CS Saraqib

Aleppo to Saraqib

Distance: 54 km
Time elapsed: 2:22:00
Average speed: 22 km/ hr
Max speed: 50.3 km/ hr
Temp: 24 C
Weather: warm, sunny afternoon. Shaded by trees the entire ride!

I woke early this morning to say goodbye to Ines, Bea's daughter, just before she left for school. The kids are all busy with classes, lessons, sports, and various activities, and Bea manages their schedules along with her own. This morning she saw each of them off, however Zakaria's bus never came so she quickly jumped in the car and raced him off to school, late now for her own classes.

She took me running with her and another expat (mother) friend the day before, where I learned how complicated and full life with kids can be. Very different from rural Turkish life!


Bea took us to her art class, where Chris learned to watercolor with the experts

We spent the morning packing; I made breakfast again for Nissa while she took a break from cleaning and Skyped her husband in Qatar. Spicy eggs--Sri Lankan style--accompanied by flat Syrian tortillas and milky coffee and Ceylon black tea. Some nights ago we ate dinner with the family, truly a melange of cultures: French quiche, Chinese noodle soup (for the kids), Indian dhaal, Syrian bread, and very chocolatey American brownies to round it out!

Our CS hosts, hard to leave!

After final goodbyes and the last cups of tea, promises (Inshallah!) to meet again someday in Sri Lanka and/or Tunisia, Chris and I loaded the bikes and took off. We were lucky to be somewhat near the edge of town; only 7 km fighting traffic before we found ourselves on the smoothly paved southbound highway. Like many countries, notably Mexico and Ho Chi Minh, inner city traffic is very... organic... and thus the flow of cars can be extremely unpredictable. Twice a car pulled in front of us and breaked suddenly, only to get a longer glimpse at us in the their rearview mirror.

Otherwise, we had no trouble getting out of the city and cycling to Saraqib, a town where our next couchsurfing friend, Iyas, awaited us.

Sheep awaiting the Eid slaughter in Saraqib

Having a name, address, and phone number, we turned off the main road and entered Saraqib's dusty streets. First stop after 50 km: toilet!

Conveniently, there was a sweets shop nearby, a likely place to find one, as well as get some quick sugar into out blood. The men working various posts, from greeter to cutter to roller to calculator/money taker (really "cashier" would be overexagerating) were all very welcoming and, though they spoke little English they smiled and touched their hearts a lot. Before leaving I pointed to my scribbled paper asking if they know the address - blank stares- then our host's name. Once hearing the surname they slapped their foreheads and yelled Yes! My friend! Within 2 minutes I was on the phone with Iyas, and ushered across the street to his uncle's shop. We sat for tea with him, learning about the family relations, then we were taken to another uncle's house.

From one of several roadside restaurants, moonrise over the ferriswheel

Once inside Chris and I were separated, he with Adel (the uncle) and one of many cousins, and swiftly dressed in the unisex jalaba. I was taken to the female cousins, sitting to learn their entire family tree and read notes from previous travelers who have passed through. They hustled me to the kitchen and, like flustered birds, panickingly chopped and assembled dinner in a rush to please their guests, despite my laughter and signals that it's ok and no hurry. I don't know yavash yavash in Arabic yet.

Chris and I did thankfully get to eat together, along with Adel (the father) and then joined by his elder son, Hassan. Over tea Adel showed me an old photo album of his youth, mostly throughout the 70's when he sported bell bottoms and a fro. He worked many years building a dam in Saudia Arabia, then Yemen, and spent a few weeks visiting his brother in Brussels. In some photos he wears a full length jalaba and the iconic Arab shemagh (red checkered head scarf), but otherwise he's a typical 70's guy, bearing a striking resemblance the The Fonz! I swear, Henry Winkler might be Syrian.

Chris and Adel eating a Saudi dish

Like every Syrian person we've conversed with, Adel made it very clear that his people like foreigners, especially Americans, and that while our governments and politics do not mesh, we are all humans/ brothers. Chris and I received many nervous well wishes and please be safe's as we neared the border here, but in fact we have been warmly welcomed by everyone, and thus far no problems with children OR dogs. It seems far less touristy, perhaps that's why people don't treat us like walking cash machines.

Friends are easy to find in Syria

After dinner we joined Iyas, Hassan, and a group of friends at their vacant shopspace around the corner. Inside, the concrete room has been decorated as a Couchsurfing shrine, wallpapered with letters and drawings from the many guests. This is where Hassan and Iyas, friends, and numerous cousins gather to watch tv, drink tea, smoke hookah, and hang out in their makeshift clubhouse. We stayed until early morning listening to a cornicopia of Arab music, dancing, and watching movies.

The boys teach Chris the Syrian shoulder bob

Soap bubble argila explodes into a puff of smoke

Finally bidding goodnight, we shuffled back to the house and crashed on Hassan's floor cushion, falling into a long and deep sleep.