From the Tigris to the Euphrates

We arrived in Deir az-Zur in the late afternoon having spent 18 of the previous 24 hours on buses of various sorts, so our first priority was a much-needed shower at the hotel. Feeling refreshed we headed for a wander around the town. The centre itself was little different to some of the other generic, 'slightly dirty' towns of Syria, yet it had a relaxed air about it, induced perhaps by its oasis-like surroundings. A few minutes walk outside of the centre was the Euphrates, and it was here that the town bore its charm. The roads were lined with palm trees, and along the banks of the river were a couple of restaurants.

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Before long we reached the bridge, whose sunset views overlooking the Euphrates are Deir az-Zur's premier - actually only - attraction for its seemingly few tourists. We arrived just in time for it and the view did not disappoint. The Euphrates seemed a more attractive river than the Tigris. Its waters shone an emerald green that fit perfectly the oasis surroundings as it wound its way serenely past the town. The semi distance was rich with palm trees and an array of other greens and in the far distance slept quietly the desert, its barren solitude making this town seem almost incongruous in its fecundity. As the sun began to fall, its somnolent rays painted the horizon a hazy orange, and the waters of the Euphrates basked in its glow. On the banks of the river the lines of palm trees appeared suddenly silhouetted by the sun as it continued to fall, their tall trunks casting shadows upon the water. As the dying sun finally fell from view it bled pink onto the horizon, then blue, until finally this wonderful scene fell into darkness.

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We left the bridge and went to the restaurant for a much-needed meal. As we walked there we commented that if such a town were to be found in a non-Islamic country, it would likely be one of those hip but chilled hangouts with little bars and restaurants lining the river bank, and open-aired jeeps milling up and down the riverside roads and suchlike. But this was Syria, this was the Middle East, this was Islam, and such civility was not forthcoming. Instead, as we entered the restaurant and sat down at a table overlooking the river, a string of waiters came over and insisted we would have to move inside to the (less salubrious) male area; the nice outside area, they said, was for families only. So, we demanded to see the manager who eventually agreed to let us sit outside. Once settled, we managed to enjoy a half-decent meal and a much-appreciated beer as we absorbed in the half-light the gentle evening rhythm of the river.

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Later that evening we found a delightfully bustling shisha café where we enjoyed sweet tea and a pleasant nargileh each over a few games of backgammon. Although, as alluded to in the previous paragraph, I struggle at times to tolerate what, to my mind, are rather backward cultural differences, so too do I appreciate other elements. The tradition of sitting among friends to smoke nargileh and play games I find delightfully civilised, something I could never envisage taking off on such a scale back home, and a refreshing change indeed from going out on the beers or whatnot .

And with that we were ready for a good night's sleep. Tomorrow we would head back yet further south-west to the Roman wonder of Palmyra.     

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