I ♥ S.Y. (R.I.A.)

My first trip to the extended axis of evil only lasted for three days but I already want to go back. The little wander took me from Lebanon where I'd had a look around Beirut and Baalbek to Hamah where I spent two nights and Damascus where I ran around like a headless and awestruck chicken trying to

1) see as many things as possible
2) eat as many chawarmas as possible
3) buy as many presents to keep M happy as possible
4) continually reassure my mother that I was still alive

The first task was easy - Damascus is crawling with sights, sounds and history. The entire old town of a UNESCO world heritage site and it's the kind of place I could walk around for hours and hours (both because it's beautiful and because it's a labyrinth that even with my incredible directional skills could confuse me). As it turns out, I was with a Canadian guy I had met in Hamah who was a bit cautious about going into darker and quieter areas with more confusing looking streets which was probably a good thing. If I'd been wandering around alone I'd probably still be there asking for directions to the Airport. If you want a description of each of the sites in order then grab your Lonely Planet because I can't be bothered (and don't want to turn this blog into a travel guide by) explaining each and every one of them. It's the kind of place where traces of history are so omnipresent that for example remaining columns of a Roman temple are used as the entrance to the souq, and wandering among the little store around the sides and back of the Umayyad Mosque you could be forgiven for wondering if you'd stumbled onto the set of an Aladdin movie. The narrow streets covered in creepers take you past small junk shops and the smell of spices and roasted meat fill the air. People, even in Damascus, are curious, friendly, generous, open, kind, (and so forth) and you'll occasionally get stopped in the street by some character who wants to welcome you to Syria and ensure that you're having a nice time. A smile gets a smile back, a few mispronounced words of Arabic gets an enormous roar of laughter and a big handshake. Most refreshingly, you don't get the feeling that people are after your money or have any hidden agenda - they're being nice to you because they are nice people. Some of them want to practise their English or their French and some of them are curious about outsiders and bombard you with questions about what life is like in your country. Despite Syria being very interesting in so many other ways, the people are certainly a part of what makes it special. It's the kind of place where you can ask someone for directions to your hotel and five minutes later you have an appointment with a new friend in a cafe around the corner.

The second point would have been easy if I hadn't insisted on taking the largest size every time. Seriously, the chawarmas are great - and I should know, they're the only thing I ate in 6 days. The thing about travelling by yourself is that you don't want to go sit in a restaurant for 2 hours. I didn't manage to work out if it was because I'd get bored, or because I only had 6 days and wanted to make the most of them, or if I was just too concerned about my self image to wander alone into a restaurant and look like a loser just sitting there, munching my dinner and watching Arabic soaps on the omnipresent excessive loud TV, pretending to have any idea what the hell was going on. Result : I ate lots of chawarmas. For breakfast, lunch and dinner. And I don't regret that for a second.

The third point I think I succeeded in and, as every man knows, it's the most important factor in a journey.

The fourth was always going to be a tall order though - when I first told my parents that I was going to Beirut they asked if the flights to Baghdad were all full up. I'd never been to the Middle East before, Lebanese friends cancelled their trips at the last minute, and I arrived at 3.30am. The immigration officer asked me if this was my first trip to Lebanon, to which I answered that it was. "Well then..." he looked straight at me. "Good luck !" And with that I was waved through. I had never been worried about going to Lebanon - in my mind it was the kind of place where trouble could happen if you ended up in the wrong place at the wrong time but it was cool in general. It was certainly cool. Definitely. My hotel window didn't close properly so I could hear everything going on outside and these fearmongers from back home started getting to me. Every loud noise outside sent my eyes springing open and looking out for signs of trouble outside. I was staying just down the road from where Rafik Hariri was assassinated and for a moment a creeping doubt came into my mind as to how safe Lebanon really was. I quickly chased it out with rational thinking - no trouble had happened here for ages. As it was, Beirut was fine - signs of war are everywhere and the city is still roughly divided between Christians and Muslims, and people are not quite as open and chatty as they have been with me in other Arab countries. It's definitely as safe as it has been for many decades though. Still, that didn't stop me feeling the son's duty to sent my mother a text message every half hour to tell her I was still living and in possession of all four limbs. She is concerned for my safety whenever I go to the toilet so I understood that she would be slightly concerned about me here as well.

Conclusion - go to Syria and go to Lebanon before the tourists invade them. Then you'll be sorry.