Damascus (Syria)

Damascus (Al-Shâm, in Arabic) is not a city to spend a single day in, but due to "forces majeures", I had a choice between not going there at all or going for a day. So I went for a (marathon) day…

This happened last October, while I was in Lebanon, a country which shares its entire north eastern border with Syria. The reason I decided not to stay for longer than a day was that I could not take my son with me. We were told ...
...and jammed up routes of Damascus and Beirut.) and were lucky in that our driver decided not to wait for other passengers and departed there and then.

We paid him $10 each for a single journey from Beirut to the centre of Damascus. A bus journey would cost half the price, but you can never tell at what exact time you will leave and how long it will take you to get there.

The journey took us less than 2 hours and our driver ... more

Damascus (Al-Shâm, in Arabic) is not a city to spend a single day in, but due to "forces majeures", I had a choice between not going there at all or going for a day. So I went for a (marathon) day…

This happened last October, while I was in Lebanon, a country which shares its entire north eastern border with Syria. The reason I decided not to stay for longer than a day was that I could not take my son with me. We were told that he would need a signed "authorisation" from his father (who was in Chile) in order to be allowed to enter the country. The fact that I was his mother and that he was on my passport did not change anything to this. For reasons too long to explain, I did not wish to be away from him at night and so I escaped for just a day.

I was travelling with my French passport and Lebanese ID, and I am not sure if all women travelling with children will be entitled to the same treatment or if it has something to do with the fact that I am Lebanese, so any ladies planning to go to Syria should check this first.

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I have posted a separate review about the long and fascinating history of Damascus, simply because there is too much to say. So anyone interested may refer to that for more enlightening chronological information. The link to the review is below.

http://travel.ciao.co.uk/General_Syria__Review_5541184

But now, I shall narrate the small adventure my sister and I enjoyed there…

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We were up at 6 am with the intention of taking a taxi around 7- 7.30 am. Upon our arrival at the bus terminal (which is also the "taxi terminal"), my sister, who is very experienced in the matter, having travelled to Syria several times, told me:
"They are going to descend upon us like vultures, don't believe anything they say, let me do the talking, and don't look too nice."
My lovely sister is as much a bundle of quivering nerves as I am and when faced with such vital decisions as choosing which taxi to take in Beirut, it is preferable not to contradict her and be quiet. Even I learned that.

Sure enough, the minute we appeared (two vulnerable females… hahaha!) a dozen taxi drivers (they are usually Syrian, although some are Lebanese) surrounded us while at the same time arguing with each other as to "who had seen us first". I just followed my sister looking perplexed but trying not to smile and to look very serious. She sailed through the taxi drivers and their cars and finally, one said something which was the decisive factor for her.

We were led towards a gigantic and rather old Buick (many taxi drivers happen to drive these extravagantly large but very comfortable cars in the often narrow and jammed up routes of Damascus and Beirut.) and were lucky in that our driver decided not to wait for other passengers and departed there and then.

We paid him $10 each for a single journey from Beirut to the centre of Damascus. A bus journey would cost half the price, but you can never tell at what exact time you will leave and how long it will take you to get there.

The journey took us less than 2 hours and our driver stopped once in a bakery to buy Lebanese bread to give to the Syrian Customs officers; a sort of ritual that all taxi drivers perform - my sister assures me - to ease the whole passport checking process and be waved through swiftly across the border. Lebanese bread, it seems, is better than Syrian bread to their liking.

Strangely enough, when we did arrive at the border, our driver took our passports ("It's okay, don't worry" - my sister assured me once more) and leaving us in the car, had them checked and stamped for us, without anyone bothering to check who/where/what we were. They know him, he knows them; it's all a question of mutual trust. He took the many hot and delicious bags of bread in with him.

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Entry into Syria was very easy, and within less than half an hour of crossing the border, we arrived into Damascus. A very hot and sunny day made the landscape surrounding the city look very dull and… beige!

We got off safely in the middle of the city centre and our survival instincts were soon put to very good use to avoid being flattened by the waves of vehicles that surged all around us. My sister took my hand or grabbed my shirt like a paranoid mother, to drag me behind her as we ventured each road crossing. I cannot say whether this suicidal attempt is more hazardous in Beirut or Damascus, but I was too curious looking around to get frustrated.

