Castles Najm and Jaaber, and Bedouin Life

Qal'at Najm (Castle of Stars, which sounds somehow more elegant than Star Castle) is near Syria's northern Turkish border, perched on a hill overlooking Lake Al-Assad. The castle is way off the beaten path and impossible to reach by public transport, many miles from any city, forgotten in an endless desert. Surrounding is an amazing landscape; absolutely parched rocky earth devoid of any plantlife, seemingly raked clean like an enormous zen garden. Every now and again a small mudhouse village pops out of the desert, camouflaged by the beige earth.


Approaching the lonely Qalat Najm

Qalat Najm itself is impressive, though it's key feature is the stunning vistas over the lake (which used to be the flowing Euphrates River, now dammed and stagnant). The sole feature distinguishing the water from the sky is a distant ridge line of sandy cliffs, one sharp set jutting upward and a blurry doppleganger reflecting below.


Our crew prepares to enter the castle

The citadel, constructed in the 12th century by Saladin, has been recently reconstructed. Inside, we explored long cooridors connecting enormous halls, a bakery, hamam, and huge water cisterns, then climbed up to the top for a view of the surrounding valley.


Chris on the Sultan's balcony


Exploring the inner rooms and halls


Looking upriver toward Turkey


Hamam courtyard (outdoor bathhouse)

Though warm by day, Syrian nights are cold and arrive quickly, forcing us to stop biking and find a place to sleep when the sun disappears around 4 pm. Chris and I were biking a quiet road southward, delayed by another flat tire (Chris' 4th in Syria), when we realized we must find a place to shelter. We had gotten lunch from a lonely falafel stand but were now without provisions and little water, knowing we
could not make it to the assad (dam).


Chris fixes his 4th flat tire in Syria

A man in a white pickup truck pulled over and offered to drive us, then invited us to his home. We happily obliged, turning off the thin winding road into the dirt and out toward a small cluster of simple adobe and cement block homes.


Rocky graves out in the desert, embellished with sparse greenery

As it turns out, our new friend, Abu Aziz (Father of Aziz, ie his oldest son) has two wives, with 12 children and 4 on the way (one set of triplets). Not more than 30 feet away live several of his brothers in their own houses, who have their own wives and dozens of children too, making our time in their spaciously cushioned sitting room feel more like a school campout. Honestly I have never seen such a large family! I kept thinking about how communal their childhoods must be, each of them being lost among a sea of siblings and cousins, especially juxtaposed with the amount of personal attention the little French girl in Homs receives...


Chris and Abu Aziz drinking tea

Abu Aziz and his family shared a simple (Syrian, read: delicious) meal and many cups of tea with us, none of them English speakers but we could communicate through pictures and art. Every few minutes another man entered the room, salam alekum-ing and sitting with a cigarette, as several young boys rubbed their forefingers together while saying akk, meaning Abu's brother.


Sitting room becomes a master suite!

The two women with us were Abu Aziz's first wife and his sister, who suprised me becauses she is 25 and single. Bedouin girls marry even in their early teens, beginning their careers as baby factories as soon as possible, and judging by how highly they value large families I would have expected her arrangement by now.

In the morning we met the grandparents, leaders of the commune, a happy and fun couple. The mother, like most people, pointed to imaginary piercings on her lip and asked why? She herself is decorated with traditional facial tattoos, a long stripe down her chin, circular motif on her forehead, and a few scattered outward. I love the tattoos and told her they are jamil (beautiful); when she told me 'old style
Bedouin' I pointed to my piercings and said 'new style American' which made them all laugh.


Friendly Bedouin folks


Abu Aziz' second wife's home

I am usually depressed by desert scenes, especially fearful of such waterless areas as this one; however, their simple DIY adobe homes seemed perfectly in place, peacefully away from the congestion and pollution of the city (and even small towns, which tend to be full of construction rubble and the motor runoff from mechanic shops).


Walkway to the parent's home

Abu Aziz was kind enough to drive us back to the highway, dropping us off on the other side of the dam. From there chris and I biked further southeast, heading toward another castle.


