-Syria-

6) Syria-

11-14-2007 to 11-21-2007

I woke up early, bid farewell to Koray, and headed to the bus station. Complications rose early on as I had a hard time catching a mini-bus to the bus station. My anxiety escalated rapidly as I began to fear that I would miss my bus to Syria. Arriving five minutes late turned out to be the least of my problems; the bus’s departure was delayed an hour and a half. Then later on, only 15 minutes after the bus left the bus station, we stopped again at the edge of town. Apparently the bus driver found it imperative that the bus be washed before entering Syria. After thirty frustrating yet mildly amusing minutes of sitting on a concrete slab watching the gas station attendant angrily chase goats out of the parking lot….we departed.

We soon approached a desert landscape littered with barbwire fences and lookout towers with armed guards gazing blankly at their feet. We made it through the Turkish side of the border with relative ease, but the Syrian side was a whole new ball game.

Immediately after the bus stopped in front of the Syrian border, I was escorted from the bus by an armed guard and then taken into the back room of the main office building. I waited alone in a large room with tackily lavish brown vinyl furniture and a large square wooden desk. The room smelled like a strange mixture of stale cigarette buds and moldy socks. After about ten minutes of nervousness and boredom; a military official entered the room with a stack of paper containing multiple copies of my passport and visa. As he tore the copied pages into sections he began to casually interrogate me. After about ten simple questions about my job, reason for visiting Syria, what my parents did etc,…..he left the room. About five minutes later another officer came into the room and escorted me into an even smaller room. As I was escorted into the next room I began to grow nervous……….I had a visa, but was unsure if they would notice that I was traveling with the State Department passport I was issued as a Peace Corps Volunteer. The officer did not say a word to me as he carefully thumbed through my passport. After about 15 minutes of uncomfortable silence, the officer left the room. Ten minutes later another officer entered the room and signaled for me to follow him to another small room, this one closely resembling a jail cell. The room was about 7x10 with a small cot in the corner of the room equipped with a blanket and pillow. I sat in a small chair on the edge of the card table as the detached officer sat on the edge of the small bed. The officer suspiciously studied my passport and visa as he berated me with repetitive questioning. Why are you here? Where are you staying? What is your job?...................In order to ease the situation I offered him the full name and phone number of my Syrian host in Aleppo. This only seamed to encourage more questioning. After a few more officers and about another hour of questioning………my passport was stamped and I was on my way. Actually, on my way out the door, one of the officers who had been interrogating me smiled at me and said “welcome to Syria” as he waved me goodbye. After the border interrogation, it began to dawn on me that I was entering into a very strict and conservative country with a very fundamentally frightened and paranoid culture.

Shortly after passing though the border, the bus pulled over and we were all transferred to a shabbily maintained Syrian bus for the remainder of the trip. Upon entering the Syrian bus, I was cordially greeted by the men sitting across the aisle from me, and given a handful of sunflower seeds accompanied by a smile and a sincere “welcome”. I arrived in Aleppo a bit before 3pm……….the one hour bus ride turned into a three hour bus ride with four hours of waiting!

I was overwhelmed and a bit intimidated upon arrival in Aleppo. The bustling Arabic city of Aleppo was dirty, loud, and completely different to me than any other Arabic cities I had visited previously. I sat on the side of the road for about a half an hour before I mustered up enough courage to wander through the crowded streets in search of a money exchange office. While looking around perplexedly and blatantly sticking out like a goat in a piggery; I was spotted by a friendly local. After a quick introduction, my new friend Mohamed (a 22 year old Kurdish student) walked me around town until we came across a money exchange center. Mohammed spoke surprisingly fluent English, and seemed quite excited about meeting an American. Mohammed decided to wait with me until my host Mustafa retrieved me. Our conversations were quite enlightening and informative. Mohammed and I primarily discussed Kurdish history, and the cultural differences between Muslims and Christians. He made it a point to tell me that Kurdish people like Americans because we often help his people.