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Souk Al-Hamdiyyah

What I most yearned to see in Damascus were its many renowned souks; it so happened that we alit a couple of streets away from one of the most famous ones: "Souk Al Hamdiyyeh" (Al-Hammadiyya, Al-Hamdiya).

Before I give more details about this particular one, I wish to explain that, though they are markets, the souks in Damascus are actually lines of small (or some larger) stores, as opposed to stalls. Having said this, there are areas where stalls are indeed to be found.

Dating back to the 19th century, souk Al Hamdiyyeh is a long, bustling and extremely colourful market, housed under an extensive and rather lofty archway. The simple but graceful design of the arcade allows daylight to filter through and all over the varied merchandise on offer. Graceful serpents of light greeted us as we arrived and only bade us farewell at the other end of the souk.

On a sunlit day, as was the case on our visit, the glow that caresses the multi-coloured wares gives the entire market a slightly bewitching look. Despite it being rather noisy and by no means a peaceful place, I found myself transported to the times of Scheherazade's Baghdad (What story would you tell your king today Oh Scheherazade?) as my eyes kept marvelling at the twinkle emitted by the abayas (a sort of long dress worn by many locals, both men and women) and their gold and silver intricate embroideries; the pink, red, yellow, green and purple long scarves, the vividly coloured glass and brass lamps that were crammed together in many of the stores, and the countless ornaments, trinkets, jewellery and all manner of garments that were laid out in shops looking like Ali Baba's cave.

It is, however, a sliver of romanticism that led me to talk about Souk Al Hamdiyyeh in this lyrical way; all that is on sale there does not shine and as it transpires, just about anything you could possibly think of happens to be on offer under its hefty roof.
Yes, local artefacts aplenty, ranging from clothes, shoes, scarves, carpets, furniture to entirely useless items that I struggled hard to find a possible reason of existence for, apart from… beauty!

If the truth must be said though (and yes, it must), my initial mesmerization with the very first items that my eyes fell upon soon dissipated like sugar in a glass of water; it became less visible and apparent, but was still there. After seeing many similar items on display all over this market (and many other alleyways), I soon stopped gaping at every single item, but simply took their charm in my stride as one wandering in a never-ending field of abundant flowers.

I was there to look and had promised myself not to buy too many things, but I found that the prices of just about everything were very fair and much, very much cheaper than in Lebanon. You may haggle and it works, but even if you don't, you will probably get a good deal. The more things you buy from the same merchant, the better the price you are likely to get.

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Streets of Damascus

We skirted off this enchanting market and into one of the many narrow streets that shoot out from it like branches on a tree. There are too many so I will not even attempt to name them. What is on sale in those just as charming streets, is pretty much the same as what is to be found in Souk Al Hamdiyyeh, but walking through them is an enjoyable experience, as you watch the daily life in Damascus unfold. There are many food items on sale in these winding streets; one thing that Souk Al Hamdiyyeh does not cater for, apart from cafés and ice cream bars (very good ice cream!).

My sister meant to show me some streets of the Old Damascus, which we soon reached. What I found most special was the interesting architecture of the houses and other constructions that line it. They are mainly simple yet very singular terraced houses, mostly bearing interesting wooden windows. It is hard to convey the humble yet warm appearance of Old Damascus, but I found it absolutely endearing. One thing that struck me is that some of the structures were so obviously oblique, that it was a wonder how they still stood there! But that, of course, is part of the charm…

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Sayyida Roqayya Mosque

Leaving a narrow street, we came face to face with the Sayyida Roqayya Mosque; an Iranian mosque, built in typical Iranian style. It is fairly recent (I did not find reliable information concerning the exact date it was built; end of 1990s it seems) and contains the shrine of Sayyida Roqayya, who was the daughter of the prophet Husein.

At this point, my sister and I put down our rucksacks on the floor and proceeded to change into respectable and acceptable attires, in order to be allowed entry into the mosque. We were both wearing long trousers and tea-shirts; to this we added long and loose cardigans and headscarves, covering all our hair. What ensued was a slightly hysterical fit of laughter at each other's metamorphosis, followed but a swift act of composure, as we had no time to lose!

