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Viewing all posts tagged "Damascus"
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Syria makes it into the New York Times top 10 destinations
Damascus ranks number 7 in the top places to visit in 2010, mainly on the basis of its new boutique hotels. Thank you, Don Duncan, former correspondent for the Global Post Beirut, for your insightful review of a city in which you don’t even reside. Forget the great mosques, markets, museums, and mausoleums: you can travel halfway across the world and stay in a luxury hotel with an “inviting courtyard”!
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50 days until Syria
The plans for moving from London to Damascus are in full swing. Jennifer and I have created a “get ‘er done” board with all the things we have to do prior to leaving. These include boring bureaucratic tasks like sorting out visas and canceling subscriptions, but also London things-to-do that I just haven’t done in the last 5 years of living here. For example, the National Gallery and Portrait Gallery — how haven’t I been there yet?? Anyway, the board is on the wall now. Items items keep getting added and nothing is getting checked off yet. Time to get into gear.
The reason we’re moving to Syria is to learn Arabic. We’ve been taking part-time night classes for the past couple years and have accumulated a strange collection of stuff in Arabic: children’s books, board games, airplane sick bags, instruction manuals, newspapers and magazines. This has all been well and good, and I’m sure our basic knowledge will prove to be super helpful once we’ve touched down in Damascus, but being fully immersed in the language and the culture is, surely, incomparable. The goal is to leave next summer confident in our ability to fully express our thoughts and opinions in Arabic, to read and understand Arabic newspapers, essays, novels and websites, and even to make informed, logical arguments in Arabic. Is this possible?
I’m hoping at the very least that our current skill level will enable us to get a taxi from Damascus airport to the city center, where lies our temporary abode. Upon arrival we’ll also be needing some breakfast and coffee — Syrian style! At the moment, I can say things like this pretty confidently:
صباح الخير يا سيدي. أريد فنجان قهوة والإفطار من فضلك
الجبن والحمص والخبز من فضلك
Sabah al-khayr ya sayyid. Urid finjan qahwa wa iftar min fudlak.
Jubna wa humus wa khubz min fudlak.That’s “Good morning, sir. I want a cup of coffee and breakfast please. Cheese, humus and bread please.”
I’m quite sure our language learning speed will increase dramatically once we’re there, and with intensive classes 5 hours a day, plus people and signs and television and radio all around us, all the time, all in Arabic, we will definitely be fully immersed. And we’ll need to learn more common food orders quickly, lest we become stuffed full of cheese, humus and bread.
Food and drink is an important part of my life wherever I am. I often use food as a barometer of culture and national psyche when I travel to foreign countries. The politics of food? Is that altogether fair? Maybe not. But I think you can learn a lot about society by what they feed themselves and how they treat dinner guests. From what I’ve read and heard, the Syrians do both of these things right, so it should be a lot of tasty fun!
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18 days until Syria
Fresh off a weekend trip to Stockholm, I resigned from my job of four years and had a great “leaving do” (as they say here in the UK) with my workmates. I’ll miss the entire Travelfusion crew, but especially the ones I worked with the closest. You know who you are. I got such a nice card from the team full of handwritten personal messages that actually meant something — not just your usual generic best of luck blah blahs. On top of that, I got a £40 gift certificate to Bodeans, the best BBQ place here in London, and a super friendly good-bye post on the Travelfusion blog.
Then the smaller group leaving dos began. Some dim sum here, a little Gordon’s Wine Bar there, and then *snap* it was off to Amsterdam for a few days’ adventure. Amsterdam is a strange place to me, very hit and miss, and the unforgivingly matter-of-fact attitude of the Dutch people takes a little getting used to. The great parts of the city are great, for example the superbly organized Van Gogh museum. The seedy parts are of course seedy, but you know what you’re getting into so it’s kind of okay. But the thing that’s usually of my favorite parts of traveling — the food — was consistently disappointing. Luckily on the last day we found this place called De Bakkerswinkel (Dutch for The Bakkerswinkle) which almost completely made up for all the other lackluster dining experiences! Amazing quiche, salad and ice tea.
Now it’s one day in London to run errands before traveling to Dublin to attend the wedding of two good friends. After that it’s just two short weeks before we leave London for Damascus. For the first time I feel it in a very real way that we are finally leaving, and it’s just more bitter and more sweet than ever.
