April Showers Bring May Flowers: Yarn bomb spotted!

I hate moving. Haaaate!

Since moving back to Canada, I have moved nine times. Seriously! Whoever said I should move back to Canada for some stability in my life, should think again! I've never moved this much! Ever! 

However, all of this moving had an upside this last time around. While I was shuffling my things between my new and old house at the beginning of May, I discovered probably the most ambitious yarn bomb I've seen so far. 

This one is on Fourth Avenue West near Collingwood St, (I think, I cant' remember exactly). I've passed it so may times on the bus, trying to snap a picture out the window, but I had never been successful. Luckily one day I decided to ride my bike a different way to my yoga class and I happened across it again. So bike thrown down on the sidewalk much like I did as a kid, I snapped a few pictures with my phone before I continued on my way. 

A few new flowers for May!

 (Now if only the rain would stop, Vancouver!!!) 

The long view of the fence.

The flowers would have been knitted into shape then "sewn" onto the chain-link fence. 

Notice the cloud! I wish they had filled in the cloud somehow. 

Okay, the cloud could have been a lot better, but I won't complain! 

If I had time and some knitting skills I'd go add bees and butterflies. 

Yarn grass would be pretty cool too. 

I love how these flowers blend into the field behind it. They don't look out of place at all!

The long view from the other side. 

Pink Poinsettia-looking fleur. 

Thank you for the inspiration, Flower Yarn-Bomber!

You have also made my dreary moving duties a little bit brighter with your unsanctioned street installation!


Ps. If you are in the Victoria (British Columbia) Area and would like to donate some yarn to a yarn bomb tree Installation, Go to:
This link! 

xxMelanie

Seriously Syria: Aleppo and the End of our Trip to Syria

 "You can no more win a war than you can win an earthquake."

~Jeannette Rankin

Thursday, August 2, 2001

And so our whirlwind tour of Syria continued on to Aleppo, our last destination in Syria. This time we bought our tickets directly from the bus station as Hama is a much smaller place than Homs. To be honest we were quite unsure as to why we were going to Aleppo, but it was a natural place to go after Hama- and it was also designated at UNESCO site.

The old part of Aleppo was famous as a market city. The main attraction is the Souk which is located in the center of town next to the Citadel. Aleppo has actually been a market town throughout history- It was the capital of the scavenging Amorite kingdom- people who lived off the bounty of the neighbors. But in 1650 BC, the Hittites came and attacked them. The Amorites realize their future was not in stealing fortunes but in earning them. The Greeks arrived in 331 BC and realized Aleppo's potential as a market town. The Persians decimated and devastated it in 614. The Mongols devastated it twice once in 1260 and again under Tamerlane in 1400. A huge earthquake in 1822 reduced much of the city to rubble. But aside from the markets Aleppo has 470 mosques 39 churches 69 caravanserai's and 58 public baths, most which were built in the Mamluk style. 1.5 million people can call Aleppo home. 

Our first attempt to see the city resulted in us getting majorly lost. We somehow ended up behind the old city entering through some door we first thought was forbidden. But since no one stopped us we continued and found ourselves in a serious maze of streets and from the looks on the people we passed, this area wasn't visited much by tourists. But it was obvious we were in the old city, streets find with old cobblestones, narrow alleyways and only possible to be traversed by foot or bike for little boys came barreling down on bikes,  narrowly missing these two lost foreigners! Finally we reached the back end of the Souk but we really only reached it by a total fluke. 

Wandering through the Souk, I really felt like I was back in Damascus. The same stuff being sold in general except this time at much lower prices. We still didn't buy anything. René had some money to burn as we were planning to cross into Turkey the next day but alas, nothing caught our eyes. We stopped and bought some ice cream and sat on a curb to eat it before it melted. I know we got strange looks from the Aleppians that passed by , but really we got our full share of dirty looks and stares anyway it really didn't matter what we were doing at anytime.

 A boy and his friend walked by holding hands.

