One night in Damascus

By the end of this entry, I haven't even arrived to the wedding yet! Ah what an adventure! (Part 1 of 2- Syria)

My Belarussian friend across the hall came over a few weeks back to hand deliver her wedding invitation in Syria. I told her that in my lady of leisure days when the world was my oyster, I would have locked that baby in as soon as the invitation hit my hand however considering I had only started a new job 3 weeks prior, I thought it was a bit rich to ask for time off. The giant, who was still in Saudi trying to remember what it was like to sleep and socialise, encouraged me to go and be with my friend as he knew a lot of her friends from Belarus couldn't make it and that it is important to go for my friend. It was like as if I got sign-off from my boss, to ask for time off from my real boss. My new boss said "no worries" - an awesome man- so I booked a flight so that I could be back in the office by 2pm on Sunday. Details to follow.

There's nothing quite like a bounced credit card I feel. Why is it that in one's hour of need, or when you least expect it, it always seems to happen or your card doesn't read in the machine? On Thursday afternoon when I finally decided to book my Syrian adventure, rude screens of death bearing the news that my credit card was invalid, threw a bit of an obstacle in my Thursday afternoon. I was of course in a rush to get home to prove to my lady of leisure friends that although I was a working woman now I could still 'happy hour'- and I say that like that is a verb all on its own. How was I going to pay for this and get home in time? And moreover, where the hell is an Emirates office? Did I have to go all the way to the airport? And then I remembered one time on our Dubai adventures, my new lady of leisure friend, who has requested a new name and shall be thenceforth known as "my arts and craft friend and foe", had pointed out an Emirates office in Jumeirah. So, like a speeding bullet (in some stretches of the road where there were no cameras- 130kms/hour), I made it to the Emirates office and before no time I had a hot ticket to Damascus between these unmanicured fingers. So much to do.

So I got home, produced some pre-baked canapes which I prepared the night before, toasted to the festive season and worked out in my head how I was going to get a new dress before 11am the next morning. The wonderful thing about Dubai is that shopping centres are open till midnight most nights- I know my 'friend of the hymn' would be beside herself that there are more retail outlets to chose from than the shop in the foyer of North Ryde RSL which is the only one open after 6pm in Sydney, other than the airport of course (why have we never gone?). So, as I had just topped up my Burberry champagne glass(that I bought from the outlet mall for a bargain when UT and Mam/sir Kiki Kawini were here), I went through the motions in my head of when and how I'd get my cab and how I was going to attack The Mall of The Emirates (or 'comb the desert' for those Spaceball fans) for a dress suitable for a Syrian wedding. Of course, as it usually happens, I spent a few hours shopping, bought only from shops that would give a refund and came home to try on all my possible combinations. Of course, I just ended up wearing one I had already. I was hoping black would be ok, with a bit of red- I don't know- but was told by my Belarussian friend that even a bikini would do, just hurry up and get there!

I texted my Belarussian friend, who was already in Syria, and confirmed that it was Damascus airport I was flying into (of course after I had bought the ticket) and what hotel I should stay at. She said, and I wish I had my phone handy to type exactly what she wrote, but it was a little something like "Damascus airport, Hotel Safir" -simple, straight forward, beautiful. A little bit of googling and in no time, I was booked for 2 nights. My friend had told me that it takes a little while to get to the hotel so best to order a hotel car. So I rang the hotel and after a half an hour of ESL english (again thank goodness for my 'teacher teacher' days), we confirmed a car to pick me up at 3:30pm from Damascus airport and by the end of the conversation my name was now 'Gially'. That's fine, I can roll with that, just send a car. About 10 minutes later I got a call from the 'Customer Services and Public Relations Manager' of the hotel who spoke English very well to confirm my car pick up time. By this time my name was 'Julie'. That I can roll with as well.

Of course in my truly worldly style, I didn't know much about Syria, only that it has a few mentions in the bible, that its cold at this time of year and that you don't need any shots before going. I didn't even check the Australian Government website to check whether they recommend travel there or not (I know, a PB for me). I decided I didn't need to know more. The giant, my very own wikipedia extraordinaire, was very uncontactable and I hadn't spoken to him in ages so the regular bullet points on topical issues and world geography he usually provides me was non-existent. I was flying blind. Apparently he was busy or something working on a deal in Saudi Arabia or something-lets spare a moment for the poor man.

So at Dubai airport, I changed enough money into Syrian Pounds for my cab from Damascus airport to the hotel and a little more. When I arrived at Damascus airport I stood in the Passport Control line for ages and looked over to my right where there were throngs of people queuing under a sign that said 'Foreign Exchange'. I smiled smugly to myself, very impressed that I was organised for once and had changed money in Dubai-that was until I got to the top of the queue and was sent over to this exact line to pay for my Visa. Not so smug now- but honestly, a sign saying 'Visa' would have been more helpful.