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6 days until Syria
Contemplating my new home until next summer…
Damascus is believed to be the oldest continuously inhabited city in the world. It was an important commercial center under the Romans and Byzantines, and as capital of the Umayyad dynasty, A.D. 661-750, Damascus ruled over an empire stretching across the Middle East and North Africa all the way to present-day Spain. Over the centuries Damascus developed as an important stopping point for travelers making the hajj (pilgrimage) to Mecca.
It’s long been known as a city of beauty, and remains today associated with an urbane, cultivated lifestyle — as the classical Arabic word mudamashaq, from Dimashq (Damascus), suggests. The city remains highly diverse — religiously, ethnically, and regionally.
Like many cities in the developing world, contemporary Damascus has experienced a steady and significant population increase, and consequently has had to face the problems and issues that typically accompany such urban growth — for example, the emergence of new social distinctions linked to place of residence. In Damascus today, where one lives is the number one marker of social status.
I paraphrased these passages from Christa Salamandra’s anthropological study, A New Old Damascus: Authenticity and Distinction in Urban Syria (2004).
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Typical street in Muhajirin. This area of Damascus is built on the side of a mountain.
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First week in Damascus
Although this is the first time I’ve ever been to the Middle East, a region of the world I’ve dedicated so many brain cells to and yet had never seen for myself, I’d like to think I’m a little more informed than the next person when it comes to history, politics and society of the Middle East, especially the Levant countries. Regarding Syria in particular, I had a pretty good idea of what to expect from all the reading and speaking with others who had lived or travelled here before. The American Scott C. Davis’s book, The Road from Damascus, was an entertaining read that kept me smiling throughout. The blogs Syria News Wire and Syria Comment helped me sift through the news and stay up to speed with current events. The Damascus photo group on Flickr and the Syrian School television series provided visual context. No less than a dozen friends have helped immensely with their first hand knowledge and experience. So far everything has been just as promised, from the Syrian people’s friendliness and the yummy cheap food to the government banned websites and insane drivers.
So what am I doing here?
The reason for moving to Syria was not to stir my imagination, have a spiritual revelation and “find myself” for the first time, as is often written in pretentious travel guides. No no, I’ve already found myself. The reason for moving here was to learn Arabic, period. So, why? I touched on the reason before, but re-explored it yesterday when completing my language institution’s application form. I’m sure most of the information I provided on this form will be typed into a system by someone only half paying attention, only to be lost in the bureaucratic jungle that is the state of Syria, never to be seen again. But I was compelled by my compulsive attention to minutiae to take this banal question seriously once again…
Why would you like to learn Arabic?
Career development - I want to increase my understanding of Arabic media, both print and online, so that I can apply myself in a professional role where knowledge of Arabic is preferred or required (for example, with an international organization, NGO, etc.)
So there it is in one sentence, yet again. :)
Where I’ll study Arabic
The Arabic Language Center at the University of Damascus apparently has the largest enrollment of Damascus institutions teaching Modern Standard Arabic (MSA) or fusHa. MSA is not spoken on the streets normally. It’s too formal. Fortunately, people in Syria, Lebanon and beyond understand spoken MSA; it is, after all, used in newspapers and television. This means I can practice new vocab and grammar immediately after leaving the classroom; and, in fact, since arriving, I’ve fared pretty well speaking the limited MSA I already know. The 120 hours of part-time Arabic lessons I’ve taken before were not a waste! Thing is, when I speak MSA to locals I am answered in the local dialect, nicknamed amiye (colloquial Arabic), which forces me to learn local words and phrases quickly. This is good.
This is about the only thing I’ll say on politics
Many Americans find it hard to believe that it’s okay for me to be here. I understand why they feel this way, but I can’t believe it, if that makes sense. I can’t believe they’ve fallen for the propaganda, the scary picture that’s been painted by the mainstream media. I’ve found the best approach with this attitude is to calmly counter it with facts. Thus, on the occasions when I was faced with comments like, “Have fun dodging bombs!” or “Will you be safe?” or “Aren’t they socialist?”, I’d smile and patiently explain how, to the contrary, I understood from first hand accounts that the Syrians were warm, kind, helpful people, that petty crime and civil disobedience were very rare, and that reforms have led to greater economic freedoms (in some sectors), less corruption (though still very much of it), and more modern civil infrastructure (but still under-invested). In other words, it’s (mostly) all good.
