Syria double rainbow

"Omar Souleyman is the reason we're going to Syria," Emily emailed.

I'm anxious to see this Omar Souleyman, whose music prompted our three week middle eastern adventure. I clicked on the video attachment to view Omar Souleyman, the "reason" Emily chose Syria. After my fifth viewing of the “Leh Jani” video, I peeled my eyes away from Souleyman's checkered keffiyeh headdress, aviator sunglasses and Magnum P.I. mustache. Ok, I get it. Like Souleyman’s video, Syria would be anything but ordinary.


"Welcome," our driver Elias said from the driver's seat. Arabic pop music blasted from the car stereo, as Elias swerved in and out of undesignated lanes. He encouraged Emily and I to raise the roof by jiggling his shoulders like the line dancers in Souleyman's video. It beats fist pumping. I cant raise my hands to the roof, because I'm too busy bracing myself for the last minute braking Syrian drivers are accustomed to.




picture by Emily Rieman

“This is Old Damascus.” Elias points to the stunning Roman archways inside the walled city, the oldest inhabited city of the world. Narrow streets overflow with young hipsters loitering along the storefronts. Men play backgammon at patio style cafe's puffing on sweet apple Sheeshaka. The city looks amazing, but after a seventeen hour travel day, I was anxious to arrive at the Damascus Hostel. All I could focus on was bundling up into my sleep sack.


photo by Emily Rieman Inside of Damascus Hostel

Over the next five days, Emily and I learned just how enchanting old Damascus could be. The white washed buildings leaned with age, storefronts bursting with colorful rugs, food vendors offering samples of pistachios.


picture by Emily Rieman


photo by Emily Rieman women near mosque

Our second day Emily and I ventured into the Umayyad Mosque, once a basilica dedicated to John the Baptist. Decked out in our Obi One Kenobi robes issued by the mosque's staff, Emily and I trekked barefoot across the marble tiles of the courtyard. We attempted to people-watch, and sneak a few photos beneath the giant Corinthian colonnades. But we stuck out like a couple of hammer toes. Not only did the gray robes brand us as tourists, but our blond bangs defiantly escaped the confines of the hood. We must have been quite the spectacle because a few locals asked if they could take a photos with us. {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jv-24ozUj6g/TNJ8Z_5BIEI/AAAAAAAAACA/wNenYw3YB7o/s1600/PA010024.jpg">





photo by Emily Rieman.



Exiting the mosque, is a labyrinth of shops.

“Welcome” shopkeepers sang out from their storefronts.

So I quickly understood what Emily meant by "don't encourage." If you plan on viewing more than one city block, you cant stop and talk to every person that says "welcome. Where are you from?." Nor can you accept every tea offer or you might end up purchasing a backgammon set, or sterling silver jewelry an hour later.

We resisted the "come in for tea,” sales technique from most vendors, except one. Young Elias, an Oscar Wilde-quoting shopkeeper charmed us so much we accepted his offer for tea and agreed to have dinner with him later that night. Elias was such a great dinner companion, Emily and I didn’t hesitate to accept his offer to go night clubing. Clubbing in Syria, who could refuse that? Besides after two Coronas the Syrian house music transformed into downright danceable music. Dancing, beer and yes...fireworks! />
photo by Emily Rieman Elias in the white shirt and his friend in blue


photo by Emily Rieman night club in Damascus

By 3AM the club was so packed, Emily and I barely escaped getting squeezed to death, by enthusiastic dancers pushing us up against the DJ stage. Emily and I said goodbye to Elias and his friends, and walked back to the hostel. We didn't wake up until 2pm the next day. When we finally managed to stumble out of our windowless room, the sun glared down at us disapprovingly. That damn judgmental orb! The sun wasn't the only dismayed one. Matthew, our favorite hostel employee, gently reprimanded us. "Girls you've been partying too much. You have to make a plan. You must see the sights!"


photo by Emily Rieman. Mathew

We took Matthew's advice. We visited the Bayt al-Aqqad, a 15th century Mamluk style house and courtyard preserved by the Danish Institute. We also toured the bustling souk. Getting back to the hostel at a reasonable hour had its bonuses. We met the new hostel arrival, Elizabeth. To initiate our new friendship, Emily, Elizabeth and I went out for a beer.


photo by Emily Rieman Bayt al-Aqquad



photo by Emily Rieman Will it be the pole or ladder?


photo by Emily Rieman, Elias the driver and three women that run Damascus Hostel

Damascus stole our hearts. We were reluctant to leave our new found friends (Elizabeth, Stephano and Rob) that helped make our Syrian trip a double rainbow experience. But Emily and I had ancient ruins to see and camels to ride. Off to Palmyra!


Stefano, Christopher, Emily and Kristi





Palmyra

“So how does this work? You’ll be hanging out...eating dinner with us and stuff?” This was my first conversation with Abdul, the driver we hired for the week. I could blame the snotty question on my occasional outbursts of social anxiety, but that would be a lie. My armpits were already sweating, thinking about Abdul hanging around with Emily and I 24/7. What did we know about this man? To steal a term from Emily, what if Abdul "was not our tribe?"

Abdul was not only "our tribe," but one of the best choices Emily and I made. We were lucky to share the experience with this candid and funny man.


photo by Emily Rieman photo of Abdul


photo by Emily Rieman photo of Abdul


Abdul, Emily and I traveled 150 miles north east to Palmyra. Except for the distant outline of the Anti Lebanon Mountains the desert landscape was as flat and dry as Syrian pita.


photo by Emily Rieman


photo by Emily Rieman on the way to Palmyra

Suddenly interrupting the buttermilk sand and dirt were mountains and...palm trees?
“Palmyra.” Abdul points to several archeological treasures among the arid landscape. “The local name is Tudmor. Its Aramaic for the word palm.” Abdul was full of these little gems.


photo by Emily Rieman overview of Palmyra


photo by Emily Rieman

Abdul pulls into Al-Baider Park, a camp nestled into an oasis, conveniently located next to the Roman Temple of Bel.


