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.

Aleppo Old and New

Kilis to Aleppo
Distance: 71 km
Time: 2:42:00
Ave/ Max speeds: 24 km/hr and 48 km/hr
Temp: 32 C
Weather: Hot and dusty!

Aleppo is said to be the world's longest continually inhabited city in the world, dating back to the 18th century BC. In the central Old Quarter sits a large citadel, adjacent to one of many entrances to the souk. Chris and I spent days wandering the many streets and offshoots of covered market stalls, mosques (like all tourist women I had to put on the full body dress, not a burka but I did feel like a walking laundry sack), and khans (caravanserais).

Delivery in the suq


Artfully arranged spices for sale in the suq

Pancake stall-- filled with sweet cream to go!

One day we wandered the nearby Christian quarter, full of Greek, Amernian, and Syrian churches, as well as some of the beautifully restored houses. Like the riads in Morocco, these former palaces belonged to wealthy families (Christians were the upper class) and now serve as hotels and restaurants.

Narrow streets of the Christian Quarter

Inside one of the beautifully restored bait(s) of the Christian Quarter

Chris gets his fill of long-awaited humos

The best part of our Aleppo experience was really the family we stayed with. French-Tunisian-Vietnamese, their father is a manager for Carrefour and they move around the Middle East every few years, previously residing in Qatar, Dubai, and Abu Dabi. Bea, the mother, regaled us with many stories of expat life in the Arab world, as well as the efforts of raising children there (school, activities, social life, etc.) and her own family's diverse roots.


Hamam domes inside the citadel


Chris and Zakaria sketching in the citadel

The family also has a housemaid, Nissa, from Sri Lanka. We fell in love with Nissa immediately, because of her outrageously light hearted nature and constant laughter. She came along with the family from Qatar, where her husband still works, and someday will retire to her home and family in Sri Lanka.


Drinking fruit smoothies with Nissa in the suq

The first time in the souk Bea and her son accompanied us, stopping in Suq Al-Saboun, the soap warehouse, en route to the citadel. This is where Aleppo's famous linseed olive oil bars are produced and stored to mature for two years before being sold in the souk or exported to specialty stores across Europe.


Chris and Zakaria exploring Suq Al-Saboun, the soap suq


Ageing linseed-olive oil bars, resting for 2 years until brown

Next stop to the citadel, a fortress surrounded by a dry moat. The outer walls and some buildings inside have been restored, worn not only from the damages of time but also an earthquake in the late 19th century. We wandered the crumbling ruins, hamam, and restored king and queens's palace (which is sometimes used by the president for banquets) under the midday sun, then peeled ourselves out to a nearby cafe.


Entering the citadel (just as my battery failed...!)


Large mihrab inside the citadel

Another day we explored the souk and downtown with Nissa, happily stopping in many shops with her while she bought clothes for her family. For the third time we drank cups of freshly blended fruit juice from Chris' favorite stall, then wandered outdoors to exchange money. Oddly, none of the banks or exchange offices would switch Syrian pounds into Euros. We were baffled as they each turned us away, but eventually a shop relented.


Wandering the Great Omayya Mosque of Aleppo with Nissa, built by the Umayyid Caliphate in the Damascene style (circa 7th cent)

Shopping for veggies (Nissa not shown) in Aleppo's outdoor market

Unexpectedly, Chris and I stayed 5 days with the family in Aleppo. We really enjoyed taking part in their life and family, another peak into the expat world, and also having a break. I must admit that our almost-20 day hiatus really hindered my energy and momentum. I hope that more wonderful couchsurfing experiences in Syria will revive my spirits.

Christian martyrs sister statue in the Christian Quarter

Another opulant bait of the Christiant Quarter, now hotel-restaurant (did I mention the Christians were the wealthier class?)

Rejected from Syria: 20 Day Hiatus

Almost to Syria, backtrack to Anamur

After being rejected from Syria (literally escorted out of the country, though the guards were super nice and apologizing the whole time), we were really dazed for awhile. Because...what? All the online forums and blogs we googled reported that people have no problem buying a visa at the border (ok except for a looong wait). And we hosted 2 different couchsurfers in Albania who came up through Syria who described the same process... Word to the wise: Americans, the gig's up. As of 2-3 months ago (august 2010?) the chief Syrian minister (??) in charge of the office processing visas has changed, bringing along with him new, stringent restrictions. In fact, we later learned that French and Canadian tourists are also rejected, though Irish and Koreans are ok because Syria does not have an embassy in those countries. More on that later.


