The Road to Damascus

Travel to Syria was a bit of a blur. M saw Nick in London, E saw her professor at the British Museum. Our first introduction to Syria was on the flight from London to Damascus: lots of chatting families and children playing in the aisles. Crowded and cheery, characteristics we have found to be true of Syrians in general.

Were dropped off at our hotel (Sultan Hotel) at 4 am, walked down an alley, rode a cramped elevator and arrived in the lobby. Our room has 3 twin beds, a closet sized bathroom (the shower head has free reign over the whole area), and a view of a dilapidated old building across the street. The birds sing in the morning and the AC works. VERY WELL.

M admits that he was a bit over-confident about how easy this trip would be. Day one was a good lesson in what NOT to do in Syria. Lesson one: don't walk around with your guide book out. Within minutes we were surrounded by not one, not two, but at least 5 different men "helping" with directions. Lesson two: don't go to sandwich shops recommended by Lonely Planet. Rotten tomatoes and western stomachs? Bad idea. We then proceeded to hail a cab to a restaurant that supposedly served some "western" dishes. Lesson three: taxi drivers don't speak English. Our driver kept hailing people on the street for help with directions. Still trying to figure out why he kept saying "donkey" and turning back to look at us instead of focusing on the CRAZY traffic ahead of him (you think Boston drivers are bad?). Made it to the restaurant eventually and had some fantastic food.