Mohammad (manager)and Mohammad Bedouin host at Al-Baider.

Mohammad the camp’s manager, ushers us past a garden of mature dates and olive trees. "We also have a pool." A pool, really? With days reaching the mid 90’s, I’m already envisioning slipping into my bikini.

We climb the stairs to the pool…green is all I see. Ok I was a little disappointed that the pool served as a breeding ground for mosquitoes.



The pool is easily overlooked, considering the camp's awesome location and accommodating staff.


“I've arranged for you two to visit a local Bedouin family and sleep out in the desert." Abdul says to Emily and I. "And you will be riding camels tomorrow," he adds. Double fucking rainbow. Emily and I have been itching to ride camels.

“This is Mohammad,” Abdul introduces us to our Bedouin host Mohammad (not to be confused with Mohammad that runs the Al-Baider camp).

"Call me Mo-Mo." he says.
Mo-Mo is dressed in traditional Bedouin attire; black ankle length robe, sandals and a pair of Raybans. Ok, not completely traditional. In the right light and angle Mo-Mo could pass for a young Benicio Del Toro.

“Take a seat in the truck?" The baby faced thirty-year-old Mo-Mo points to the Mazda pick-up. photo by Emily Rieman. Mo-Mo, Emily and I

Mo-Mo, Emily and I bump along the unpaved desert landscape. The three of us are crammed into the truck, but at least I have the passenger seat. Emily is forced to straddle the stick shift. Mo-Mo entertains us with stories about previous guests. He’s so funny and charming that it’s easy to dismiss the fact that he tends to linger too long in second gear, or more accurately stated between Emily's thighs.

Twenty minutes into the desert and Mo-Mo kills the engine, steps out of the truck and tosses a rug over the desert ground. He snags a cigarette from his robe and plops down on the rug cross legged.

“The sun will be setting soon." Mo-Mo drags off his cigarette. Emily and I follow Mo-Mo's lead, removing our shoes and settling down onto the rug. Mo-Mo, a seasoned raconteur, recounts a story about a local Bedouin who had succeeded in capturing a hyena, by following it back to its den. Suddenly I'm wondering, do we have to worry about Hyenas?

Mo-Mo wraps up his story just as the late afternoon sun transformed the oatmeal-colored dessert into a butterscotch landscape. The sunset is so beautiful, the desert is so quiet…R-I-N-G. What's that...oh just Mo-mo’s iphone.


photo by Emily Rieman. Mo-Mo on iphone


photo by Emily Rieman Mo-Mo in the middle of desert


photo by Emily Rieman desert sunset

After the sunset, Mo-Mo drove us further into the desert, until we reached his family’s home. Home being three canvas tarps erected in the middle of the desert. A small family (a husband, wife, child, and puppy) exit their tent to greet us and show us to our very own tent.


photo by Emily Rieman Bedouin tent

Emily and I walk inside. Wow! The comfy space is doused in color; red, black and white patterned rugs and pillows line the floor and walls. The dim lighting casts a cozy glow making the long floor pillows even more inviting. A kettle of sweet tea sits on a low table waiting to be consumed. The intimate space looks suspiciously similar to...the residing quarters for a harem.


photo by Emily Rieman inside Bedouin tent

Mo-Mo tells us a young woman from the UK named Lucy will be staying in the tent too. Did I say the tent looked like harem quarters?

The buzz of a motorcycle can be heard in the quiet encampment. Moments later, Lucy ducks the crown of her mahogany colored head into the tent. She directs her Mona Lisa eyes toward Emily and I and says; “Am I glad to see you two. My friends would think I’m nuts, riding out to the middle of the desert on the back of a motorcycle with a stranger named Abdul.” No doubt about it, Lucy was our tribe.


Lucy and Abdul on motorcycle


Abdul, Mo-Mo and a third man (forgot his name) joined Emily, Lucy and I for dinner.




After dinner the men performed traditional Bedouin songs.





Mo-Mo, Lucy and I


“Sing us a song ladies." Mo-Mo requested several times.

Lucy, Emily and I ignored the request to sing, but Mo-Mo relentlessly teased..."Dont you ladies know any songs?" After polishing off a bottle of Arak, we all relocated outside of the tent. We took our places on pillows that were strewn over the desert floor, and stargazed until sunrise.

The next morning Emily and I were scheduled to meet back up with our guide Abdul to view the Temple of Bell and some funerary tombs.

But first breakfast. Mo-Mo and Abdul served us breakfast on a silver platter (literally).


photo by Emily Rieman breakfast Bedouin style








After the sights, Emily and I met back up with Lucy to ride camels through the oasis.


photo by Emily Rieman riding camels



We spent the next two days walking through the ancient ruins of Palmyra.




photo by Emily Rieman Palmyra ruins


photo by Emily Rieman Palmyra ruins

Emily, Abdul and I met up for our last dinner with Lucy. We said our goodbyes or at least until we would rendezvous in Aleppo.

Palmyra proved as difficult to leave as Damascus. Emily and I were only half way through our trip and we were missing the places we had been. But there was so much to look to; the castle of Krak des chevaliers, the ruins of Apamea, and Aleppo's Hammam (bath house). Emily and I had yet to battle an evil remote Nazi in Beirut's Talal Hostel, float in the Dead Sea, and walk 1000 stairs to the top of Petra's monastery.