We woke in the tiny roadside cafe expecting to depart early for Dimashq with Hussein, but he had other plans. Instead, he insisted on taking us to a castle along the road to Hama, with a suprise stop to look at ominous holes in the desert floor (I was sort of starting to think maybe we were going to be pushed into these holes...). Why are we here? Chris loved it.
Mystery tunnels to Roman treasures
Hussein explained that underneath the surface is an entire Roman city, full of silver treasures. He said he himself had gone spelunking down the tunnels, but didn't mention exactly what booty he may have plundered.
Where are we going?
As we continued driving Hussein pulled out a double barrel shotgun, thankfully only to shoot wild birds to feed his falcons. I'm naturally inclined to detest watching any sort of hunting, even the lions and gazelles on National Geographic, so it was hard to stomach this masochistic and annoyingly time consuming adventure. The only downside of being a guest is that one becomes a puppet and must do whatever activities the host decides.
All for a castle... wall.. or part of one...
After a stop at the castle, which is really no more than a tall brick wall of a tower, we continued driving and hunting through the desert. All around the castle were shell fossils, a clue to the regions' once-underwater history, which Chris collected for his shop. Finally, we pulled over behind a small ravine where Hussein pulled out a tea kettle and box of foodstuffs, lighting a fire for a picnic brunch. We ate simple cheese, jam, and pide, washing it all down with campfire filled shai (pronounced with a soft sh in the Damscene dialect).
Desert campfire tea for the picnic (gun not pictured)
Once back at the cafe, Hussein admitted he couldn't drive us with him to Damascus, so we decided to hitch. With 200+ km back to the city and virtually nothing in between, it would be impossible to make our way alone. The truck that pulled over happened to be full of furniture and blankets, so we tossed our bikes inside and crawled onto the bedding area to kick back for the 2.5 hour ride.
Our roadside camping outpost
In with the housewares, beats the sheep poo
Our driver let us out some 17 km before the city, so we followed the heavy traffic, aiming for the city center. We wanted to one last look around before heading out to Dareya, where our adoptive family awaited. Cities in general are difficult and annoying to bike through, capitals especially. Along the way a friendly English-speaking man joined our route on his bike, chatting with Chris and inviting us home with him. We had to decline but it would have been fun.
Home with the family
Mealtime with Khalil and Abu Khalil (declared kid-free zone)
Our adoptive family (Abu Khalil and Bishira) were happy and excited to see us back. Somehow they convinced us to stay an extra night, so again we spent a day sipping melisa tea (sort of like lemongrass but delicious). The women taught me how to cook fhoul and taboulli Syrian style, and with my very limited (but ever so slighty more advanced) Arabic I could string simple sentences together and talk with them.
Chopping boatloads of parsley with the women (for taboulli)
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