Remembering Syria
This article was first published in print in issue 9/2017 of Travel Play Live, Australia's Women's Adventure Magazin.
A very personal account of my travels through Syria back in 2007, based on my notes and completed 2017 in Sydney.
When I travelled to Syria for the first time over ten years ago, I was sure that I would return soon and often. Now, some of the people I met and the places I admired don’t exist anymore. And so I choose to remember Syria just how I found it: complicated yet beautiful, warm and hospitable.
As I found myself in the arrivals hall of Damascus airport, I thought that the many women in their black burqas carrying bags and children were a normal, every day sight. I was soon to learn that these were families that had fled neighbouring Iraq and were seeking shelter. A whole new village had been created on the outskirts of the city to accommodate these refugees. It was the year 2007 and no one could have imagined what Syria would be ten years on.
This was a time when many women would wear niqabs while others would walk the streets in jeans and skirts. Some would wear jeans and their hijab – because they wanted to. Mango, the clothes retailer, had just opened a flagship store in Damascus and the area around it was lively and full of young, beautiful people meeting in cafés, drinking freshly pressed juice and cruising around the block to see and be seen. A few blocks down the road old men would sit outside their houses, smoke their shisha and comment on the world passing by. Walk down a quiet small lane and peak into the courtyard of a 18th century house and you might find the cosiest teashop with people deep in animated conversation or reading the paper undisturbed admits the chatter.
Damascus is a dusty, noisy, fascinating behemoth of a city. It apparently sits on eight metres of history waiting to be excavated and wherever you turn there is testimony to centuries of uninterrupted human habitation, layers of different empires and epochs.
At the time, however, there were only a few travellers, adventurers and archaeologists and it seemed that the whole country knew we had arrived before we even had our first cup of cardamom coffee (hashtag police state). Not that we minded. Wherever we went, we were already expected. In Palmyra, which to me was the most magical place in the middle of the desert between Damascus and Bagdad, I was given my own camel, secret stashes of free red wine and – had I wanted to – free accommodation wherever I went from there. Days were spent riding camels at sunset, exploring archaeological finds and discussing single (and simple) life with a handsome Arab who was hiding his impeccable education – as well as an expensive watch and latest smartphone - behind a minimalistic Bedouin outfit (hashtag secret police). Also, his camel wasn’t just an ordinary camel. She was a beautiful, soft, all white creature called Zenobia, after the third-century queen and national hero who resided in Palmyra. Many of the stunning ruins that you can see in these photos have since been destroyed by ISIL. Start researching and you’ll find that, among others, adventuress Lady Hester Stanhope famously visited the area, dressed as a Bedouin and was received as “Queen Hester”.
I fell asleep leaving the oasis in the middle of the sun-bleached desert and woke up in what looked like Switzerland on a rainy day. About 40km outside of Homs the imposing medieval castle Krak des Chevaliers sat on a hill that seem to have been made for it. The sheer size and history of this structure was breathtaking. The former stables alone were the size of a small airport hangar.
T. E. Lawrence once wrote that Krak des Chevaliers was "perhaps the best preserved and most wholly admirable castle in the world, [a castle which] forms a fitting commentary on any account of the Crusading buildings of Syria". Its exact condition to date is unclear but it’s still standing.
Krak des Chevaliers in 2007
We spent the evening with friends of friends in Homs who cooked the most delicious feast for us and who proceeded to force-feed us even after we were more than full. The rest of the night was spent telling stories in a comfortable state of food coma.
I can’t remember how we got to Aleppo from there but as I walked into the Al-Madina souq (the largest covered historic market of the world) with it’s beautiful ceilings – most of it now sadly destroyed – a man who looked like a soccer star approached me and started speaking in fluent German. As a German native I could barely trace an accent. Turns out he had never even left the country and he spoke five languages fluently. He had a small designer jewellery shop in the souq with beautiful, handmade modern pieces and he was happy to practice some of his language skills on my Italian friends and myself.
Did I ever not feel safe? There was a brief moment that evening in Aleppo at the big roundabout, it was already dark and my friend and I were trying to hail a cab. If that is an art form in New York, well, let’s just say the Big Apple is a piece of cake in comparison. As were getting desperate, I sensed that someone was staring at me and as I turned it was an old man who, admittedly looked dubious and kept trying to tell me something. I finally understood: he pointed to a policeman a few metres down the road. As we approached him to ask for help, he blew his whistle and the very next taxi immediately stopped right in front of us, kicked out its male passenger who didn’t even complain and took us in. It was amazing. To top it off, the cab driver was a happy young guy who had our favourite song on the radio and spoke fluent English. He was so excited to meet foreigners; I almost felt we should have invited him to hang out. Instead, he dropped us at the famous Baron Hotel where we stayed – as did once Agatha Christie and T.E. Lawrence, whose last bill is framed in the lobby.
And while I don’t recommend you go to Syria now, here’s my advice for travel and adventure, and in fact, life: Don’t believe everything you read and hear - go see for yourself and give people a chance to speak for themselves.
Palmyra locals
I am glad that I did before it was too late. What I found was one of the most hospitable, open people in one of the most fascinating countries and the experience would forever affect my life. My heart goes out to all the ones who have lost home and family and are forced to get by in another country, like my own, or who might still be there and struggle to survive on a daily basis.
When we meet refugees, let’s not forget that these people might have had everything in their country that you have: their own house, a good education, a career, and a beautiful family. Just because they stand before us now with very little to their name does not make them any less important.
Zanobia, the camel, in her namesake’s former oasis