As the sun began to lose its strength, my host Mustafa arrived in the town center and greeted me with an infectious smile. After a quick introduction and farewell to my new Kurdish friend, Mustafa and I began to hike to a small English Institute near the University of Aleppo. The entire crew was waiting for me at the institute as I arrived. The crew was a diverse mix of Syrian college students between the ages of 20-25. My host Mustafa is a beast of a man…..about my height (6ft 3) but twice as thick. His gentle demeanor and sensitivity substantially contradict his brutish outward appearance. After a few hours of Q and A with Alleppo’s future proffessionals, we were on our way to Mustafa’s village via mini-bus. Mustafa and his family live about 30 minutes out of town in a small agricultural village of about 8,000 inhabitants. Strangely, pretty much everyone in this village was related. Mustafa boasts close to 400 cousins (they count 4-5-6…cousins). It seamed like every time we walked down the street and ran into a group of guys, I was introduced to at least two of Mustafa’s cousins.


While Mustafa and I pleasantly walked along the dimly lit dirt trails to his home; he kindly explained to me his family’s core values and beliefs. Understanding how different and comparatively less conservative American culture is; Mustafa wanted me to realize that his family was in fact quite conservative and that I should not feel awkward about this. It turns out that his mother is not allowed to meet me, let alone speak to me. If I were to be in her presence she would have to wear a hijab (cloth covering) even over her face. So for the next two days at Mustafa’s house; I did not see his mother once. I stayed in a small room at the edge of the house where Mustafa and I ate all our meals and slept on the floor. The only occasions I entered the main section of his home were when I had to walk down the hallway to the family’s Turkish toilet. I heard Mustafa’s mother a few times through the walls but never caught a glimpse of her or any of Mustafa’s sisters.

While it is on the top of my mind, I will mention a few of the cultural norms in Muslim-Conservative Syria, and explain a few of the fundamental lifestyle contrasts (as opposed to typical Western society).

-When entering a residence it is appropriate to wait at the outside gate and let your host enter his home first in order to warn the family(women) of an outsider’s (non-relative) presence.
-Eating: Food is often served on the floor, Water is not often served with meals……and if it is…..there will be only one cup and one pitcher of water. Everyone takes turns drinking out of the cup. Flat bread is eaten with just about everything, and fundamentally takes the place of silverware. When hosting, if the host wants to eat or drink something it is customary for him to offer the guest first,……..and only after this is the host free to eat of drink. It is normal and considered a selfless gesture for a host to hand feed you a few bites of food. It is a gesture of kindness and respect to the guest.
-Women are almost always in charge of preparing the food and cleaning around the house.
-Conservative clothing are always worn by women…….usually including a ‘Hadjab’(head scarf) covering the hair and a long skirtlike blouse that loosely covers a woman’s backside.
- Diesel is often used for powering boilers and stoves………. It kind of freaked me out at first….but they assured me the tank would not explode.
- Showering on the floor is the norm; Turkish bath style. Generally a shower is taken by sitting on a small plastic stool and using a bowl to scoop water from a bucket on the floor. It is actually quite nice and relaxing.

Well there are plenty of other social norms worth mentioning, but I thought I would simply mention a few in order to properly illustrate the cultural differences that conservative Muslims have with the Western world.

While enjoying a delicious supper with the men in Mustafa’s immediate family, I casually began to speak of the intimidating experiences I went through while crossing through Syrian border customs.

Surprising to me, Mustafa’s face suddenly grew pail with worry as I mentioned that I had given the police his name and phone number. The petrified look in Mustafa’s soft brown eyes and his increasingly timid voice which was now laced with trembling horror began to open up my eyes and show me vivid indications of how serious the immediate situation had become. As Mustafa collapsed on the floor with his hands smothering his face he began to repeat over and over…. “This is bad, This is bad, you do not understand, this is bad”… After Mustafa regained his composure he calmly explained to me that the Syrian Government might accuse him of being a spy and that in Syria suspected spies get tossed into jail for up to 5 years without even getting a trial. My bad…………..I guess I never thought about the possibility of raising that sort of suspicion amongst the Syrian military.