 "Where are you from? Canadian?" He asked. 

"Yes," we answered a little bit puzzled, neither of us were carrying anything that gave our nationality away. "Vancouver?"

 "Yes!" we answered. 

"Welcome to Aleppo, eh?" He said, and disappeared into the souk with his handholding friend.


 I only mention this because we ran into him again. – Bashar was walking hand-in-hand with someone who was engaged to his sister. He invited us to his friends shop for tea, but not before he spit out 1000 idioms, rhymes and puns at us. "Life is pretentious!" Seem to be one of his favorites along with "I am not gay but the man I sleep with is." He told us to come drink tea and discover ourselves. We decided it was worth a tea! 

So off we went to the shop, called Sebastien which was chosen because it was the name Oscar Wilde apparently adopted after his homosexuality scandal. Hussein the guy who ran the place, had a thing for Oscar Wilde and apparently something for a man who worked for the Syrian Embassy in Canada. It was for this reason he was immigrating to Canada. Bashar told us Thomas, who  had left "man-hickeys" all over Hussein, was in the closet and married with kids. Bashar thought he would probably leave his wife once Hussein arrived in Canada sometime in October. 

Bashar also had another friend named Emad who was busy selling some French tourists some silver jewelry. He spoke French fluently and just as he was closing the deal one of the precious necklaces broke all over the floor sending bobbles and beads bouncing over the cement floor. "Lock the doors!" Emad shouted. "I bet these tourists are trying to steal something!" 

After the French tourists left, we headed to Emad's tiny shop in the Souk. We sat in there, eyeing up the mosque lamps unbeknownst to the him and watched him smoking Nargileh, otherwise known to us as sheesha. We talked for a while sucking back more tea and watching Bashar work through all the music they had. Young boys of 24, I couldn't help feel they had carved out a little crazy liberal niche there in Aleppo that didn't really exist anywhere else. They should move to Dahab! We tried to extricate ourselves from the shop but this ended up in us getting a mini-tour of the old caravanserai in the Souk.

 We promised to meet the boys for dinner after a jaunt around the old city. But according to the boys we had pretty much seen everything. And that seemed to be pretty much true, so Rene and I decided to leave to Turkey one day early. We had some time before dinner so we wandered around the Souk, chatting with some of the vendors. The weird thing is all the people we stopped to talk to in the Souk designated their sexual preference to us. "Hello, I am Mustafa and I am not gay, really."

 Another weird thing is that this day I decided to wear my hair in buns on the top of my head. This is not an  unusual hairstyle at home, nor the first time I wore my hair like this on a trip, but for some reason, today nobody could keep their hands off of them. Bashar almost ripped my hair out with all of his grabbing! He said I looked like a little kitten and begged me to meow. Just looking at me thinking about those little buns would send him into serious hysterics! Finally, at the restaurant I took the little buns out as they were now hurting. I put a big one in and now I was apparently a chicken. Sigh!

Here the boys smoked more nargileh. We ate the usual fare- hummus, pita, vegetables, some lamb and chicken. The restaurant was only a nighttime deal, being situated next to a large community center- like swimming pool. The five star washrooms were actually grubby change rooms. But our boys told us they liked it all five star. 

Soon into the dinner, I committed social night suicide. I lied to Bashar and told him I had a great boyfriend back in Canada. He told me he wished me no ill will, but would I consider changing boyfriends for a night? I said no, my fictitious boyfriend was a really good man.

Bashar ignored me for about half an hour, not speaking to anyone. To be honest, this was really annoying to me as I was still available for witty and interesting conversation, but there was none of that. Instead we watched René thwart Imad's attempts until it was time to leave. 

After dinner We went for a big walk and Bashar began to talk a lot and in fact I think our conversation was better since the sex thing was out of the way and we could talk like friends. He said he had some cheating girlfriends so he realize that I was a good one since I wouldn't cheat on my non-existent boyfriend! 