Entering through the main gate, my sister was allowed to go inside unhindered but I was stopped by a guard who told me that I had to take one of the big bad black hooded robes that are lent for free to any female who appears not to be adequately dressed for the occasion. I cursed under my breath, as I saw no reason why this should be; I was dressed exactly as my sister was but… I made no fuss and proceeded to cover myself up with what was gently handed to me.

By then, my sister was trying to hold back another fit of laughter, but we were inside and had to act accordingly, so we took our shoes off (you must always take your shoes off before entering a mosque), left them outside and walked towards the mosque proper, through a beautiful, fairly sized courtyard, in the middle of which an ablution fountain stood.

Before even making our way in, we were dazzled by the interior of the mosque… A playful game of a million mirrors was being staged all over the ceiling, the multiple arched hall and halfway down the walls. Mosaic designs complemented the mirrors and below some of the cornices, verses of the Holy Koran were sketched in beautiful calligraphy. Immense crystal chandeliers hung gracefully almost everywhere and to add some colour, attractive stained glass windows shone their intense hues from the ceiling and the walls. It was beautiful, but a little too much for me.

Advancing respectfully, we walked down the corridor separating the men's quarters from that of the women's. May I point out that anyone may enter the mosque and I saw many foreign visitors inside. As long as you are adequately dressed and act with respect, there is no reason why you should not be allowed in.

All the floors are carpeted and the interior is immense. We looked inside the men's quarters (anyone may), but the women's were better, for this is where lies the even more lavishly ornamented shrine of Sayyida Roqayya (Lady Roqayya). The shrine is housed within a shiny gold and blue structure (it would take too long to describe in detail), around which women congregate; by placing their hands on it, they pray to Sayyida Roqayya, no doubt asking her to grant them some of their dearest wishes. I did not try doing this, for fear of setting the place alight, so I don't know if it works.

One more look at the men's quarters and we made our way out the same way we had gone in. I returned my black apparel and once clear of the mosque, we retrieved the scarves and cardigans as well.

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Souk El-Bzouriyyeh (Spice Market)

We walked down the centre of Damascus, past ambulant street sweet vendors and carpets hanging in more twisting alleyways; sailed past squares packed with silver and gold jewellery and household goods; we paid very quick visits to some very beautiful khans (travellers' resting places, usually consisting of a very large square surrounded by an edifice and often a garden) which I will avoid describing, as it would take too long.

Then we arrived in souk El Bzouriyyeh (the Spice market).
Under an arched roof roof, lay before us a sea of spices, dried fruit, nuts, sweets of all colours, shapes and sizes and even some lively looking beads and pearls! Stores packed to the brim with exotic products, sackfuls more laid out in their entrances, hanging from walls and ceilings and calling at you: "come and smell me, come and touch me, come and try me…"

As I was abusing my sense of smell and allowing my eyesight to be assaulted by the multitude of colours, I became distracted by a beam that seemed to have flashed past me. Turning around to find out what it may be, I saw an ambulant merchant wheeling a wooden cart heaped with a small mountain of literally fluorescent sweets! I mean it! They were glowing!

"Are they light up in the dark sweets?" - I asked.

To which I was only offered a puzzled glance as a reply. I thanked the sky for not having my son with me at that moment, or he may have been blinded by the glare given out by those bonbons. I wondered how many one would have to eat before becoming radioactive!

Returning to the "healthy sweets quarters" (if there is such a thing), my sister and I strolled for a few more minutes in this deliciously smelling place (very hard to define What we actually smelled!) before moving on to souk El-Harir (Silk Market), which is reached through a few streets perpendicular to souk El-Bzouriyyeh.

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Souk El-Harir (Silk Market)

Souk El-Harir was built by Darwish Pasha in the late 16th century, and though silk is the main thing on sale, in the form of fabrics, outfits, scarves, ties and even table cloths, many other items are on offer. Copper and brass tableware, jewellery and the inevitable useless articles.

We were lucky to see a gentleman giving life (so to speak!) to the delicate textiles, on a huge and very old hand-weaving contraption. Hidden on one side of a store that resembled more a little square, he was tucked behind his machine, surrounded by shiny materials and strings; next to him, in a small cardboard box, lay some cocoons of pure silk. It is remarkable that such a tiny, insignificant ball of furry substance should be transformed into the delicate and exquisite elegant material this person was creating. He explained the whole process to us - still mechanically operating his apparatus - and explained that his job was very physically tiring, which was clearly obvious, as both his arms and legs were relentlessly busy pushing and pulling and pressing some thing or other.