Other accomplishments since arriving:
- Found at least two comfortable, clean cafes with tasty coffee and snacks, plus reliable, decent-speed WiFi (Sale Sucre and Moka & More)
- Got a Syrian SIM card which worked effortlessly with the unlocked HTC Desire I purchased in the UK a few months ago
- Opened a bank account, a process which took all of 30 minutes (!)
- Learned the routes of three micro-buses, arguably the best way I’ve ever seen to get around a city (imagine a taxi that’s there whenever you need one, carries up to 10 people, picks you up and drops you off wherever you want along its pre-defined route, and costs a flat fee — 10 SYP ($0.20) — no matter how long you stay aboard)
- Basic sightseeing, such as wandering the souqs (markets) of the Old City and the super gentrified area of Abu Rumanna
- Took a few photos
A square outside the Umayyad Mosque
View of massive Syrian flag from Muhajirin apartment -
I got an oud!
Ibrahim and his daughter Mary invited us into their oud shop located in the Hand Crafts Market, just behind the National Museum. Ibrahim insisted we sit down and before we knew it Mary had prepared four fresh cups of coffee for us all.
We sat around a small table while I explained how I played guitar but had never even touched an oud. Ibrahim pulled one down from the hooks surrounding us and started to play. Mary got frustrated because the instrument was not in tune. Her father, twisting the tuning pegs, snapped back. They exchanged a few more words that I couldn’t even begin to understand. I couldn’t stop laughing.
Mary had mentioned that she’d been learning how to play, so I insisted that she show us all how it’s done. So she plucked it from her father and started playing a tune. Finally, I asked if I could try.
I was really surprised by how light the instrument is, especially considering the big, bulbous shape of the body. The top of the oud has three oval shaped sound holes, as opposed to the single circular hole usually seen on acoustic guitars. The fingerboard is fretless, and the intervals between whole notes are not familiar to me. It uses nylon strings like a classical (Spanish) guitar, and it’s strung like a 12-string guitar in that the strings are in pairs. But there are only 10 strings (4 pairs). The pick used is not the teardrop shape I am accustomed to, but a 5-inch long, flat, narrow, plastic stick — like this.
Who really knew if the thing was in tune? But I started playing anyway, just trying to imitate what Ibrahim and Mary had done a minute ago. Eventually I was able to make something sounding somewhat musical to come out of the thing. Pretty cool! I ended up trying four different ouds.
We went back to the shop a few days later, once I had gotten some money together, and I picked out my favorite one — the one emblazoned with the name of its maker, طويل (Tawil). Now I’ve got to learn how to work this thing…
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How to watch a film like a Syrian (5 simple steps)
Going out with friends to the cinema is a popular social activity for Syrians. As a visitor wanting to get an authentic feel for local life, you would do well to partake, however you might find yourself bewildered or frustrated with the seemingly strange behavior of native Syrians. Thus I present my 5 strategies any newcomer can use to blend in with the locals and maximize your enjoyment at the movie theater.
- Arrive late. While it is socially acceptable in Syria to enter the theater and find your seat at any time during the screening of a film, the norm is to enter between the time the lights dim, signalling the start of the opening scene, up to 30 minutes into the film. Western visitors who are accustomed to sitting down some 5-10 minutes before the start-time might find this behavior strange, as the opening scene of the film is often critical to the understanding of its plot. In addition, by arriving to your seat a few minutes early, you to get “movie ready” — remove your coat, open your bag of M&Ms, relax and forget about the outside world. Syrians, on the other hand, are not bothered by the opening and closing of theater doors, the glare of a steward’s flash light or your cell phone as you look for your seat, nor the extra noise and blocking of other patrons’ views as you shuffle around in the dark.
- Keep your cell phone turned on. Western moviegoers might have gotten into the habit of switching cell phones to “meeting” or “vibrate” mode as their enter the theater. The truly brave might go so far as to switch off their phones altogether. In Syria, though, this extra effort is neither required nor encouraged. The fact is, you never know when your friend might call to ask you what’s up, and by silencing your phone you run the risk of missing these important calls. Don’t worry, patrons around you will not mind the polyphonic jingle or pop song blaring from your pocket, so turn up the volume a little extra just in case your friend calls during a loud scene. (Westerners who are unable break this habit might feel embarrassed if they forget to turn off their phone and it rings. But don’t worry! If your phone does happen to ring while in a Syrian movie theater, it’s perfectly acceptable to answer it and talk in a normal volume for up to 10 minutes.)