Since we were off to Turkey in the morning, we promised Bashar we would meet him for breakfast. We had our usual fill of pita cheese and jam. Then off to the bus we went. Bashar came with us to say goodbye and asked if there was any chance we could stay longer in Aleppo. There was still so much he could show us! Another one asking us to stay a few extra days! We showed him our paid for bus ticket, shook hands, and said goodbye and got on the bus. 

Goodbye to Syria! On to Turkey. 

xxMelanie

Seriously Syria: A Visit to Qala'at al-Hosn (Krac des Chevaliers)

"A journey is like a marriage. 
The certain way to be wrong is to think you control it." 

~John Steinbeck

So on to Homs where we went through the same rigmarole with the annoying touts and bus companies shouting and pulling us in all directions.  But within a short time we were en route to the Crac des Chevaliers, known in Arabic as Qala'at Hoseyn. 

This is the Crusaders' greatest legacy and the best example of military architecture in the Near East. Some guidebooks say it's the best preserved castle in the world! When in use, the Crac could hold 4000 soldiers and 400 knights. The Crac is in a strategic place- it overlooks a gap in the Lebanese mountains which was once a major thoroughfare between the Orontes and the coast. And it was designed to intimidate the folks who utilized that route. 

It was built over several years, starting in 1142 and was in use for 129 years. The Crusaders resisted 12 attacks including those led by Nehruddin in 1169 and Saladin in 1188.  They were eventually starved out by the Mamluks under Sultan Baybars after a 45 day siege in 1271. After the Mamluks left, the castle wasn't in use and during the Ottoman reign a village of 10,000 lived in there. The French kicked them out in 1936 and the villagers built a new village below with materials they looted from the Crac.

 Because the last bus back to Homs left at 3:30, René and I had just over an hour to see the entire Crac. We ran  from room to room, checking out the secret passages and views from the tower windows. It was a cool castle and it's true it was of the type fairy tales were made of! Our experience there was good, except A Syrian man followed us around trying to show us things. Though this was not unusual ad he was nice enough, we actually barely had any money. I had none, and there was no place to change at the Crac. As well, the way he spoke Arabic let us to believe that he was deaf which compounded our guilt. We spent much of our time uncomfortable and trying to ditch him. The worst part was that he never asked us for money and said goodbye as he walked off with a friend so maybe hospitality was his only motive and we blew him off. Or maybe not. Who knows? Still I felt horribly guilty.

Now was a time to leave the Crac and get back to Homs- or Hama- where we decided we would rather stay for the night before heading on to Aleppo. The minibus driver insisted it would cost us 200 a piece to take us to Hama, but he would take us there directly. We argued with him that this was too expensive but he insisted. I got him to agree to 350 for the two of us (not much of a discount) which he later dismissed as a fee for taking our luggage. I was pissed about this as we had our luggage the whole time we had been bartering.

However close to Homs, (as we figured out we were not going directly to Hama) we saw people take out their money and pay the driver significantly less. When got out, the driver freaked out and insisted we get back in as he was going to drive us to the bus that would take us to Hama. I asked a Japanese boy how much he had paid to get Homs- 35 pounds he answered! how much to Hama? I asked.  Seventy was his reply. I fought with the feisty driver who tried to act innocent but accepted our collective 70 pounds and an offer to drive us free!  But we wanted nothing to do with him.

 At the next Hama ticket booth the man seemed to want us to forget that we had change coming. We kicked up such a fuss that we did get a change back twice! Once directly to René and one and one more time to the bus window to the Japanese boy. By the time we realized the mistake it was too late! Oh well! Win some, lose some!

So off we went to Hama, the land of the waterwheels! On the way, I read up on the history of the town and was surprised that Hama's (somewhat) recent history was not included in René's Lonely Planet. Hama boasts a bloody past. The Arameans, a prosperous group through their trade was with the Israelites, came to blows with the Assyrians who came to loot them.  In 722 BC, the Asyrians finally defeated the Arameans after decades of trying and devastated the town. 