Apparently the government is currently on extra tight patrol because about a month ago an Israeli spy with a fake Canadian passport successfully entered Syria and took several pictures of military command posts and was able to gather a substantial amount of information for the Israeli government and media.

At 8am the following morning we were both awoken by Mustafa’s loud and obnoxious cell phone ring. Mustafa was finally confronted with the conversation that he had stayed up all night dreading. On the other side of the line was of course a military officer who wanted to meet with Mustafa immediately concerning an American “tourist” by the name of Trevor Lake. To say the least, Mustafa was not amused at this point and was incredibly anxious about the meeting with the officer. We met the military officer on a busy street corner in central Aleppo at around 11am. He seemed a bit perturbed that I was present, and advised Mustafa to drop me off at a café before returning to meet him.

About 40 minutes later, Mustafa returned to the café and briefed me on our current situation. Mustafa explained to the officer that I was his friend, and that I was being hosted by him free of charge so that he could practice his English and take part in a “Cultural Exchange”. The officer told him that this particular situation was “unnatural” and that he did not believe that I was not paying him for tourism services. The officer also found it to fundamentally be completely unacceptable that I was actually staying in Mustafa’s home. After Mustafa’s one sided argument with the military officer, the interrogation ended with a few rules set in place. One……….that I leave his home by the following morning, and two……..that he write up and present him in detail a full report of our activities together.

The following morning Mustafa transferred me to Jamal’s pad…..and I have been in the clear ever since. Jamal is a 24 year old master of English and entrepreneur, who currently runs an English language institute which caters to University students. Jamal lives in a small apartment in the center of Aleppo with his mother, sister, and rapidly aging father. His Father is 65 (his mother is only 45) and has a tumor on the side of his head that consumes his ear and makes it sag halfway down his neck. Jamal like many young Muslim men, is the primary bread earner for his family. He does not complain about this added strain and excess responsibility, he simply gives and supports because of the love and respect he has for his family.

I have lived with Jamal’s family for the last 5 days and have enjoyed my time there immensely. We usually eat our traditional Syrian breakfast as a family around 11am…….and then we part ways for the remainder of the day. Our family dinner has been at its earliest 1am. Usually we all eat our final meal together around 2am……and follow it up with warm conversation over goblets of sugary tea. A typical evening in Jamal’s home drags well into the early morning hours.

When I first stepped foot into Jamal’s home I was literally treated like a son. Jamal’s father immediately said “welcome”(in English) and kissed me on both cheeks. He then explained to me through Jamal’s interpretation that I am now his son and welcome in his home. The mother is a bit on the shy conservative side……but equally as welcoming and kind. I think the giddy 20 year old sister enjoys having guests……as she is constantly around us and serving us.

I am living in Jamal’s home as their second guest. Alex……….a 23 year old Brit is also staying in their home. Alex came to Syria about 5 weeks ago and while couchsurfing with Jamal decided he would like to stick around a while and teach conversational English at Jamal’s institute. He was more than welcome to stay………and has been a loved and accepted part of Jamal’s family ever since. Alex is by far a better son than I, due to his warm outgoing personality and his fluent Arabic. This is an essential skill for Syria……….because absolutely nothing here is in English.

It would be incredibly challenging to attempt to explain exactly what I have been up to this last week in Syria, so I will simply try and outline the highlights.

The Citadel: Said to be the oldest castle in the world is a magnificent structure rebuilt over the last 5 millenniums at least a dozen times. It was significantly rebuilt about 1,000 years ago while under Amowayan rule. The fascinating thing about this citadel is that it was completely erected by man. It is perched on top of a large man made hill with hidden chambers and caves throughout. There are several tunnels that lead from the basement of the citadel to ancient homes and hideouts close to 10km from the castle. My favorite part of the citadel was the entrance…….a beautifully constructed bridge staggers up across the dry moat and onto the citadel’s historic entrance.


Food: the food here is excellent……….for the most part. The staples seam to be mutton, garbanzo beans, and pita bread. Of course these core ingredients are cooked with many other things and in many creatively different ways.

