Finally back in the Arab world
Trip Start
Feb 22, 2007
1
8
38
Trip End
Jul 19, 2008
Aleppo,
Syria
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
In the evening I sat for a while in the hotel foyer drinking tea and chatting to the hotel manager in an attempt to oil the rusty cogs of my creaking Arabic. Feeling quickly jaded, I then switched back in to English and got chatting to an Aussie backpacker named Joseph who had been blankly following our discourse from across the table. He and I then went out for a bite to eat and exchanged stories of our own, top of my list being the Istanbul scam and the border-crossing.
The following day, I bumped in to Joseph at the internet and we headed off together to see the Citadel, Aleppo's central attraction
Baron Hotel 1
. Surrounded by a moat, the Citadel stood with faded glory atop an embankment overlooking the city. The entrance, built back in the 12th century, drew attention to a series of tall arches stretching up elegantly from the moat and forming an impressive bridge. Inside, the citadel lay mostly in ruins; only snippets of uncovered pathways and stairwells now gave subtle reference to an Ottoman age. Still impressive and mostly intact was the amphitheatre, which offered fine views of the city. Impressive too was the imam's quarters that have been restored to its former, opulent glory. On our way back from the Citadel we took a long walk around Aleppo's famed indoor souqs. These roofed alleyways were extensive, and, as we meandered through, I felt almost like I was back in Istanbul's Grand Bazaar; only the lack of officious shop-owners accosting me at every turn convincing me I was in Syria. That said we did on a couple of occasions get dragged by shop owners in to their shop for tea, which inevitably involved a parade of their rug collections. Unlike in Turkey, however, I was able to pull out the classic "fil mustaqbal, insha'allah" (in the future, God willing) line that will, in the Arab-speaking world, always get you out of anything to which you do not wish to commit, because Muslims after all cannot question God's will.
Later that day I headed to Aleppo's Christian Quarter where I was bemused to find its presumably-charming scenery dominated by cranes and rubble
Baron Hotel 2
. I walked around regardless (dodging unmarked manholes as I went), and, though the romance of this place had been sullied somewhat by unfinished reconstruction, it was still compelling to witness this thriving community in which lie so many churches and Christian symbols, and book shops selling not qur'ans but bibles. It is perhaps indicative of the religious freedoms afforded to the people by its government - parallel of course to heavy political restrictions - which has given Syria's minorities a security and stability far beyond that of their counterparts elsewhere in the Middle East region who have themselves been deracinated. The following day I packed my bags ready for my afternoon departure, left them with the hotel manager, and then headed out for a broader walk around the city. Top of my priorities was a quick visit to the famed Baron Hotel, which boasts among its former guests T.E. Lawrence. A website I had read recommended it as a must-stay place when in Aleppo, but, at $45 a night, I had ceded to Lonely Planet's advice that it had seen better days and wasn't worth the money. Both inside and out one had to agree with Lonely Planet's assessment, yet it held on stubbornly to a French elegance that would have delighted in Lawrence's day when the inevitability of age and time had yet to take hold.
Walking further I found myself in the central square where shoe-shiners went feverishly about their business
Baron Hotel 3
. Further still I found myself in the central park which seemed impossibly green and felt more like home than the northern reaches of the Middle East. Inside I came across a picturesque scene where, along a central concourse lined by fountains, women sat with children on the many benches and exchanged news with one another, while old men sat quietly in wise contemplation as the day unfolded before them. Having picked up my bags, I arrived at the picturesque train station whose facade carried a cricket pavilion-like elegance that belied the smoke-filled chaos that met me upon entering. Thankfully, I did not have to wait long for my train, and, having purchased my first-class ticket for the crazy sum of just ₤1.40, I took my very comfortable seat in preparation for the 300 miles that would take me to my new life in Damascus.
