, the camels returned us to Palmyra. A truly unforgettable
experience!
Barely
enough time remained to do a small amount of shopping before resuming our bus
journey to Amman, Jordan, another ancient country with a long and fascinating
history.