Fast food: Aleppo is the original home of the falafel, and finding these delicious fried-vegetable donuts is quite easy. Other fast food I have enjoyed while here is Fool: beans, oil, spices served with Pita bread. And Feta: beans, whole and ground, oil, spices, and served with crisp pita bread mixed within the dish.

My company has been extraordinary the last week:…..I have been escorted around Aleppo by various groups of university students and treated like a touring celebrity. Being a foreigner in this country has been an incredibly pleasant experience. Syrian women are undeniably conservative and beautiful; however, some actually express their romantic aspirations in a surprisingly open manner. I was quite surprised the other day when a beautiful, conservative looking college girl tried to “talk me up” while I was having tea at a University café.

My friends and I sat down next to a group of three veiled girls at a table in the University’s cafeteria. As we conversed around the table I made eye contact a few times with a beautiful Moslem girl sitting across from me, and each time she would start giggling and whispering things to her friend. Soon after, she began to ask me questions through the interpretation of my friend Kaise. To my surprise, the girl continued complimenting me and openly flirting with me. She would say things like “ If I would have known you were coming, I would have studied English” and “ you are very beautiful”…….moments later she stood up and announced that she was leaving, but would stay if I wanted her to. I was a bit shocked and confused by the situation, so I simply let her go. After inquiring to the crew about what had just happened, they all told me that the girl simply liked me and wanted to “court” me; which means that she would have liked to go on a supervised date with me. I found the whole situation a bit unexpected and hilarious. I had no idea that Moslem women were even approachable. I found out later, that being an American in Syria……though awkward at times……was more often then not quite acceptable and welcomed. I will also add that most of the Syrian women I met loved the American accent and prefered it over the Brit’s…..Score one point for team USA.


Moving on, I suppose the moral of this story is that in general, women in Syria, though relatively conservative, date and love in the same ways that women do in the Western World; meaning that Syrian women do not typically fit into the stereotypical molds that have been created by Western Media. They are not generally bare foot in their kitchens, slaves for their men, beaten by their husbands, or treated like second class citizens……..they are simply a bit more conservative and modest than women in typical Western societies. Characteristically, Islamic women fit into the mold of the nurturer and the men the provider. I think most people are willing to concur that neither job is an easy one, and that both compliment each other in a very natural way. Not to say that this is the best way, most natural way, or the only way, but it is a cultural choice made by a large population of people in this world. I personally see nothing wrong with equal but different; as long as no one is oppressed or denied free will, we must recognize the philosophies behind the phrase “to each his/her own”

Walking around the university campus is always a treat. Getting stared at constantly takes getting used to; however, since it is in a celebrity type way, it is quite flattering. It is like being a rock star, being a tall blue eyed guy with long blonde hair has distinguished me from the rest of the crowd.


Most Syrians completely accept and respect Americans……but like the rest of the world, hate Bush and his US foreign policy. I have done my best to avoid being berated by political questions that I am ill prepared to answer. However, from time to time I feel inclined to give in to the questioning and attempt to erect myself as a productive diplomatic mediator. I am a strong believer that ignorance is entirely curable on both sides. A window must be washed on both sides in order for it to adequately serve its purpose as a translucent barrier.

Syrians are a tough crowd………though gentle, kind, warm, and hospitable; they do have very strong opinions about the US Government. And in all truth and reality they have every right to have their reservations. The amount of propaganda that is pumped into this country by extremist groups has been crippling. Likewise, the amount of propaganda that has been created by the West to ensure that the world fears Syria is also incredibly unjust and damaging. This is a battle waged by both sides in an effort to harden hearts, skew reality, and cripple communication before it has a chance to become a solvent for the very foggy windows that separate the West from the Moslem World. When borders become so rigid that we begin dehumanizing the other side and living by a fundamental mentality of “us vs. them” war is imminent and indefinite. Countries that inhibit open communication and fail to provide accurately representative diplomacy with the world begin to sew a seed of isolation and become Petri dishes for intolerance, hate, and ignorance.