I was surprised to find that souk El-Harir was much smaller than I had expected, but my sister told me that other streets around the one where we were wandering were also considered part of it.

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Azem Palace

After a quick lunch and a coffee in a very picturesque restaurant, we headed towards Azem Palace. In the heart of the Old City, this magnificent palace was built by one of the last Ottoman governors of Syria: Assad al-Azem Pasha in 1163, although it was not until 1749 that its construction was completed.
Today serving as Cultural History Museum, it is set amongst lush greenery and adorned with many magnificent fountains. There are many exhibits on show, mainly living quarters, school rooms and traditional clothing.

We did not stay long, but I found the place quite charming and very peaceful. It was easy to forget that we were in the middle of a very big city.

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The Umayyad Mosque

By now, it was getting late (we wanted to leave before 6 pm for a particular reason) and we still had one very important visit to pay Damascus' greatest pride:
the Umayyad mosque (also spelled Omayyad or Omayyades).

The history of the Grand Mosque of Damascus (another name it goes by) is over 3000 years old. The Arameans first built a temple to their god of storm (some say of sun and thunder), Hadad, on the site where it now stands. In 1 AD, during Roman times, it was turned into, or a further temple to Jupiter was built on top of it (I could not find information to clarify this). The Christians transformed it into the city's cathedral (dedicated to St John the Baptist) in 330 AD and thus it remained until about 636 AD, year of the Arab conquest.

In the years that followed (and I have found too many dates regarding this, some of which were contradictory) this magnificent edifice was slowly built up to reach its full glory. It is said that Caliph Al-Walid was responsible for the onset of the construction of this mammoth structure between 705 and 715 AD, when it became the first of its type and soon became a blueprint for other mosques throughout the Islamic world, with its mixed styles coming into perfect harmony in a dance of Islamic architecture, embracing Byzantine and Persian influences. Sadly, its once magnificent anterior (or so we are told) was burned down during the Abbassid occupation of Damascus in 750 AD, when most of the city was turned to ashes.

Not only is it regarded as one of the largest and oldest mosques in the world, but is also deemed to be one of the holiest. It is made more special by its three minarets, each built at a different time: the minaret of the Bride (9th and 12th century), the minaret of Jesus (13th century) and the minaret of Qat Bey (15th century).

Once more, we donned our cardigans and headscarves before making our way in. Removing our shoes and placing them near a wall, we suddenly felt tiny at the sight that met our gaze. The immense courtyard that greets the visitor upon entering is simply a wonder. Lavishly decorated with a multitude of mosaics, surrounded by sumptuous arches, it will not leave you indifferent. In its centre sits the ablution fountain and on each extreme of the yard stand the Dome of the Hours and the delightfully embellished Dome of the Treasure.

A small garden near the north wall of the mosque is the location of the tomb of Salah Ed-Dine (Saladin), but we did not visit this.

We strolled around the courtyard as I was trying to make the most of the light falling upon it, which was almost perfect (but not quite) for photographs, before entering the mosque. Vast is a very modest word to describe its dimension; in comparison to the Sayyida Roqayya mosque, it was almost sombre, but certainly far less distracting to the eye and the mind and therefore much more appropriate for the purpose of praying and meditation. Outsized carpets covered the entire floor, giving it a very "homely" and welcoming atmosphere. There were not many people inside, though it is so large, that one would not readily notice. Some were praying, others sitting in the back chatting quietly and a not inconsiderable number of tourists (you can recognise them) were doing exactly what we were: inspecting and studying this enormous space in as respectful a way as possible.

We went in through the men's quarters and slowly walked through to the women's. In what I remember as being almost the centre of the mosque, lay a shrine, which is said to conceal the head of St John the Baptist. Some say it was sent by King Herod to Damascus to assure the Romans of his death; others say it was found during excavations, after the church was demolished. There are others variations on the theme.

After admiring the large stained glass windows and huge chandeliers, we made our exit through the door of the women's quarters. Peacefully smiling to myself at the pleasure of the sight I had just witnessed, I was brought back to reality by a man calling at me (more shouting really!). I wondered what I had done wrong; I knew that photography was allowed in there but… what if the rules had been changed as I was passing by?