- Talk to your friends. In the West, moviegoers are generally taught to keep their mouths shut for the duration of the film. Obviously, there are some exceptions: at a comedy, it’s socially acceptable to laugh out loud; at a thriller, you can audibly gasp and even scream at the really disturbing parts; and so on. But whatever conversation you were having with your friends just before the lights dimmed should cease until the closing credits start to roll, at which point you can resume where you left off, or, even more appropriately, discuss the film you just saw together. Not so in Syria! Here it is perfectly okay to talk in normal voices throughout the film, as if you were watching it in the comfort of your own home. So feel free to discuss what’s happening in the film, talk business, shoot the breeze, whatever. People around you won’t mind the noise and will most likely be engaged in conversations of their own.
- Walk out before the film ends. A Western visitor to Syria might find it strange when native moviegoers depart the theater well before the film’s end. It might seem especially strange when some of the very people who entered the theatre late (see number 1 above) proceed to leave early. Real trailblazers might enter to find their seats as late as 30 minutes before the end of the film, only to stand up and leave during the closing scene. Syrian moviegovers are fairly certain about the outcomes of films, and, like impatient fans leaving the baseball park late in the game when their team is up 5 runs, their deduced conclusions might very well be correct, but it’s just not worth their while to have these conjectures confirmed or denied. For the Western visitor, it begs the question, why come to the theater at all? The author has no answer.
- Walk out as soon as the credits start rolling. Often in the West, especially for independent or more arty films, you might feel a certain obligation to sit through the credits. Whether you’re interested in individual actors, curious about the production team, or simply paying your respects to the film-makers, it is not unheard of to remain in your seat until the final copyright details fade out. At the very least, it’s normal to sit through the names of the starring actors. But in Syria, assuming you have sat through the whole movie, there is no social pressure to sit through the credits — not even for a second. Credits here are the signal to stand up and get out of the theater as soon as humanly possible. To help speed up the process, the film reel guy will bring up the house lights immediately and actually cut the credits after about 30 seconds, just in case any ajnabis (foreigners) are milling about.
A footnote
Our arrival in Damascus coincided with the Syrian release of The Social Network, which we hadn’t seen yet before leaving London, and the Damascus International Film Festival, which was screening a bunch of interesting titles for cheap (50-100 SYP ($1-2) per film). So we ended up watching the Facebook film and four others — Biutiful, The Godfather, Never Let Me Go, and Chinatown — over the course of a week, so I think I can speak with some authority on the subject. - Arrive late. While it is socially acceptable in Syria to enter the theater and find your seat at any time during the screening of a film, the norm is to enter between the time the lights dim, signalling the start of the opening scene, up to 30 minutes into the film. Western visitors who are accustomed to sitting down some 5-10 minutes before the start-time might find this behavior strange, as the opening scene of the film is often critical to the understanding of its plot. In addition, by arriving to your seat a few minutes early, you to get “movie ready” — remove your coat, open your bag of M&Ms, relax and forget about the outside world. Syrians, on the other hand, are not bothered by the opening and closing of theater doors, the glare of a steward’s flash light or your cell phone as you look for your seat, nor the extra noise and blocking of other patrons’ views as you shuffle around in the dark.
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Getting around in Damascus
Getting from A to B in Damascus can sometimes take you via C, D and E, a loop around F, and an unexpected detour past G. But after a few attempts at any given route, you’ll figure out the best method of travel. You have a few choices: taxis, microbuses or “services”, normal sized buses, or your own two feet.