Controversy:


Throughout my stay in the incredible country of Syria, I have had numerous discussions and open debates with an array of Syrians whom many I now consider to be good friends. After experiencing and observing first hand just how uniquely different the Syrian culture and lifestyle is from my own; it is not surprising to me that most of the Syrians that I have had the pleasure to interact with, share an entirely different view than I on many of the pressing issues of current times.

Anti-Semitism- I was utterly shocked and completely taken back with disbelief when I began to realize just how Anti-Semitic many Syrians are. After hearing a few casually spoken but blatantly racist remarks by my Syrian crew; I decided to pry a bit deeper into their minds in order to more adequately comprehend their prejudices.

One evening as the crew and I were sipping tea while conversing about Islamic hospitality and the damaging powers of the Western media, I decided to test the waters by attempting to figure out just how anti-Semitic my open-minded, hospitable, kind and educated friends are. I simply asked Mustafa if he would ever consider hosting a traveling Jew in his home. …..He paused briefly before replying with a cold and aggravated look……. “No, I would kill him”. I personally don’t believe that Mustafa would actually kill an Israeli or Jew, but it is safe to say that Mustafa and the rest of my Syrian crew have deep rooted most likely inherited, hatred for their Israeli neighbors.

Another evening while we were all debating and discussing the fundamentals of the Islamic belief system and it’s relation to Judaism and Christianity;…….Mohammed II went off on an angry tangent about how historically destructive and terrible the Jews have been to Moslems. He concluded by saying that their will not be peace until a bloody war is waged against the illegal Jewish occupiers of Palestine. Unfortunately this is quite a popular opinion in the Islamic world and one that seems to be growing stronger. Later that same evening, Mustafa mentioned that in the Koran it says that when Jesus returns to earth he will immediately convert to Islam and soon after lead a war against the Jews.

Obviously most Syrians do not hate all Jews; I am sure if a poll was taken you would find that Syrians are fundamentally against the country of Israel……..not Jews in general. From my interactions thus far, I have found most Syrians to be very kind and accepting. I have been pleasantly surprised to see how Syrians often judge one by his individualism rather than his group status. To but it plainly, I have been perceived as an American…..not America.

Unanimous Syrian animosity toward the Jews seems to be for the most part rooted in the Israeli conflict and dilemma. The Majority of Syrians view Israel as occupied Palestine; a land that has been unjustly overrun and seized by immigrant Jews who have forced themselves upon Palestinian soil with brute force and allied intimidation. In reality, this is quite a popular opinion……..one that has been commonly shared by the Islamic world, the far left and even Gandhi.

According to my Syrian friends, Jews are a constant threat to them because Israelis (Jewish ones) feel that the true “Israeli promise land” is the entire region between the Mediterranean Sea and the Euphrates river (as symbolized by blue stripes on the Israeli flag). According to them, Israeli’s will not be satisfied until they conquer and occupy the entire region. Obviously the lines of communication have been snubbed for quite some time, and the glass barrier that has divided the Jewish-Moslem worlds has become obstructed by the growing layers of thick ash and mud.


Obviously there are always two sides to a story, and I personally know first hand that there is an equally hostile and valid Israeli point of view. However, in order to avoid getting sucked into a long drawn out controversial rant about Israel………I will simply move on.

Iraq- As much as I have continuously attempted to avoid discussing this issue, as an American traveling within the Moslem World……it has been completely unavoidable.

Though initially quite hesitant, one evening Jamal began openly discussing his opinions about the war in Iraq. Jamal spoke of how irate and saddened Syrians were when the USA began its invasion of Iraq. Soon after the invasion, Jamal’s cousins began preparing to join a crew of Syrian vigilantes that would travel into Iraq in order to fight the blood thirsty Americans. Surprisingly, Jamal fully supported the notion of gorilla type Syrian units sneaking into Iraq to fight the invading infidels. Jamal counseled his cousins about their radical decision and eventually convinced them to stay in Syria simply because the plan lacked adequate organization and a sufficient level of safety. According to the Koran, if a non-Moslem nation invades a Moslem nation…..it is the duty of all Moslems to join the war and fight with their Moslem brothers against the infidels. So, it appears that the USA’s unjustified invasion of Iraq has sparked an uncontrollable fire that has spread throughout the Moslem World; a fire that has been fueled by violence, ignorance, fear, desperation, humiliation, and Koranic fundamentalism. Good work Bush!!!!!