"Madam! Who let you in dressed like that?" - said the man.

"Moi?" - I wondered in surprise, pointing at myself with a look full of unexplainable guilt.

"Yes you! You are not properly dressed. Who let you in, this is not acceptable!"

Well the truth is that, when we first came in, the entrance was swarming with people, and although the guards saw us, they did not say anything to either of us. We were still dressed exactly as when visiting the Sayyida Roqayyaa mosque and I had feared an "arrest" upon my arrival, but this did not happen.

I told the man that the guards had let me in, and he started calling people on a sort of walkee-talkee, at which, all peacefulness promptly collapsed right at my feet, as though my clothes had been torn off.

"The shape of your thighs is visible underneath this cardigan, at least your trousers are wide at the calves, you should see the way some people enter this place!"

"Yes!" - I thought, suddenly ashamed at being the owner of visible thighs.

Thankfully, after throwing a fuss, inducing a slight onset of paranoia in me and leaving me feeling bewildered by his reasons, he let me go.

"Next time, make sure you wear a long black hooded robe, take one from the entrance".

Of course, of course, yes… I will.

My sister did not find it funny at first (ok, her cardigan was ever so slightly longer than mine) but ended up laughing at me for being singled out each time!!

I did not let this ruin the remaining few minutes of my visit, instead I ambled once more through the courtyard - feeling very self-conscious - and watched children play and run after pigeons. A few more photos, one last look and goodbye Umayyad Mosque.

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Before leaving Damascus to get back to the bus and taxi terminal, we had some delicious ice cream. This is where I shall quickly tell you that, first of all, ice cream is very good and very cheap there (about 20p for a large bowl or cone) and so is the food in general. There are countless restaurants and cafés, as well as "sandwich" shops, though what they sell is far more appealing and diverse than sandwiches.

Eating out will not ruin you (as tends to be the case in the centre of Beirut) and though Lebanese people told me to be weary of Syrian restaurants and food, I ate and drank there from various places and found everything delicious and did not have any stomach pains or side effects.

I do recommend Syrian food, which is similar to all middle eastern food, with little variation.

As I did not stay overnight, I have no idea what hotel prices are like, but a quick visit to expedia.co.uk or the many other hotel/travel sites will surely be more helpful than my rambling about it.

Flights to Damascus tend to start at £300 return (from London), but it very much depends on who you fly with and when.

Most Syrians speak some English and French, especially the younger generation, so this should not be a problem.

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Goodbye Damascus, hello taxi terminal.

One word of warning: when you get to the thronged taxi and bus terminal, you WILL be turned into a magnet for as many drivers as will see you arrive. The idea is to find a taxi driver with enough passengers to depart straight away, so you do not have to wait half a lifetime. Unless you are prepared to pay for 4 places (which is the number of people they require before setting off), you will need to find a car who already has two willing travellers, or you will have to wait.

ALL of the drivers will tell you that they already have enough passengers and more often than not, they are lying. We happened upon the same driver who had driven us from Beirut, and he was quick to monopolise us over his colleagues: "they are mine" . We thought we were lucky, but we were not, it was another hour before we did leave, with alternating episodes of various fumes coming out of our ears and mouths, unutterable idioms and many exits from the car to look for another driver, who was waiting for passengers himself and besides, once you have agreed to travel with one of them, all the other taxi drivers will not want to "steal" you from their comrades. It is a gentleman's rule between them. When this does happen, they will insult each other heartily and you will think that they are about to murder each other, but in fact, it is all very amicable (or just about). So no need to fret.

About 2 hours later, we were home safely, our driver having dropped us off a couple of minutes away from my parents' home.

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Needless to say, there is much more to see and do in Damascus, but I think that I have fared well for a single day there. There are many adventures that happened to us there which I have not recounted either, but I think you will agree that this has taken long enough already.

The diversity of this city is indisputably its biggest point of interest, I found the Syrian people very friendly, even when they knew I was Lebanese (for reasons long to explain, the Lebanese tend not to love the Syrians very much, though the opposite I did not find to be the case; I don't have this problem). I left it feeling I had only tasted a couple of bites from a very tasty fruit, and though my mother currently insists "now is NOT the right time to visit Syria", I sincerely hope that I may go back one day.

© Lola Awada 2005

 

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