This happened a lot over the ages, just as the names of victims and assailants have changed. The most recent attack on Hama was in 1982, by its own dear President Assad. In 1980 there was an attempt on President Assad's life by the Muslim brotherhood. Obviously the assassination failed; Assad himself kicked one of the grenades thrown at him out of the way. 

Assad laid low biding his time until the time was right and exact his revenge on the Muslim brotherhood. In February 1982 after a coalition of revolutionaries published an antigovernment manifesto, the government closed off the city, ordering first an aerial bombardment and then a land invasion by the army. There was a news blackout so details are hazy but it has been estimated that between 15,000 to 25,000 civilians were murdered in the massacre. Many others died in Syria's prisons.

Apparently an example was made of Hama, as there were a lot of revolutionaries in Aleppo as well. Again coming from Canada I can't imagine having a leader who would do such a thing. Honestly no one wants you in power, then get out! Why would you want to inflict all that misery on your own people? I highly doubt dictators are happy people.

 Even though we were looking at Hama as only a stopover, we took advantage of our time there to go out and see what we could of the place. It seemed like a nice little place, lots of green park area coupled with outdoor restaurants along the river and tons of people out walking, though it was only Wednesday night.

We wandered up and down the streets, sampled some extremely greasy falafel and decided on eating whatever Hama was most famous for- which was an almond flavored cream filled crêpe- although the substance inside was much thicker than cream. We saw the Norias, the famous waterwheels and then retired to our hotel in the evening. We tried to get some sleep but apparently our hotel was on one of the main streets and a few weddings went by to add to the already ludicrous amount of honking. Good night!

-To be continued-
Melanie

Seriously Syria: Palmyra

"The everyday kindness of the back roads more than makes up for the acts of greed in the headlines."

~Charles Kuralt

Monday, July 30, 2001.

 Today we left Damascus and headed for Palmyra. One thing that is cool about travelling in Syria is that the buses go all the time. It seems strange to me that these countries with relatively small populations can sustain this type of traveling! The downside to this in particular in Syria, is that when we arrive at the bus station, we are met by 100 touts who scream names of cities at us or run alongside us asking, "Excuse me where you go?" This is because there are different bus companies competing for travelers. As soon as they're bus is filled up it can go. You would think we be sitting there all day, but actually, we never had to wait more than 40 minutes at a stretch.  

So off to Palmyra we went, though we both felt more time could have been spent in Damascus. Though we were not too keen on more Roman ruins, apparently Palmyra is a serious top place to visit, as well as being UNESCO site-a designation Jerash in Jordan doesn't have. However, I think that this is because Palmyra has a far racier past than cousin Jerash.

 Pompeii conquered the rest of Syria in 63 BC. Instead of wasting his troops energy by talking them through the desert to Palmyra, the town became a buffer zone between the Roman and Persian Empire. 

In A.D. 130, Hadrian declared Palmyra a free town so the people of Palmyra were free to govern themselves. In A.D. 217, Rome gave Palmyra the status of Roman colony, so the Palmyrenes did not have to pay taxes and had rights which were on par with those of Rome. At this time, the citizens changed the name of Palmyra to Palmyra-Hadriana to show their gratitude. 

 Palmyra became an important city on the trade routes between Rome and the empires of the East. Petra's demise was Palmyra's fortune and more and more trade routes felt under Palmyrene control. However the peak of Palmyrene was when Rome granted Palmyrene King Odenathus full control over all of the Roman forces in the area. This was because he rescued the Roman Emperor Valerian from Persian kidnappers. But Odenathus was murdered in 268-2266 A.D. and his queen, Queen Zenobia assumed the throne for her infant son. But Zenobia was no idle queen and set about expanding the Palmyrene kingdom. Within five years her armies controlled Syria, Egypt and Asia Minor up to and including Ankara. Mints in Alexandria were making coins with her image and Zenobia had taken to calling herself Augusta, the Roman Imperial title. 

