Syria

11.09 - Present

First of all, I would like to bring attention to the dates just above this text. I'm no longer recounting adventures from countries I've long since traveled, that's right, I'm now broadcasting Kyle adventures in real time, not quite in the present tense but close enough, keeping you on the edge of your seat.

So I camped about 2 km before the Turkish border (11/8) and prepared for the potential madness that awaited me the next day (like I said, I had no Syrian visa and I'd read that some Americans had to wait 12 hours for the visa approval from Damascus). So the next morning I arrived at the Bab Al-Hawha border between Syria and Turkey. I was once again dressed in my best clothes (Chinese slacks and t-shirt from Thailand....basically what you see me wearing in every picture off my bike) and humbly approached the immigration counter with my passport in hand. I handed it to the officer and after thumbing through my passport 2 or 3 times, he looks back at me and with hands in the air asks "visa?". I replied with "no visa" and was instantly directed to a backroom where a really fat man smoking a cigarette and drinking chai proceeded to ask me a few standard questions without picking up his head. I was told to wait outside and I was most definitely prepared to wait all day, with arabic numbers and phrases to memorize, I had a full day of schooling ahead of me. The was about 8:30 am. At about noon, I peeped my head into the office to tell the men I was going to grab some lunch just across the street, when I noticed the fat man holding a piece of paper. It was my approval letter from Damascus and 15 minutes later I was cycling in Syria with a relieved smile on my face.

The road signs are now solely in Arabic

Written and read right to left

Syria is my first true Arabic country: Arabic music, Arabic people and Arabic dress. I can really notice a big difference in Arabs from their Persian neighbors of Central Asia.

Many men now wear head scraves

So I spent a day wandering through the beautifully historic city of Aleppo, which is a town like no other, an old town with a certain charm that suggests perhaps I could spend the rest of my life lost in the labyrinth of streets, eating falafel wraps and practically living in the fresh juice stands.

The Armenian (Christian) district of Aleppo

But the show must go one, so I began cycling the deserty countryside of Syria. Syria is extremely flat, save the mountains near the coast, so it's easy to log 100+ km each day. However the people are so friendly and hospitable that every 5 km I'm waved off my bike to share a cup of tea, a bite to eat or just a conversation. People in Syria are extremely nice. So the day becomes a delicate balance of logging enough kilometers while still soaking in each opportunity to experience these amazing people and their culture. One things for sure, a foreigner would never go thirsty cycling through Syria. In fact, if Syrians had their way you'd have 79 cups of tea ingested before lunch and your teeth would be grinding together from caffeine and sugar overdose. They are that nice!

Two nights ago, I was cycling through a town when I came to a crossroads and pulled out my map. The sun was beginning to set and I was waved over to a small shop just as the last light was disappearing. Everyone at the shop was extremely interested in where I was from, where I was going, my profession, etc. One of the boys spoke rather good English and he invited me to sleep at his house for the night. An exclusive first hand experience of Syrian culture. First of all, Syrian families are gigantic. Ahmed (the english speaker) and his 8 brothers and sister lived together in a small 3 roomed house with his parents. Next door (literally about 5 feet away) was his uncle's house which housed 14 of his uncle's children (they always referred to his uncle as busy man). Across from his uncle's was another uncle who had 9 children. Then there was Ahmed's grandparent's house. It was like a zoo of kids playing, brothers chatting, elder men smoking shisha and sipping chai. When the diner came, it came on one big round metal tray carried on Ahmed's mother's head. The men all gathered around a rug on the floor and the contents of the tray were placed around the rug. Black and green olives, yoghurt, potato casserole, fresh greens, tomatoes, cucumbers, and a few other things I had no idea about. No forks, spoons or knives, instead everyone took a gigantic round pita bread and places it on their left leg (sitting indian style) and began breaking off pieces of bread and dipping it into the various dishes. You must eat with only your right hand...as the left hand is used for the dirtier tasks in life (i.e. wiping your bum). It was an amazing experience, one that I'll never forget and as I was pulling away from the house and waving goodbye to the family of 100,000 men, women, children and animals, I said to myself....'This is what it's all about!'

Ahmed (hand around me) with brothers and sisters

So I'm currently in Hama, a small city with a charming and kind soul. I'm once again drinking about 6 large glasses of freshly squeezed juice each day. This place is famous for the norias, large wooden water wheels that scoop water out of the river and into irrigation canals and aqueducts that deliver water to the surrounding areas.

Norias of Hama at sunset last night

Friends and fresh juice stands!

Waved off my bike for chai

Syrian catfish....yum

Me and Mr Soap (Aleppo)

Me and Mr Quran (Aleppo)

Waved off my bike for a buffet of free deserts

Countryside of Syria

Friends and breakfast in Aleppo