Syria

Syria

With all the excitement of getting the bike back and a modicum of rushing around the sites, Lucy and I hadn't given much time to researching Syria. As it happens that doesn't really matter because it's nigh-on impossible to go anywhere without finding something of historical interest in this country.

Syria has a claim to calling itself the 'Cradle of Civilisation'. The first known alphabet was found here - a written tablet is on display at the National Museum in Damascus - and it was here that the first structured societies began. It is also the place where T.E. Lawrence finished his epic walk across the Middle East, where Richard the Lionheart fought the crusades, where Saladin eventually defeated them and where Agatha Christie wrote 'Murder on the Orient Express'.

We started our jaunt in a little town called Bosra, which is home to a Roman amphitheatre. Not just any old ruin, this one is widely accepted as the most physically intact Roman theatre in the world. It's also freestanding (rather than being built into a hillside as, apparently, most are). Furthermore, it's fortified (although this took place after the Romans had left) so as to double up as a garrison.

We'd been told that we could stay in one of the turreted rooms, which sounded pretty cool. On our arrival we were directed straight along the narrow viaduct that spanned the moat into the keep and then into the building proper. The eco-tourist in me felt a pang of guilt as we rumbled over the cobbles, engine echoing from the vaulted stone roof, but how often do you get to ride along a bona fide Roman road. The accommodation was basic to say the least but having the run of the building at night more than made up for the minor level of discomfort.

The theatre itself seats 15,000, and being almost as it was when built, visualising it on a sell-out night, circa 100AD isn't difficult.

The Road to Damascus

From here we moved north to Damascus. Once settled into our 12th Century hostel we headed out to the Old City. Ringed by a fortress-style wall and entered through huge stone gateways, the first thing that strikes you is how little things have changed here over the centuries. We meandered along Souq al-Hamidhha, a covered avenue of shops - selling all manner of clobber from intricately veneered dining tables to ladies undies - and into the heart of the Old City and the Umayyed Mosque.

With Lucy attired in the supplied 'coveralls' and with footwear in hand, we entered the mosque's courtyard. Marble floored and about the size of a football pitch, this courtyard is more than a place of worship, it also serves as a meeting point for friends and family. Men and women will spend hours chatting before and after prayer, whilst the children, happily oblivious to their surroundings, play beside their parents or 'sock-surf' the smooth-surfaced floors.

Their tolerance of non-muslim tourists was a pleasant surprise. Sitting down to watch the prayer inside the main building, I absent-mindedly placed my footwear sole-down on the carpet. My mistake was swiftly pointed out by a man who bestowed me a smile that said "It's okay, we understand that you don't understand".

Back outside we continued further into the Old City and in no time got ourselves lost in the labyrinth of narrow lanes and alleys. Today was also the day that I lost my beard. After six weeks of growing my Arab disguise, Lucy had now had enough of the old 'chin-beaver', so I was subjected to the barber's chair. A swift cut-throat shave and I was back to my old, aerodynamic self.

Castles and Ruins

Our next port of call was described by T.E. Lawrence quite simply as 'the finest castle in the world'. Krak de Chavaliers (Castle of the Knights) is just that. Wandering around its vaulted corridors, towers and parapets romantic images of Crusaders clanking swords with Beybars and Saracens rush through your mind. The original castle was built by the Kurds in 1031 but was captured, and massively extended and fortified by the Crusaders in the early part of the 12th Century. It was large enough to support a garrison of 2000 men for a period up to 5 years, without lowering the drawbridge.

Incredibly, safety at tourist attractions such as this has yet to be established in much of Syria, which means holes, crawls, drops, walls, tunnels and towers that would normally be out of bounds are freely accessible. Not so good if you have small children, but utterly scintillating if you have a torch.

Like I mentioned before, Syria has no shortage of historical attractions. Our next stops included Palmyra (which amongst its ruins has 300 Roman columns), Hama (with its Norias - huge wooden waterwheels used to supply the town's water via aqueducts) and Aleppo (with its ruined medieval citadel and maze of souqs - covered markets) - the list goes on. With the exception of a fairly serious litter problem, which in fairness, many of our previous destinations have suffered from too, it would be most difficult to fault Syria. The people are uncommonly polite and helpful - their strong feelings about America and Palestine didn't seem to extend to the British - kebabs are always good, and there's enough history to keep the most ardent buff engrossed for a lifetime.

A simple walk though the souqs takes you into sensory overload - the sous* sellers rattling brass saucers, the smell of coffee, spices and leather and the bright colours of cloths and wrapped sweets - add to this the donkeys, traders, minivans and a crowd of busy shoppers and you are engrossed in the everyday life of Syria. Then you look up and see the 12th Century domed ceiling, or peer through an archway into a quiet courtyard and you are back in another time.

The most amazing thing about Syria, however, is that it is not yet crawling with tourists.

* 'Sous' and 'Temur Hunndy' (or Indian Date) are two cold drinks served by vendors who walk around with an elaborate silver tank strapped to their backs and a belt round their hips which has pockets containing a row of small beakers. The vendor pours the drink from his 'back-pack' into these beakers via a long funnel. You must drink while he waits because he will want the beaker back! Then he moves on attracting custom by clinking small brass saucers or ringing a bell.

Crossing the border

Our departure from Aleppo was delayed by a bout of food poisoning. Goose spent four days in bed and then, just as he was well enough to get up, walked out of our room and promptly fell down the stairs. One minute he was in front of me and the next he had disappeared down the stairwell with a fading "ahhhhhh....."

Two days later, with bruises healing, we made our second attempt to leave. Having successfully got out of the hotel, we drove away from the city, along a very pleasant desert road and, three hours later, arrived at a small border post called Ras al-'Ain. But, after much head shaking, arm waving, passport inspecting and a debate with every other official he could find, the Turkish customs officer informed us that they didn't issue visas at that crossing - why he couldn't have said that in the first place wasn't entirely clear. So back we went to Aleppo! Our hotel manager greeted us like old friends and suggested we should take an apartment.

As it turned out, the extra night gave us a chance to explore the old Christian quarter of town - a small rabbit warren of narrow, stone alleyways with high walls and old wooden doorways and a particularly intriguing antique shop that sold, amongst other things, an old cigarette lighter that could also tell you the date (useful) and a mini set of scales that had a little cup and teapot attached - presumably so you could have a cup of tea while you weigh things!

Our third attempt to leave was, I am pleased to say, a success. We headed for the main border crossing in the north and with surprising ease and a certain sense of achievement found ourselves in east Turkey!

Photographs

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