Obviously Rome was a little pissed off and Emperor Aurelian retaliated. By A.D. 272, Zenobia's trips were defeated and Palmyra was captured as Zenobia tried to flee. She had to ride in shackles in Aurelian's victory parade. She lived out the last of her days as a prisoner in Italy. Palmyra never regained its previous splendor. And in 1089, an earthquake toppled most of the city and the place was pretty much abandoned after that.

The first day we arrived we really wondered what the big attraction was. This place was no more than a village with cement houses, sometimes painted, kids on bikes, a few chickens. Having arrived in the midday, all sane people had retreated indoors to escape the heat. And what heat it was! Was finding this oasis in the desert all that great? After we checked into our hotel- Al Afqa Hotel, run by a larger than life manager named Mehren,  we wanted around the little tumbleweed town, ate dinner and returned just before sundown where we took a taxi up to the Mamluk castle to watch the sunset.

 I met a Canadian archaeologist who knew my Roman art history professor from UVic. The discussions I had with her further confirmed that leaving the political profession of art history to go to linguistics was a good one. We watched the sunset, went back to the hotel and joked with Mehren, and retired to the room for the night 

Tuesday, July 31, 2001.

Today we got up and headed to the museum and organized a ride of the tombs of Elahbel and the three brothers. Since we had time to kill, we headed out to the ruins which were surprisingly close to where we were staying. I think over all we didn't really see anything that we didn't see at Jerash, though Palmyra seemed more of a city where Jerash seemed like scattered ruins. Of course we had our usual host of totes and camel drivers to bargain for. I told one guy I really hated camels and he kept chasing me down show me his camel wouldn't bite! I have had enough of the furry flatulent beasts! 

After a quick jaunt down to the colonnaded street, checking out the nondescript ruins we headed back in the heat the museum where we met our driver and another Canadian named Tim. Tim was a budding archaeologists you had been on a dig in Turkey. He was way more energetic than us in the heat, running to the top of nearby ruins donning his Indiana Jones hat and peering into the corners with a heavy duty torch. So the first tomb we went to see was the Temple of Elabel. Because these tombs are the best, they are locked and shown only four times a day. 

The temple of Bell was built in 103 A.D. for four brothers and their portraits are painted on the wall. But on each side of the temple seems to be a filing cabinet for the dead. Four floors, nine recesses, each could hold nine corpses, that's 324 bodies in this one alone! This was done for profit so you could be buried in a tomb even if you couldn't afford one. 

One interesting thing was that the spaces were so narrow it was obvious and later confirmed by our Indiana Jones companion that the Romans buried their dead sideways. The tomb of the three brothers was underground and had funerary statues. 

Tim  bartered for several minutes for a Kafiya. He got the guy down to 70 Syrian pounds-very cheap! But he didn't have the correct change. So he borrowed 50 pounds off René and promised he would find her and return the money. After he got out of the taxi he stuck his head back in and said he promised and he even did the scouts sign! We trusted him! 


He did pay René back by leaving an envelope of money with Mehren at the hotel. When Mehren saw the piddly amount of cash in the envelope, he seriously blew a fit:
"You'd think he left you ten million dollars, with the fuss he made about getting this envelope to you! I should go out there and find this guy and crack his head!" Luckily our Indiana Jones was already out of town. 

We were hungry at this point so we decided to go for a walk and check out the Pancake House, a restaurant that came highly recommended by the traveller's we had met. We were having a hard time finding it until a man on a bike drove by and called out, 


"Pancake house?" 

"Yes!" 

"Follow me!"

 This was the Iad, cook, owner,  manager and full blown-entertainment. After we ate, he invited us into the cool and quiet backroom to hang out with him and his son. René ended up talking to  Iad, who drilled her on all sots of topics in order to kill time and I played a strange little card game with his eight-year-old son Mohammed. Iad's wife Gina was currently in Romania with their youngest son and he was left alone with Mohammed for the summer holidays and it was driving him crazy! Mohammed had a fixation with everything mine and carefully checked out the contents of my bag: my camera, backpack, passport, and sunglasses. I took some photos of him wearing everything including my shoes! 