"Where are you from?" said a scary serious looking man. "I'm Australian"- thinking 'I'm not American, I'm not British- I'm not going to have any problems'. "Do you have an invitation to Syria" to which I responded "Oh no, yes I do have a wedding invitation, but I left it at home". It wasn't that type of invitation he was enquiring after, but it was at this point I thought to myself, that having the actual wedding invitation might have helped in so many different ways. "Your visa is $100 or 3000 Syrian Pounds" he said. "Really?" I said shocked. All I had was 2000 Syrian pounds and some dirhams. Luckily we made it work- a few thousand Syrian pounds here, a few hundred dirhams there- and I was starting to think now that I shouldn't have bought those French Manicure pens from the Emirates Duty Free magazine- but I can never resit a bit of inflight shopping. We made it all happen- and again my face must have said it all. I can make the soft side of any scary looking official come out and now he his tone changed and eyes drooped and looked worried that I was upset. I was ok, but now I had no money for my cab. That's ok I'll work something out at the hotel.

So I now went back onto the passport control line. The man checked my passport in the computer then moved away from his desk and towards an office and all I could hear was 'Australie' being thrown around with some Arabic words in between. Nervous flatulence kicked in. Not executed, just the turn of the stomach (I feel like I know you all now, so I can give you this level of detail). I never like when they take your passport- it always feels like I'm on 'Border Security' or in a movie and I'm Jason Bourne or something. Then my paranoia makes me scan my brain to think of anything wrong I have ever done- like the time I wrote on our family friends' car when I was 7 in biro saying "TG was here" or when I was 8 and I thought that if it wasn't on the shelf it was free so I went up to the Casamento's newsagency and cleared out what ever was under the shelf. The man came back and none of the above was listed on my public record- phew- and all I had to do was translate 'Marketing Manager' with a bit of song, dance and pantomime, and I was on my way. A few scanning stations, a few more stamps and I came out in the open. Mums hugging returned sons and daughters, business men making their way through the crowds, cheers and a few "lelelele"s and then a sign that said "Jill"- somehow I think that might be me.

So I got in the cab and we made our way through the busy downtown streets with vendors selling corn and chestnuts on the footpath and pictures of the President on every wall, window and traffic post. It didn't take too long at all to get to the hotel- I knew my Belarussian had exaggerated a bit. I texted her to let her know I had arrived and was greeted by the hotel's "Customer Service and Public Relations Manager" who I had spoken to the night before. By now, my name was 'Juliette'. I corrected them and told them it was 'Therese' and they all looked at each other in amazement and tried to work out how on earth they got Gially, Jill, Julie and Juliette from Therese.

I paid for 2 nights up front and was shown to my room by the lovely "Customer Service and Public Relations Manager". I settled in, ate some Syrian sweets that awaited me in my room and then started to get some text messages from my Belarussian friend saying "where are you?" and "I'm in the foyer" followed by, "what city are you in?". It was then I realised I wasn't in Kansas, Toto. There were 2 Safir hotels in Syria- one in Damascus and one in Homs. I relied on the Belarussian's text and so booked Damascus-after all she said Damascus airport. Meanwhile I am also having a panic attack over something trivial that my creative mind fabricated- which I'll leave for the dinner parties (got to keep some fresh material). I now had no more credit on my phone so my Belarussian friend couldn't call me as my phone was on roaming. So, in my hour of need, I try calling the giant from the hotel phone but alas his phone was switched off. I call his hotel, but because it was in Saudi they wouldn't put me through because I was a lady. I should have done my dad's "G'day sweetheart" voice- that would have worked for sure. Of course! I thought- I can email the giant, but "the computer with internet will be back tomorrow"- said the "Customer Service and Public Relations Manager". Knowing full well the hotel had every right to not refund my accommodation and also considering I had just used the facilities, I went down stairs to explain my predicament to the "Customer Service and Public Relations Manager" hoping he would be lenient. The man said he could only cancel one night and would have to cancel the credit card transaction and I could pay again. I decided we should do that and I would get some cash out as I had to get out more now for the cab to the correct city- Homs. But of course hotels in Syria, by law, only accept US dollars, and all of the ATMs only dispense Syrian Pounds- I don't know, can someone run me through that?

Look, I'm not going to lie to you, I was in a bit of a state- not as bad as that time in Fiji, but perplexed, anxious and a little bit peeved- again my face must have said it all. The "Customer Service and Public Relations Manager" told me to take a seat and we would work something out. As he was explaining the options, my mind was a million miles away and I was imagining myself having to stay in Syria for Christmas- I know, a bit melodramatic, but that's how my brain rolls and I told you you all now have a little 'in' to this crazy crazy mind. So the man suggested that I don't travel at night because it is a long and dangerous road, that we don't cancel the second night and that all of the expenses I incur will balance out- including both cabs, food and phone calls. Great- so by this time I start to relax and in true peak and trough, high and low style, I was back on my way up and before long I was giving the "Customer Service and Public Relations Manager" love advice on his relationship with a woman from Stockholm who won't answer his calls. He calls 5 times a day and she doesn't pick up or return his calls. I told him it was time to move on that its just not meant to be. I also convinced him not to sell his car so he could get a visa to go and see her because the bottom line is sister- "she's not that into you".