Abu Aziz and family

By late afternoon we were close, honing in on the village of Jaaber and hoping to find a food stall. Unlike Turkey, Albania, and Greece, there are few roadside eateries (and even less cafes). While slightly more difficult during a bike trip, I appreciate how non-capitalistic it feels. We ended up finding only a small almost empty market with some ramen soup packets. The propriator agreed to boil one for us, taking us to his house around back where we sat for tea while watching Arab music videos. Most channels here seem to be either music or readings of the Quran; I have yet to see any sitcoms and the only "show" that appears is a dubbed Turkish drama popular throughout the middle east.


Random roadside tomb, maybe some Sufi sect?

I'm starting to learn the various national fashions, so, while I can't distinguish musical styles between, say, Abu Dabi and Turkey, I can identify some by their women. If they are heavy-set and swinging long, stringy black hair in circles they are Iraqi; if they are uncovered with European features (and obvious nose or boob jobs) they are Lebanese; if they are super cheesy over the top they might be Egyptian, etc. The men are more difficult because except for the more modern western states, they are usually donning long white robes with checkered or white shlemms (scarf held down by a black circular tube).

So there we sat sipping tea when the shop keeper's wife brought us a tray of noodles accompanied by sliced tomatoes and cucumbers, bread, and yogurt. I cannot get over how nice and hospitable Syrian people have been toward us, even when they know we are American. (So many times we have been told Your goverment is bad, but so is ours!)


Finally! Castle on the lake!

Afterward Chris and I biked the last 7 km into the hills and around a bend to find Qalat Jaaber, sitting quietly at the water's edge. From the top there is another beautiful 360 degree view of the lake, particularly pretty as the sunset changes the sky from blue to purple, pink, and orange, before finally cutting out to a twinkling black backdrop.


We arrived just in time!

Qalat Jaaber is unique because it's much older, made from mudbricks in the Mesopotamian style. It is not possible to get into the inner chambers, but a dangerously unbarred path follows along the outter edge and at the top a tower still stands, slightly tilted. There are train tracks leading from the tower to the edge of the castle; we couldn't figure out why.


Walking the outer walls


Savoring the last rays of sunlight

After sunset we circled to the backside and set our tent up near the water. Except for the enormous mosquitoes (than goodness our tent is actually a net) we had few difficulties here. The sandwiched between the illuminated castle walls and a lapping shoreline, we nestled into our very warm sleeping bag and listened to Democracy Now! podcasts until finally falling asleep.


Sunset over the lake


Leaving to find a campspot, 5 pm

A Home in Homs

Nebek to Homs

Distance: 64 km
Time: 3:21:00
Max speed: 31 km/hr
Ave speed: 18 km/hr
Temp: 28 C
Weather: Warm daytime, some heavy wind in wide areas

From Nebek, Chris and I continued backtracking north up to Homs, a so-called conservative town smack dab in the center of Syria. The main north- south highway connecting Turkey and Aleppo to Jordan and Damascus, as well as the main west-east highway connecting the port of Tartus to Iraq and Palmyra intercede here, resulting in a heavily crowded ring road.


Syria's highway is (mostly) lined with windswept trees


Large church in Homs, black and white stone a reflection of Assyrian culture


One of the cool mosaics in the entrance breezeway

Despite the rumor of conservatism, I found Homs to be a very progressive and liberal-feeling city, mostly because there is a large university and high Christian population, with many women of all ages foregoing the hijabb. There were also tons of bikers in the streets, and the overall city actually appeared to be thriving, without so many men simply standing or wandering about aimlessly as is usually the case. Women were everywhere! However, I was the only female on a bike, because, as I was informed, bikes are believed to deflower women, and their virginity is still sacred...


Feeling lazy in a park

Chris and I couchsurfed with a young french couple, who are volunteering for 2 years through their church, working with mentally disabled children. They also have an adorable 16 month old daughter, who spends every waking moment smiling and laughing, as well an endless curiosity and desire for her parents' attention. Marie and Sebastien, the parents, are extremely patient and happy to dote on her, utilizing their abundant free time to give her as much nurturing as possible.