We left to catch the afternoon sunlight on the ruins but not before promising to return for a free dinner! And it was a good dinner-couscous with lamb and tomato- the most expensive thing on the menu! There were no other customers and we spent a few hours there. But I have to admit I got bored listening to Iad ask René when she was planning to come back to Palmiyra and offered to help her find a job in Damascus so they could see each other. Not that I want the attention René gets from these men, but it was getting ridiculous! So I bugged Mohammed and we built our own fun. 


Soon Mohammed and I were bored with each other and we waited and watched Iad fawn over René and Rene laugh it off for bit longer. He did tell us his grand plans for the pancake House which was basically to become as big as McDonalds is in other countries. (No McDonald's in Syria.) We were only allowed to leave after we had tea with Iad's parents Where he introduced René and told them her life story, ignoring me completely!  We also had to promise to come back for breakfast even though in my opinion it was a large pain in the ass and I had had enough of Iad.

Wednesday, August 1, 2001

This morning we packed, checked out of our hotel and carried our luggage over to the Pancake House. Iad had sent Mohammed to sleep at his grandfather's and he himself had pulled up a mat Arab style and was asleep on the floor of the restaurant when we arrived. He got up, not a morning person, and staggered around the kitchen making us a really nice send off breakfast. We had pancakes and coffee, and more of the same conversation as the night before. Rene asked and lots of questions about his wife. He answered but didn't talk too much. 


He then drove us to the bus station, bought our tickets to Homs, got on the bus and booted two poor boys out of their seats to wait for the next bus. He then reorganized the front seats so we didn't have to sit next to any swarthy men. He asked us if we had made arrangements with the hotel we wanted to stay at in Hama, and we told him no, but it would be okay. Lucky for us, Iad called ahead and booked us a room, as he knew it was often full and there was no where else decent to stay in Hama! 

Then we finally said good bye to Iad, the Pancake Man, me feeling a little guilty and sheepish for scoffing so much at him when he really was quite generous, thoughtful, kind, and did a lot for us.

-To be Continued!-

xxMelanie

Seriously Syria, Last Day in Damascus

"Journeys, like artists, are born and not made. A thousand differing circumstances contribute to them, few of them willed or determined by the will- whatever we may think." 

~Lawrence Durell

Sunday, July 29

Today was our day to do the rest of the old city. Aside from wandering aimlessly through the streets, we went to see the Azzam Palace next to the great Mosque. It was a nice large space with displays of Arabic life portrayed by a  bunch of identical manikins, male or female, punched out of the same mould. It was like seeing an Arab version of the Dionne Quintuplets! They did have a nice Koranic display, with six Koranic lines written on a seed and a whole chapter written on an egg. You could see through a magnifying glass that the script was perfect- Not that I would ever want to do that but it must take skills! 


 After we had gone through the palace, we try to take a rest and drink some water on the sidewalk in the old city. Should I say "try" because a small battle ensued with the vendors located in a fifteen foot radius. "Come to my shop lady!" "Wait,  okay,  we just want to relax and drink some water."  "Come drinking my shop!"  Wait! We just want to relax and drink some water!"  "Drink in my shop! Wullah, it's more comfortable. You no buy. Just looking! No charge for looking! I give you good price!"


 One man sent his friends to tell us to that if we were smart, we'd come to his store because he would give us some free watermelon. "Nothing is free!" we told him. We did end up having tea with one family of a man who ran three shops on that street. They told us that Watermelon Man was a very bad man. "Why?" I asked. "Do you have neighbours in Canada?"  "Yes," I replied.  "Are they all good?" 

Next, they brought out a little wire puzzle and Nae and I had to get a little ring off the wire structure. I had seen it before in Taiwan even though the men insisted that it had been invented by Bedouin man in the desert. As we try to get the ring off, we attracted an Arab crowd of such a mass that the men who ran the shops tried to take the game away to disperse the crowd. 