So here we are, my worries have gone, with the fleeting revisit of my crazy paranoid thoughts, and so I said to my new friend that I will return to my room and continue to watch Syrian 'So you think you can dance', but he pleaded that I stay and keep him company. Every cheesy compliment he threw at me, I retorted with a my "husband" this and my "husband" that. He knew, he got the picture, but he was just being cheeky (flirt translates into so many languages) and had never met anyone from Australia before. Before long I knew all about his family- he has 9 brothers and one sister, all one year apart and all from the same mother. That's some serious breeding. He then told me, I now have a brother in Syria and that if I need anything- he would help me and pleaded that I do not worry anymore. Again I thanked him and mentioned my husband.


True to his Customer Service role, he suggested that since my friends aren't coming and I was in the wrong city (thanks for reminding me of my blunder) that he take me out to see Damascus. Imagining the front pages of the Sydney Morning Herald and MSN "Australian booked the wrong hotel in the wrong city for her Belarussian friend's wedding and is now missing in the mountains of Syria"- I said no. As he was just a little offended, I explained to him that when I was 15 I got bashed and mugged with my friend in the showbag pavillion at The Royal Easter Show and so said I now don't trust anyone. He suggested that he ask some of the girls on the front desk to come as well and in no time, I signed the deal, put some warm clothes on and was ready for the adventure. So before long we were a party of 4 that were ready to take on the nightlife of Damascus. We waited for a few shifts to click over and I was being pulled from one office to another as they all wanted to play with their new Australian friend. They all practiced their English and tried to still work out how they got Giallo, Julie, Jill and Juliette from Therese. They thought it was so funny that we wrote with out pencil at a near right angle and from left to right- I found it even more fascinating that they thought that was weird. This was all happening while one of my new friends played Christmas carols for me on her mobile.


So we were off. The "Customer Service and Public Realtions Manager" came spinning around the corner in a old car that was about one metre long and half a metre wide that had English stickers on the back that I dont think he had ever had translated. The levers in the car were now stuck together with sticky tape and elastic bands, the stereo had 2 gages- loud and louder, there were no seatbelts, he used a hankerchief wipe down the inside of the windscreen, but however he had electric windows. The wiping down of the windscreen soon became my job so that he wasn't doing so while he changed gears and had his head out the window so he could see the road. We buzzed around town, squeezed between the two lanes of traffic to get a head start at the lights, used the left indicator to turn right and straddled every lane in sight. Meanwhile we bopped away to the Arabic music blaring on the radio and the two ladies in the back sporadically let out a high pitched "lelelele!"s which I joined in with- I really wanted to harmonise. Our driver wanted to show me as much as he could and even went so far as going the wrong way down a one way street where a wedding was on so I could get some pictures. There was a huge limo, hollywood set type lights, video crew with cameras on proper booms and men in traditional dress on horses. It was either the "lelele"s or the loud music blaring from our matchbox car that aggravated the horses and the guests so we decided we should make a quick exit. It was like the crowd was throwing tomatoes at us for a weak performance- but I understand they were angry- we went the wrong way down a one way street, upset the horses and blocked the bridal party. Even the screams of "she's Australian" didn't work. It was just a shame my "Customer Service and Public Relations Manager" friend and driver didn't have power steering, so it took about a solid 10 point turn to execute a swift exit. I st there hoping the horses wouldn't come closer, captured the moment in my mind and took comfort in the fact that I had arranged travellers insurance before coming.

We then stopped off to get some sweets and I went photo crazy, until a military man told me to delete my photos because it was forbidden. I obliged - scary man.

So we got to the top of the hill and looked down over the most amazing view of Damascus. It was at this time that I thought "what a blessing in disguise"- I would never have seen all this, laughed so much, made new Syrian friends and experienced Damascus like a local had I not have stuffed up the hotel.

We got out of the car- it was freezing and the rain stopped for just a moment so we could gobble down the Syrian sweets we bought. When I was in Abu Dhabi last year, the giant was at his interview and so I decided to tackle the buffet myself- what else was I going to do? From the dessert section, I had a sweet dish which was amazing- incredible- it was like sweetness with mozarella and just so amazing. Since then I have been trying to find it in the buffets of Dubai, so you can imagine the joy I felt when they peeled back the top of the container of sweets. A spoon for each and tuck in. Amazing.

So it was cold, I was tired and my friends had to work the next morning, so we decided to head back. Stopped in our tracks by a puddle as deep as the car, we did a 10 point turn on a one way street on a hill - My new customer service friend looked at me and said "no worry please- I am Michael Schumacker". It more so worried me that he thought we was Michael Schumacher as he was taking on the downhill slopes, stradling the wet 2 lane roads like a racing car driver- meanwhile I wiped down the inside of the windscreen.

Look I don't know if this story captures my adventure for you all- but all that happened in 10 hours. It was one of the funniest times of my life and met the nicest, warmest and most hospitable people ever. I had never thought in my entire life I would ever go to Syria, and am so glad that I did. My life is a little bit like that at the moment which is pretty amazing. Like my new friends kept saying "I am so happy my God brought you to us"- I was so happy I cocked up the accomodation. It was meant to be.

I had an amazing time and as this entry finishes I hadn't even seen Damascus by day light, nor had I even made it to the wedding! get ready for the next entry.