When Jamal calmly told me that he wholeheartedly agrees with this Koranic doctrine, I began to grow a bit uneasy. I was suddenly reminded that by default I was situated on the other side of the battle lines……and that my Western opinions were the cause of the gently magnifying dissent. In the spirit of open discussion, I looked into Jamal’s eyes and asked him if he would fight against me because I am an American……..without hesitation, he casually said “of course not, you are not a soldier”……I pried deeper into Jamal’s mentality by telling him that I have very close friends whom are soldiers in Iraq………I tried to explain to Jamal that the situation in Iraq is not black and white, and should not be oversimplified by fundamental religious rules and values. After we both reclined into a contemplative state of uncomfortable silence, feeling defeated, I slowly drifted into sleep. We have not discussed such controversial things since that evening………and thankfully, we still get along like brothers.


Another contrasting point of view that I have repetitively heard throughout Syria is that Saddam Hussein was a great man and that the Iraqi people loved him. I have been told on numerous occasions that during Saddam Hussein’s rule people lived happily and peacefully. And that the quality of life for the Iraqi people was quite high. Apparently all the necessities of life were free to all Iraqi citizens; including petrol, electricity, bread, milk etc. I mention this only because it differs greatly from the view of most Westerners. When analyzing this particular set of opinions, it is difficult to imagine the West having an accurate understanding of life in Iraq before the war. It seams more realistic and probable that their close neighbors and allies (Syrians) possess the more accurate understanding. Indisputably, the West has always viewed Saddam as an evil, blood thirsty tyrant bent on killing his opposition, oppressing the weak, and snuffing out the free will and progression of his people. Similarly, a rapidly increasing number of people consider President George W. Bush to be the worst terrorist of all. In the Arab world, it is commonly believed that soldiers in Iraq are simply evil murderers doing the work of Bush. The same people often describe the United States as a greedy country ravishing a once peaceful land in order to dominate the Middle East, inject Christianity, and take over the region for large capital gains.

Can we blame them? Just as our media promotes the opinion that all Moslems are freedom hating terrorists, their media portrays America as the most evil and tyrannical country in the world. Irresponsible fear mongers controlling the media on both ends have rapidly escalated and magnified the destructive lies and hatred amongst both groups. Thanks to reckless and biased media sources, the poison of ignorance has spread through the entire world like an indiscriminate plague.



I find it both frightening and strangely exhilarating to be traveling in a country with such broken and fragile relations with the USA. Something about being within the borders of Syria and exploring a world so culturally different than my own makes me feel powerless and horribly uneducated.

1-21-2007

I am typing away on a computer…….and about to conclude my 3rd night in Lattakia Syria. I will be heading to Damascus tomorrow by bus.



Lattakia has been great. It is a major Mediterranean port city with bustling streets and elaborate markets. I have spent the last few days going on long explorative walks around the city and peacefully reading indoors while escaping the rain.

I am staying with a beautiful French girl in her late 20s. She teaches French here in Aleppo and has spent the last nine years of her life working in various countries throughout the world. It has been quite refreshing being around such a brilliant, kind, warm, and free spirited woman. Our conversations have been incredible because we share many common beliefs and philosophical views on life. She has been a pleasure to be around and an incredible host. In general, the city of Lattakia has not been remarkable in any way; however, I have thoroughly enjoyed several long walks along the ocean and curiously exploring the busy markets.

