Anna in Istanbul

Let me start off this post by saying that I am currently recovering from a food coma triggered by Syria’s unbelievable street food. Excuse me if my language is a bit more labored…I can feel my arteries clogging as we speak. And, oh how I love it.

Damascus-

Michael and I spent a good three days wandering around the Souqs in Damascus; exploring, bartering, drinking more tea than necessary. Here are some highlights:

I have established that Michael is secretly in cahoots with the Syrian Board of Commerce to make me spend more money than I intend to by “accidentally” leading me into situations where I can’t say no to a good purchase. The plot usually unfolds thusly- Man comes up to Michael and I and asks where we are from and if we would want to see his shop (because apparently “looking is free” HA!). Michael smiles and, in his nice Mid-Atlantic way, engages in conversation with said Shopkeeper. Michael refuses to look in shop but accepts Shopkeeper’s offer of his card because it can’t hurt, right? Shopkeeper gets us to follow him to get a card which ends up being down an alley and three flights of stairs. Michael looks at me, shrugs, and seems to say “whoops”. Shopkeeper takes us to his basement shop where his wizened (toothless and obviously respiratory-infection-y) uncle is sitting, chain smoking. He offers us a seat and some tea, since at this point we are wheezing from the walk. The old man then goes on to pull out some (albeit gorgeous) necklaces that his mother, a bedouin woman, makes. Dammit! Not my Achilles’ Heel! Not Enterprising Women! Nooo! Curse you, Women and Gender Studies Major! CURSE YOU!

Anywho, this pattern of Michael the Enabler has come up a few times. Including my most exciting (and cheap, oh loving-and-giving parents of mine!) purchase; a traditional and handmade Oud. Anyone who knows me knows that I am a sucker for interesting musical instruments and my project for the next 9 months will be to become proficient enough on the Oud to bring it into The Kitchen Cabinet (www.thekitchencabinet.net).

On the first day in Damascus, we sat for a while in a cafe next to the Ommayad Mosque–reading, drinking tea, escaping the midafternoon heat. The sidewalk respite was devoid of other tourists and was exclusively inhabited by old men staring out at the street, shishas perpetually balanced in their mouths. I was, per usual, the only woman. They didn’t seem to notice us. We kept our conversation quiet so as not to disturb their steady stream of commentary on the passing people, as if trying to keep a nearby bird from getting spooked and flying away. We couldn’t understand but we were quite content.

The next day, we passed by the same sidewalk cafe and the same group of men were sitting there. The oldest saw us first and rose from his seat with a huge grin on his face. He called us over, took my hand, and invited us to sit with them again. He pulled up two chairs and the waiter brought out a shisha and two teas. And we sat. Conversation was impossible (and unnecessary). We all just watched, nodded, smiled, drank deep, and sighed.

When it was time to leave, I looked in our handy Lonely Planet Guide for a few words. As we stepped back into the street, the old man took my hand again and I said-in terrible, terrible arabic- “Ma’a saalam. Ghadan.” Goodbye. Until tomorrow.

We stopped by the next day but the old men were gone.

Syria’s Sweethearts-

Language is really getting in the way of Michael and I taking our rightful place as Syria’s National Sweethearts.

One of the nights in Damascus, we went out to a bar (a “Pob” read the sign), in the Christian Quarter of the old city. There was a film crew in one of the back alleys-lights, booms, guys dressed in military costumes, and a guy reading lines with a very handsome actor.

In our heads, the follow scene unfolded:

Syrian Director: [In Arabic] Oh my god! Who are those two FINE looking tourists?! Someone get them over here! I will make them stars!

Us: [Not understanding] La, shukrun. Laaa. No, thank you. We don’t want any souvenirs.

Syrian Director: No! You don’t understand! Your faces! Your smiles! Your composure! You will make millions! Everyone in Syria will love you!

Us: Laaaaa. [Points to selves] students. Students. Na’am. Yes. No money. Thank you.

Syrian Director: …………

So yes. Point being: Miscommunication is the only reason Syria hasn’t embraced Michael and I as a new sham-marriaged Brangelina. (Manna? Annael?)

Film sets aside, Damascus is quite quiet at night. Out of the Old City, Michael and I tried to go to three different bars to see where the kids are these days and each of them was awkwardly empty. From the sad, lone bar owner at “Whispers” to the pop-covers-of-classical-songs-reverberating-off-completely-empty-tables at Bam Bu to the “No Reservations Necessary” at Z Bar-we were a bit unnerved. We were probably in the wrong place.

Aleppo-

Aleppo is a gastronome’s paradise. Like I said before, still recovering from a food coma. My favorite (literal) bite was hand fed to me by an overly excitable rest-stop attendant somewhere in central Syria. The bus we took from Damascus to Aleppo stopped at, once again, a shady rest area (sidenote: I really hate squat toilets. I hate the word “squat”. I just… I hate.) where I ordered a schwarma after a very funny man grabbed my arm, led me over to the vendor, and insisted that he place a bit of hot-of-the-rotating-and-dripping-spit schwarma meat in my mouth. Admittedly, it was really delicious. Michael did not get the same treatment and was forced to (gasp!) use his own fingers to feed himself a morsel. Life must be tough.

Aleppo has been quite different. We’ve resorted to being Canadian much more than before but my broken french is coming in handy! The souqs are rough around the edges compared to the covered bliss of Damascus but we’re finding it quite lovely. The sadly named “Hotel Tourist” where we are staying is wonderful and the cheeky man at the front desk keeps trying to play practical jokes on me.

“Souqs and Food” says Michael. Yup. It’s a hard life.

Now if only Michael would stop being such an enabler!