Sabastien on guitar with Marie and their daughter

I instantly liked them because they wash and reuse cloth diapers, make all their foods from scratch, and feed their child real meals instead of chocolate and potato chips, which is what I have been noticing everywhere! Also, they were very friendly and interesting, sharing evening meals and stories with us about life in Syria as well as back in France.

Eloise loves popcorn almost as much as we do

We stayed 3 nights, usually wandering through the souk streets and relaxing in parks during the day, as well as hunting for massasa mati (mate straws), silver filter straws that are great for sipping little cups of loose tea.


Goofing off in lover's park

While biking around one morning we stopped by the Walled Mosque, a large jamii surrounding by a black and white stone wall. En route we glimpsed two young boys with some camels, riding through traffic, and decided to follow them as they entered an empty park. They brought the camels here to feed on the thick, tall grass, which is rare to find, especially in the desolate suburbs.


Man in his kufia wandering the mosque


One of the camels grazing in the city park


Camel friend chewing the cud in the park

The outdoor market are especially interesting, of course because there are such huge quantities of fresh fruits and vegetables simply spilling out everywhere, but also because the men seem to do all the shopping. In Albania, the women tend to buy and prepare the food (but guys will pick up groceries pa turp), yet here it was exclusively men. We wandered around taking photos (often of the sellers who wanted to pose) and were welcomed down the suq.


So many veggies to choose from!


People were eager to take pictures with Chris


Fresh pide from the bakery

Each night we cooked with our hosts, except when feeling lazy we opted to order Syrian style pizza, which is full of veggies and loaded with salt. Still tasty though! On our way home the last night Chris and I stopped in an internet cafe (hard to find) and opened a string of Thanksgiving messages from friends and family. Suprise! We had no clue it was bird day! Our French hosts were equally unaware, I guess no American culture-sharing this year...


Pizza night. Authentically Syrian.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Desert Sactuary

Dar Mar Musa


Having some extra days in Syria we were really happy to visit Mar Musa, a restored 6th century monastery out in the desert. In the 1980's an italian priest began his mission of restoring the church into a functioning monastery, with the goal of creating dialogue and understanding between Syria's Christian and Muslim populations. Several years of reconstruction and development are now benefiting large groups of followers, travelers, intellectuals, and the small permanent parish.


Mar Musa monastery in the cliffs (view from the nuns' quarters)

Mar Musa's grounds are split into 3 compounds: the main area consists of the chapel, kitchen and dining patio, dining tent, library, sitting rooms, bathrooms, and some womens dorms (where I stayed). A lower staircase tunnel leads to a bridge connecting the nearby mountain, with a path leading to a secluded nuns' compound and retreat area. The third is the men's dorm, where Chris stayed. In general, we spent all of our time with others inside the main area, helping to cook and clean (and eat) meals and attend the evening meditation hour inside the chapel.


Looking into the central compund, with dining tent above


Chopping veggies for lunch with the team

To get there, Chris and I biked north to Nebek, a sprawling concrete town that serves as the gateway to the monastery. People in the street instantly knew why we were there, pointing to the road and shouting Mar Musa! Welcome! to guide us.

With luck on our side, we stopped to buy toothpaste and chocolate, ducking in to a small market where the owner invited us to join him for lunch. We followed him to the back room and ate falafel wraps, flipping through a hilarious English learning pamphlet and trying to converse in Arabic. Turns out he speaks Turkish! So we switched languages and swapped info about each other. Our new friend, Faoud, told us we shouldn't bike to the monestary because the road is bad and full of wild dogs, that we could leave our bikes and he would drive us out. After some considering we agreed because we had no idea what to expect but perhaps should trust his opinion. Actually the road was paved very well, though the long steep drop into the valley (17km) would have been a major pain to bike out of. As we approached the stairs climbing uphill to the monastery the sun had set behind the mountain and we could hear wolves' echoing howls...