"No!" We told them,  determined to solve the puzzle. "Go make some sales!" We laughed.  We eventually did solve the puzzle, with a little help from the father of the store. Each time we made motions to leave, the teapot would be refilled and we would be invited to look at one of their other shops. 


Eventually we did  succumb and followed one man into his own private warehouse. The warehouse was a four story building with a courtyard and fountain. There were more authentic Turkish wall paintings painted by the people who built the edifice. René and I saw guesthouse potential!


 Even though we repeatedly told them that we had no money, they continued to show us room and rooms full of old stuff, swords, teapots, rugs etc. and offer us tea. The boy showing us around decided to be our self-appointed guide for the rest of our stay in Damascus. We had to work carefully to extricate ourselves from the situation without being rude.


 On the way out I happened to glance under a chair. "Is that cat dead?" I asked.
 "No no! Not dead! Sleping. Just watch!"  One of the boys moved the chair and poked the cat, but it didn't move. 


"Oh, what a pity! This cat was playing just two days ago! Never mind,  pull up a chair and drink some tea!"


 We practically ran out of the shop after that, and so ended our days in Damascus.


-To be continued-


xxMelanie

Seriously Syria: The Great Mosque of Damascus

"I love you when you bow in your mosque, kneel in your temple, pray in your church. For you and I are sons of one religion, and it is the spirit." 

~Kalil Gibran

Saturday, July 28, 2001


Today we slept in. Perhaps we need it, we didn't sleep well in Amman. We had a hot room on the roof so we kept the door open since we seemed to retain a lot of heat from the day. All of the people who paid to sleep on the roof slept in sleeping bags on mats on concrete right outside our door, which meant we had to step over bodies to get to and from the shared bathroom. We were tired enough we slept right through the call to prayer which is happening later and later as fall approaches. 

I did get to chat with some young Canadian girls who just came back from Beirut. Apparently Lebanon was too expensive for a shopping spree, so they came to Damascus. Bags and bags of spices, pestles and mortars (stone), three gallabeyahs each, miscellaneous water pipes and four or five pairs of shoes each, they were the souk merchants wet dream! None of them knew the Canadian exchange rate, and didn't seem to care . All the money was spent and they were heading home to Montreal. I can imagine the theme party these four would have! 

And so after a lazy morning start  We finally made it to the Ummayad Mosque, known to me in Art History as the Great Mosque of Damascus. This is Islam's most holy building outside Mecca and Medina, making it the most important Islamic building that a non-Muslim can enter in the world. First, a bit of history. This site has seen many temples. The first being dedicated to the Aramaic God Haddad. The Romans identified him with their God Jupiter; Some Roman ruins remain between the mosque and the souk.

 Next, the Byzantines converted the temple into a church dedicated to John the Baptist. When the Ummayads came to power, they destroyed the Church and found John the Baptist's body in the process. They kept his head for good luck and made a little green dome enclosure inside to house it. (But I am assuming he was found with his whole body- but what did they do with it? Did they really need to save the space it would take to house a whole body?)


(Side note here: when we arrived in Istanbul and went to the Topkapi palace, we were lucky enough to see the OTHER head of John the Baptist. Who knew JB had two heads?!!? I feel doubly blessed. ) 

 And of course there are the Byzantine mosaics of lush trees and improved fantastical versions of Damascus. Apparently at the time of building there were no skilled mosaicists so they just hired Byzantine ones- kind of ironic since the Ummayads had just cleared away all the Byzantine rubble. It was the Ummayads who made Damascus the center of the Islamic world and the Abbasids who took it away to Baghdad. I'll get into Damascus history later on right now I just talk about her experience at the mosque. 