"Please come again"

So, there we were, back in Turkey (Hos Geldiniz!), at a loss of what to do. We backtracked to Gaziantep, scheduled an appt with the Syrian consular, and consoled ourselves with Mado ice cream. We found a great camping spot outside the city edge near the zoo, however I stayed up all night due to wild packs of dogs that appeared, literally dogfighting a few mere feet from our tent. Although I wanted to claw my eyes and ears off rather than listen to their deafening barking, I was also too terrified to let Chris scare them off with rocks, lest they gang up on us.


Sunshine clears out the dogs

We returned to the consulate in the morning, nervously trying to pass rifraff inspections (biking and camping takes a huge toll, and suffering a lengthy interview with the consular. What an ass! Some highlights of our conversation were the intro, when he greeted by reprimanding us for 10 minutes about how dare we allow someone to put stickers on our passports. Well, it's a US govt passport, given (and stickered) by the US govt. They can do whatever the heck they want to it. Then we moved on to an inquisition about all the technical aspects of our Peace Corps service, he was wholly unimpressed and downright annoyed that 1) I did HIV/Aids education in Albania when really I should have been in Africa, and 2) what does Albania need Americans for? They have plenty of people that can work for themselves. What do we say to that?


Who could deny this pretty face a visa?

Answer: nothing. Because before we could ever get a word in he set off on a rant about his many experiences abroad, describing in detail gang rape incidents (of young tourists) in both India and Niger, his former posts.

30 minutes later he is still grilling us about out personal lives, knowledge and travels, seemingly trying to roundabout catch us in a lie, as well as making as many personal insults as possible. Then, he pauses, folds his fingers, and in a robot script says "I wish to welcome you to Syria. Please, take a candy!". We were quickly shuffled out of his office to fill out the applications downstairs, informed that it will take 10-15 days to hear back.

Aladin, the man in charge of assisting people and who evidently also manages the paperwork and behind-the-scenes tasks, kindly apoplogized for our inconvenience, insisting Syrian people love foreigners and hope we can get in. But where to now?


Best way to beat rejection: thick, MADO dondurma

We decided to backtrack all the way to one of our favorite spots in Turkey, and home of our new, wonderful friends: Anamur, with Behlul and Arzu. I quickly wrote to them on FB and off we went, staying one week together. Most days we went spear fishing with Behlul; I got to snorkel around because I can see through the mask, and Chris learned how to properly clean the fish. Chris and I also returned to Kadir's school and hung out with the teachers, biked around exploring the town and shore, and toured several apartments with the dream of investing in property abroad. While Anamur usually sees many Turkish tourists, the road to Alanya will be completed in the next 2 years and the overflow of Europeans will spread here. We found an amazing apartment at a good price, then quickly realized we don't have any money!


Badly need cigarette after a long dive


Chris and Behlul clean the fishies


Henna and cigarettes with Behlul, Arzu, Ezzo, and Kadir


Behlul shows off his day's prize


Playing barbershop-- Chris cut and dyed my hair


Would be great to buy a little place here on the beach....


Saying goodbye to Arzu and her sis, just as the rain began!

One week of clear skies; on the morning we departed it began to rain. We biked our way along the coast, stopping again at the mosque where we met a nice imam who tried to ride Chris' bike. His wife told us he went to Syria. So THAT'S why he kept showing us pictures of Mecca! This is the Hadj month, and he embarked on his journey. She welcomed us anyway and let us camp next to the mosque on a summer platform. Very comfortable, except during the 5 am call to prayer...