Eating Falafel with Faoud

Almost immediately Chris and I met a fantastic group of travelers, mostly Americans and Aussies (including one RPCV who just finished service in Romania!), with whom we really hit it off. Together we attended (and debriefed after) the nightly meditation hour and mass.


Meditation buddies from USA and Australia

The inner chapel is quite comfortable, blanketed with carpets and lined by thick cushions (a la Turkiye), with colorful walls covered in frescoes from the 11-13th centuries.


What would be cold and stony is sprused up with rugs and pillows

At 7 pm all the residents gather here for an hour of silent meditation, then father Paolo or another monk delivers a service in Arabic while people attempt to follow along in the bible of their tongue. Both nights started out peaceful, very slowly ascending into a cacophony of hungry stomachs and shifting legs. At 9:30 we were freed to go prepare dinner, finally eating in the covered dining tent (for warmth) around 10, dish duty until 11, and then the men were kicked out, sent back to their compound.


Another view of the central compound, above is dining tent

In the morning as people woke (usually foreigners skip the 7 am mass), we sipped from large kettles of tea and watched the fog clear out of the valley below.


Morning fog in the valley below Mar Musa

After a simple breakfast and dish duty, people volunteer for the day's tasks such as garbage collection (Chris), veggie chopping and lunch prep (me), or floors, laundry, etc. Definitely not the hardest day of labor-- by 1 the patio was full of people resting and sipping more tea.


Learning the Aussie Wave from the experts

Father Paolo gave a tour of the church, explaining it's historical construction through modern revival, goals, as well as the stories behind the remaining fresco figures. The back wall is especially interesting because depicted on it are the saints and good parishes and people in heaven, with a dividing line and the bad parishes (those not in line with the Eastern Catholic Church) and sinners in hell. More or less this is just a political statement of the time, which is far more intriguing to me than the icons or doctrine.


Wall of good vs bad inside the chapel

We were sad to leave Mar Musa (but not meditation hour), and recommend it for a longer retreat, perhaps a week or month. If I could easily get another visa to Syria I'd love to come back here someday...


Entrance to the Women's dorm

After a long morning we made our way down the long winding stairs into the valley, piled into a minivan with our group of new friends, and drove back to Nebek. Chris and I jokingly feared a Twilight Zone episode in which we go back for our bikes and the shop has vanished, having been "burnt down 15 years prior", but happily Faoud and our bikes were right where we left them. He tried convincing us to stay a night there, but we declined, insisting that we must get up to Homs that afternoon. Foaud stuffed a few bananas and cakes into out hands before waving us goodbye.


Bikes were still there!

Another Visa Pergatory

Dimashq

Every foreigner and English speaking Syrian we have spoken with assures us that we can stay up to 30 days on our 15 day visa without a problem. But then again, we also heard we could buy a visa at the Turkish border...

Officially, the US state dept website says we should register at the immigration office before the 15th day, so we hightailed our way up to Dimashq (Damascus). The capital city spreads out into smaller cities and suburbs for many km, heavy with traffic on the condensed highway, so as we approached in the early evening darkness we decided to catch a lift in. Very quickly a white pickup pulled over, a man and two small boys in the front seat. We loaded our bikes and squished in, not knowing where to go. Khalil, the driver, asked if we have a hotel or friends and when we said no he invited us to his house. Al Hamdulilah!


Khalil (middle) and his folks, takin' in a stranger (or two)

Chris and I ended up staying a few days with Khalil and his big family-- 9 siblings and their parents share 3 homes inside a compound with a garden. The 7 men, their wives, and numerous young children live together; their 2 married sisters live at their husbands' homes but visit regularly. This also happens to be the week of Eid, so there is a constant parade of friends and extended family members coming to drink tea and visit at all hours- quite a beehive!

Relaxing with hookah in the garden

All sorts of Eid sweets for guests; cookies, baklava, fruit, dates, birds' nests... paradise for a sweet tooth

We spent an afternoon touring the capital's Old Town, first stopping at the immigration office, which was closed, then headed to a large Ottoman mosque and nearby glass blowing studio.