Don’t be stupid
Don’t listen to all those web forums claiming Damascus is a walkable city. It really isn’t, unless you live, study or spend all your time in the Old City, in which case you’re probably the type of traveler who seeks out other foreigners, ideally those who speak your own language, to help yourself achieve a sense of comfort. Don’t get me wrong: the old souqs, the area around Umayyad Mosque, Bab Touma and Straight Street are fun, interesting places to wander around until you think you’re absolutely lost, only to find a gem of a cafe or shop and subsequently applaud yourself for being so adventurous. But by not venturing out of the tourist zone, you are missing out so much the city has to offer. So get out there!So many close calls
Riding in a taxi or minibus is a cultural experience in itself. Roads in Damascus do not have painted lanes, though it seems to be generally understood among drivers how many vehicles abreast a particular street can handle. Through acts of great skill and bravery, horn honking, and a little luck, the taxis, buses, micro buses, trucks, scooters, motorcycles, bicycles, cars, and other various 2-, 3- and 4-wheeled motor vehicles somehow manage to share the road with few incidents. Often I’m certain the vehicle in which I’m traveling is about to collide with another. It appears inevitable, yet somehow it’s avoided. (Though you can’t help but notice all the dings and dents in the doors of minibuses.)Why I bought emergency medical insurance
This leaves pedestrians, the runts of the road, bobbing and weaving through moving traffic. If you’re lucky you’ll find a stoplight / green man that’s a) working and b) respected by drivers. Otherwise, you just wait for a suitable window and go for it. It’s like playing Frogger with your life, and there’s no other choice. You just step out into the road when you can and try to make eye contact with the drivers. The first time I almost got hit by a car was very scary. The next few times were not any less scary. World Nomads insurance came recommended, so I got it.Some notes on taxis
There are taxis everywhere. Just walk to the closest main road and they’ll be there beeping their horns, vying for your attention, sometimes weaving across lanes of traffic just to pick you up.All taxi drivers are male. A male traveling alone always gets into the front passenger seat, as does a male traveling with one or more females. A female traveling alone always gets into the back seat; likewise, multiple females traveling together always get into the back seat, unless there are more than 3 females, in which case the 4th gets into the front passenger seat. In other words, a female never sits up front unless absolutely necessary for safety reasons. Thus when Jennifer and I take a taxi, I’m always up front and she’s always alone in the back. That’s the way it is.
In the 4 weeks we’ve lived in Damascus so far, every taxi we’ve taken has had a meter — except two. That’s a rate of about 90% metered rides. Whether or not the taxi has a functional meter is the first thing you should look for when you enter the car. If the meter’s lights are off, or flashing, or displaying nonsensical characters, or simply is not there, then you must agree on a price with the driver before he takes you too far. “Bikam ala Muhajirin?” you might ask (“How much to Muhajirin?”). It helps to already know what the ride might cost, so that you can counter with that amount should the driver reply with an unreasonable figure. In our (albeit limited) experience, however, the figures suggested have been reasonable, so I haven’t actually had to negotiate the fare or demand to be let out of the car. As a general rule, no ride within Damascus should cost more than 100 SYP. I paid 140 SYP once, but there was a lot of traffic that day caused by unforeseen road construction, so the driver had to take a long way round.
Minibuses are quite possibly the best way I’ve ever seen of getting around any city I’ve visited
- They’re incredibly cheap: only 10 SYP (20 cents) per ride.
- They’re flexible: the microbuses work on your terms, picking you up and letting you off wherever you want.
- They’re efficient: there are loads of these buses on the street, and even if the first couple that go past you are full, their frequency is high enough that you’ll get on one in no time at all. The longest we’ve had to wait for a Damascus microbus was 10 minutes — the average expected wait-time for some of the most active London bus routes!
- They’re civil: unlike other modes of public transport I’ve used — for example, in London, where an attitude of urgency and distrust poisons the whole experience, dehumanizes everyone, encouraging a kill-or-be-killed mad rush — patrons of Damascus microbuses are generally polite, considerate, and honest. Strangers handle each others’ money when paying the driver (and passing back change), open and close doors for those less able to, scoot over and squeeze to make additional room for you, etc. Men change seats to make way for women and children. People shift seats to allow friends or couples to sit next to each other. There is no sense of urgency, no mad rush. The driver simply expects to be paid at some point during your journey; not strictly at the beginning.
- They’re incredibly cheap: only 10 SYP (20 cents) per ride.
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Here’s the first video I’ve taken since arriving in Damascus, recorded from the terrace of our house in Muhajirin, an area built on the side of a mountain on the northern edge of the city.
The call to prayer or adhan (pronounced ah-than, with the “th” as in “than”, not “think”) happens five times a day, starting each morning at about 4:40 AM. That early morning one is a real surprise, and for the first three weeks it woke me up almost every time. Gradually I became accustomed to it and these days, usually, I sleep right through without earplugs or anything.
It’s really amazing, though, how the entire city rumbles and waves with all the calls happening simultaneously. You can kind of get a sense of it in this video.
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Eid fireworks up on the mountain above our apartment. More videos here, but only a few from Damascus so far. Coming soon: video of oud playing!
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