Sunrise at the mosque


Happy to be back along the Turkish coast


Roadside honey tasting


Gozleme pancakes made from scratch

Next Chris and I biked to the beautiful gozleme garden we had stayed previously. The mother invited us to come back when we stopped in for tea, en route to Anamur one week before. So glad we made many friends on our travels! We stayed 3 nights this time, finally insisting we should move on. Upon arrival the father declared he and Chris would go buy paints and asked Chris to decorate more gourds. So that we did-- sitting in the lush, tree-filled garden, painting them turqoise blue and drawing with markers, while sipping endless cups of tea. Chris drew all the details and I filled them in with white paint, using a small pepper as a brush. After 3 days we had completed over 30 decorative gourds - not bad! Maybe Chris will do the same to his shop in Gjirokaster. :)


Chris goes to town on the gourds


One of the blue - and - whites


Some gourds were decorated with markers


Lovely Turkish coast, hard to leave twice

Chris and I biked and hitched our way back east, arriving two days later in Gaziantep. Again we had to cross the enormous city (third time) toward the university, where a couchsurfer agreed to host us. We biked a few hours, trying to find his address, without any luck. When we asked for help at a small market, the guys inside didn't know, but sent the nearby boys to scatter the neighborhood, in search of the apartment number. Again, no luck. When the group finally gave up the men called us into the backroom of his bakery and asked, can you sleep here?


Cozy back room of the bakery-- better than a hotel!

The back room of the bakery stays continuously warm thanks to the giant brick oven, creating a toasty sleeping room (that smells delicious, like, well, a bakery). We gratefully accepted, after which the group suddenly set to work to make us comfortable, offering us a stack of the day's leftover bread and setting up an electric tea kettle. They quickly departed, locking the door behind and promising to come back at 6. We were ready when they arrived in the morning to start mixing the day's dough in the giant vats. Almost immediately they were turning out stacks of large pancakelike pide loaves, awaiting the morning rush of customers. We stayed an hour or so sipping tea with the men; Chris drew a fancy window sign which they all seemed to adore. Maybe with competition so high and prices so low this will help them corner the neighborhood market pide...


New sign for the bakery


Chris and our bakery friends

We ended up waiting a tense 3 days in Gaziantep; every time we inquired at the consulate Aladin apologized and said please come back later. Perhaps out of pity, or maybe because he is Syrian, Aladin invited us to his house for the night. We gladly accepted (not wanting to camp with the dogs again) and spent the evening with him and his friends, sipping tea and smoking hookah in a cafe (where Ataturk once frequented no less), then going home to watch a Real Madrid vs Milan futbol match (they tied).


Smoking hookah in a Gazi tea garden with our friends Aladin and Ferid

The following day we waited in a park, checking every hour to see if our visas were approved. Several other people who were also rejected from the border passed by, including a young french woman living in Iraqi-Kurdistan who has traveled to Syria 3 times in the last 2 years. She was as shocked as we were to be denied entry and forced to apply through the consulate. Ferid, a friend we met through Aladin, took us all to the zoo to pass the late afternoon, I think as consulation for not getting our visas.


Peeking at fish in the Gazi zoo.

We stayed together another night, and waited another day, nervous because if the fax didn't arrive today (Thursday) the offices would close on Friday and then another Eid holiday begins... It was a drammatic hour-by-hour check with each 'no' a deflation of our spirits. By this point we had brainstoprmed plans B-E in case we couln't continue our trip. Take a ferry to Egypt and bike backwards? Return to Albania? Find English teaching jobs? Throw in the towel and go spend Christmas with our families....?


Pomegranite delight in the park, waiting for the visas

Finally, at 1:30 Ferid ran out of the offices shouting "The fax is in!". We went with a group of other Europeans who had all been rejected at the border to pay our fees to the bank; and American Syrian visa running us a whopping 119 Euros! By far the most expensive, though everyone reported that their cost went up as well. The consular refused to sign our visas that day, so we stayed yet another night, picking up our passports at 2 the next afternoon (just before he left for a 15 day vacation). In the morning we met a Canadian guy who was rejected from the border, but also cannot apply for a visa because the consular (and thus consulate) had closed for holiday. He was forced to backtrack through Turkey and catch a boat to Egypt.

Chris and I biked the late afternoon to Kilis, again, stopping at pistachio plantation and enormous cotton thread factory with a man we met along the way. He insisted on giving us a tour of his warehouses, so we arrived at Bahara's apartment well after sundown. She and Mustafa had plans for the night, but happily accepted us to stay. We slept one final night in Turkey before heading back over the border. Syria at last!


Success! We made it to Syria