We ran to gauntlet of the souk which now, being Saturday,  was in full throw and we couldn't walk a minute without hearing, "Welcome to my shop!" "Where you from?" Finally we arrived at the mosque and headed for the ticket office. There René and I paid our 50 pound entrance fees, and because we are female, we got fitted with  dingy, unattractive  sackish brown monk-like robes. (René described them as grayish-brown hospital gowns with hoods) Once fitted in the somewhat hot annoying ugly outfits, we headed to the mosque. Maybe it's just the tourist area, but I didn't find the people we met to be very friendly. Upon entering and wandering around the mosque, I felt a little intimidated. Some of the looks I got especially from other women had me checking that I was properly done up and my head was covered. Perhaps it's because I am a foreign woman with no attached husband. At least that's the most logical reason I can think of. 

The mosque's courtyard was very beautiful, and when I saw the Byzantine mosaics everything I learned in Art History flooded back to me. It's funny. When I studied in Art History, I always had the idea that I would like to visit these places one day, but somehow it seems impossible. It was a very satisfying feeling to be standing in front of those mosaics and know again I had come full circle. 

Unfortunately my freaking robe  kept getting in the way of taking photos. It was a particularly windy day and either my sleeve blew in front of my camera lens or the wind tried to blow the hood of my head and my ankle would be exposed under the ankle length robe if I were facing the wrong way. As well I had a really annoying young guy (dressed in head to toe denim), 'psssting' me if I were to fall out of line in this regard. Of course Denim Man did it to all the foreign women running around and like he did with me, he smiled and try to pick them up after he had finished chastising them for not having their necks covered. (But this feature wasn't built into the robes, so I felt he just have to live with it.)

So even though I took the photo with great difficulty as my feet were burning on the sunbaked marble tiles as well, I got my Byzantine Mosaics in the end. 


And I got a slight feel of what it must be like for Muslim women on a day to day basis, especially in Damascus. The women here were few and the ones we saw were in full purdah; not even their eyes visible. A lot were in head to toe black and had their eyes and nose covered. Many women who were covered but didn't wear black wore tan trench coats over their dresses. How anyone could wear that in this heat was beyond me. Omar told me it was the woman's choice what she wanted to wear and that they chose to cover. Standing there in the Great Mosque of Damascus I decided there must be serious social pressure for the women to cover- probably most enforced by other women. I know now why there aren't many Muslim women photographers! Damn sleeves keep getting in the way. 

René and I went into the mosque  and to my surprise the inside was austere compared to the outside. there were cushy rugs all over the floor and people were either lounging or sleeping. I eyed René suspiciously as lounging is her new favorite hobby- after Dahab she can practically sleep anywhere at anytime! But this makes for a boring travel partner so she didn't sleep in the mosque. In the middle of the interior there was the large green domed enclosure holding poor John the Baptist's head. Rene and I sat down next to a group of women and apparently a little wrinkled lady kept getting giving me hell behind my back, but when I turned around she just stared. Apparently whatever I was doing wrong was not dire enough to let me in on it. I was really beginning not to like Syrian women, based on the little contact I had with them. René had also been complaining a lot about being elbowed pushed and shoved in the markets as well. 

 And so hot and a little bothered, but still happy to have been able to see the Great Mosque of Damascus, Rene and I continued on. We went to the mausoleum of Saladdin but this was largely uninteresting. I mention it only because it was there I realize that Denim Man was following us. He had there been the one chastising us in the mosque. With some fancy footwork near the entrance of the souk we were rid of him! The rest of our day was fairly boring. We had our shoes fixed as all this traveling has really put some miles on my Birkenstocks, my only pair of shoes at the moment- My other leather sandals didn't react well to the day at the Dead Sea and are now unwearable. (But it was so cheap we got everything fixed- even things that weren't quite broken yet! I got new soles on my Birks for twenty five cents Canadian!)  The most memorable part of this night was our discovery of tasty lemon ice-like a soft slurpee-only for 10 pounds. The lemon ice vendors sure make killing continuously scooping frozen ice into cups- usually they're sold before they melt in the 40+ degree heat. I would always watch for him to scoop a fresh one and I would scoop it for myself, yum!

-To be continued-


xxMelanie