Syrian Fat Farm
Trip Start
Nov 03, 2008
1
13
24
Trip End
Jan 10, 2009
Lattakia,
Syria
Thursday, December 11, 2008
I finally made it out of Syria after spending 4 days and nights in a Lattakia hotel room suffering from diarrhoea with nothing to entertain me except one English TV channel that played 24-hour action movies (not my favourite) and a great view of the Mediterranean Sea where I was able to watch ships come in and out of the harbour and a group of men slaughter sheep on the sidewalk in front of my hotel. I wonder if that is special to Lattakia - I can't think of any other major city in the world that allows herds of sheep to hang out on street corners and allows men to slaughter them on the sidewalks and hang them from a tree to sell to people passing by. Just when I thought I had seen it all!
On the third day of being sick I was finally feeling better and starting to get my appetite back so I went to the cafe beside my hotel to grab a bite to eat
Cliffhanger
. I don't know what I was thinking but I ordered a salad. Although it was delicious, it was also full of the same dirty tap water that got me sick in the first place and in no time I was back in my room with my butt surgically attached to the toilet.By this morning I was so done being in Syria that I was going to escape even if it meant sticking a cork in my butt and possibly imploding. I had flushed two dress sizes down the toilet and was looking quite svelte in my now loose fitting blue jeans. Suddenly the last four days didn't seem so bad - I felt like I had just visited a Syrian Fat Farm. It would usually take me a few months to lose this much weight. I looked in the mirror and noticed how gaunt I looked and figured I had better get out of there before I gave Kate Moss a run for her money.
I lugged my suitcase down to the lobby to check out of the hotel and try to catch a bus to Beirut, thinking if I did not eat all day I should be able to make the entire trip without having to stop along the way and squat over a disgusting roadside toilet. When I told the reception guy that I was going to Lebanon, he insisted on making the arrangements for me. He said my best bet was to take a cab, so I caught a cab to the place where the cabs left for Beirut. A man at the cab station put my suitcase in the back of one of the cars, grabbed a plastic chair for me and brought me a glass of hot tea
Gone Fishin
. Those Syrian people sure are hospitable.I noticed a group of chain smoking men next to me playing a game of Backgammon over a few cups of super strong coffee. I scanned the area for a spot of clean air and when I found one I walked over to watch the game. I soon made friends with this group of cab drivers and one of the guys offered to show me around Lattakia for a bit since I had a couple hours to kill before my ride departed. I took him up on his offer and I soon found myself whisked around in a cab seeing all the nice parts of Lattakia that I could not see from my hotel room window. He took me to this awesome beach with a long promenade and we got out and walked down to the ocean.
Even though the people in Lattakia are not as conservative as they are in other parts of Syria -the woman do not cover their heads with black scarves instead they wear tight jeans, spiked heals and big mall-chick hair - they are still pretty modest. Aside from one man in a Speedo and headscarf, no one else on the beach was wearing beach attire. Perhaps that is why my driver almost had a heart attack when I took off my socks and shoes, rolled up my pants and walked in the water. He tried his best to stop me but eventually gave up. The water was so warm I just wanted to strip down to my underwear and go for a swim but I think that would have been a bit too much for the Islamic world.
Lattakia Coastline
When I was finished my romp, I put my shoes back on and we went for a walk along the beach. The taxi guy kept holding my hand and I kept pulling it away, then he would grab it again. He did not speak English so I could not ask him why he was so adamant about holding hands while we were out walking. Perhaps there was some weird Arabic law that women are not allowed on the beach unless holding hands with a man - who knows? We walked back to the cab and he took me for a really slow drive along the ocean, gave me a necklace, played ridiculously loud Arabic love songs and held my hand while gazing at me like a love sick puppy. By this time I had enough and figured it was time to head back to the cab station so I fed him standard lame excuse A-1: I have a husband (pointed to the ring on my finger) and a 4-year old daughter named Sienna (showed him a picture of my niece) and had to get back to the station to get my back pain medicine (put my hand on my back and made ouch face) from my suitcase. My taxi driving Romeo took the hint and deposited me back at the station like a perfect gentleman then fussed over me until I got crammed into a cab with five other people on our way to Beirut to embark on the next leg of my big adventure. I'll keep y'all posted!Take Care
Teresa