Dripping glass entryway


Many frighteningly squeaky swingsets appear in the neighborhoods during Eid

To get into the Old Town, we walked through the Souq al-Hamidiyya, a long bustling cooridor of shops and vendors. The interior resembles an old French train station, lacking any arabesque decor, and the merchandise is almost exclusively cheap Chinese factory junk. Definitely not as cool as Aleppo's winding souk... but it opens with fanfare under the pillars of The Western Gate that once led to the Temple of Jupiter. The 3rd century BC Roman temple was overtaken when Constantine declared Christianity the Roman empire's official religion.


Grand suq of Damascus

Exiting the suq under the 3 pillars bab (gate) at the Roman temple

The temple became a basilica of St. John the Baptist and was later partially converted to a mosque when Muslims invaded Damascus in the 6th century. Within 70 years the Umayyad caliphate forced out the Christians and invested a fortune building the most grand mosque in the world, emblazoned with beautiful mosaics, inlaid with precious stones and gold, and hundreds of lamps. The Umayyid Mosque was the center of the Holy Islamic world.  

Mosaics in the courtyard of the Grand Damascus Mosque


At all times the mosque is crammed with pilgrims, locals, and tourists, hoping to absorb some of the spot's rich religious history. Being a non-Muslim, I was bitterly forced to don a hooded cloak, a more extreme (and uncomfortable) parameter than I am used to from Turkey's camiis.

Women praying inside the Grand Mosque

Men worshipping in the Great Mosque's courtyard

Coincidentally we ran into Maria, the French girl we spent time in Gaziantep with while waiting for our visas! She joined us as we continued throughout the city and around the citadel, then we all went to a cafe along an antiquated, quiet street to smoke arghila and sip tea.

Argile time!


Courtyard entrance of the argile cafe


Grabbing some streets sweets with Khalil, kuneyf and helawa

The street was lined with run down market stalls, mostly closed for Eid, but still harboring several olive or cheese or fruit shops, as well as live sheep. Several worn, wooden Ottoman-style nooks hover over the alley, giving the impression that at any given moment they might collapse.


Everyone went home for Eid!


Beloved kaway, coffee roasted with caraway a la Syria


Alleys of the old quarter

The next day we expected to leave, give up on the visas and simply bike down to Jordan's border. However, a young English-speaking cousin came by, and spent the afternoon helping us search for info online (full of Americans reporting no problem!), and decided to go back to the immigration office for confirmation. We basically sat around talking and eating all day, constantly presented with tea (mine bidun seker!) and nuts or fruits.

Although we could barely communicate with the family I feel like we really got to know them, at least having memorized everyone's name and place among the family tree (which chris illustrated, caracatures and all). 

Chris savoring sweet rice pudding

The family even took us out to Barada Gorge, a valley northeast of Dimashq where their daughter lives. We explored some of the surrounding mountains with the men, including an amazing water tunnel worn alongside the mountains. They say the Romans helped carved this aquaduct into the rockface, which carried water all the way to Palmyra, several hundred km away. Hard to believe but if it's true that's quite impressive.

Barada Gorge Roman carved mountain aquaduct


Chris and the menfolk skirting the waterway

We ate more delicious food with the family; I always eat with the men and boys, and rarely ever see the women who stay in the kitchen or back rooms. My favorite Syrian food is fhoul: enormous beans that are cooked any number of ways. Hopefully when we come back I can ask Bishera, their mother, or the other women to show me how to cook it. 

Syrian graves near Barada Gorge, decorated with bushels of greenery


Family crowd at the Barada Gorge

When we returned to the immigration office the men upstairs told us firmly mafi mushqala-- we can stay up to 30 days despite what our stamps say. Mumtaz! After all that worrying we were free to explore the rest of the country. 

Women and children sit on the roof, with a better view of the moon


Bishira and Abu Khalil with 2 of their many, many grandkids

We said goodbye to the family, though promised to stop by on our way back through Damascus. Khalil drove us again in his truck to the edge of town where we started the ride north, heading to Mar Musa.