As I was gazing upon the brilliantly sun streaked Mediterranean Sea; I could not help but feel consumed with inner peace and happiness. I thought to myself, what is happiness? Truly it is not as complicated as the world presents it to be………….I decided then that happiness to me is a perfectly tailored and intricate balance of Security, Comfort, and Peace of Mind. And at that moment looking over the water, I felt the peacefully radiant combination of all three.

11/23-11/25 2007

Yesterday I took a bus to Damascus; the oldest continuously occupied city in the world. I found Damascus to be huge and quite intimidating. The cab drivers were a bit too obnoxious for comfort.

Upon arrival in Damascus, I met up with my hosts, a young couple from Austria and Quebec. They had met a few years ago while backpacking through Europe, and have been inseparable ever since. They also have a young boy who is about three years of age. Jim works for a large international company that is currently setting up a large power plant on the outskirts of Damascus. He was telling me that only 4% of the products in Syria can be American due to US government sanctions on Syria. This sounds like a ridiculous restriction; however, it is in fact enforced. Recently a CIA agent showed up unannounced to Jim’s work site to examine all the equipment and make sure it fit the restrictive code enforced by the USA. So yeah,……..it is pretty obvious that the United State’s international relations with Syria are not so good at the moment.

I have had an increasingly difficult time traveling around Damascus. Each and every sign is in Arabic and things here move at a ridiculously fast pace. I am constantly forced to aggressively fight my way onto public buses in order to find a seat before they are all taken. It appears that the locals here are always in a frantic hurry. Traveling around this city has been increasingly stressful. I suppose things in Allepo would prove to be similar if I were stripped from my network of Syrian friends.

As a product of my survival instinct, I have figured out an excellent strategy for coping with the crippling language barrier and pubic transit confusion. It is dubbed ‘the lost child strategy’. When I need to get somewhere and have no Idea which public bus to take,……..I simply walk up to a random person on the street and with a confused and helpless look on my face, I state the name of the location I am trying to reach. I do this while pointing in a random direction and exhibiting a look of hopeless disorientation. I have found that this method works100% of the time. Each time, the friendly stranger will take me under their wing and put me on the right bus. For example, when I wanted to visit the city of Maalula……I simply approached a middle aged Iraqi woman and her teenage daughter……. executed the ‘Lost Child Strategy’ and in no time was on a bus toward the edge of town. Fifteen minutes later, the bus stopped and I was escorted through the chaotic streets to the bus station. Upon arrival, I was taken directly to the mini-bus heading to Maalula. I have never been in a country with such wonderful and kind people…..it appears to me that literally all Syrians are willing to help pathetic foreigners traverse their busy cities.

Maalula is a beautiful mountain town situated on the edge of a magnificently carved canyon. It is a historically Greek town and is one of the few places in the world where the ancient language of Aramaic (The language of the holy bearded one) is still spoken. After an hour long drive through the dusty sun bleached desert we began climbing up a rocky hillside toward Maalula . Upon arrival, I was immediately taken back by the region’s gorgeous panoramic beauty, and the vibrantly glowing residences that were nestled gently under the massive cliffs that dominate the area.

After looking around the modern, nonetheless beautiful convent; I wandered through an intricately carved sandstone canyon and up a dirt trail to the top of the cliff. The potentially incredible view from above is almost completely obstructed by the disruptive presence of a thuggishly abrasive concrete hotel. The only view available to visitors is from the edge of the old church.



The old church on the edge of the massive cliff was built over 2,000 years ago as a pagan temple of Jupiter. It was not until around 400AD that the temple was converted into a Christian church. The beautiful church is in remarkably good shape due mostly to its innovative original construction and the vigilant maintenance provided by the city of Maalula. There are several wood beams inserted into various parts of the marble and brick walls. The wood essentially provides a seam of shock absorption that apparently helps deter the damaging effects of earthquakes. Through scientific testing and carbon dating, these thick wooden beams have been dated at over 2,000 years old. I found this church to be uniquely pure and overwhelmingly spiritual. As I quietly listened to the priests sermon, followed by the lords prayer (all in Aramaic); I was moved by how peaceful and pleasant the environment was. The grace and purity of the church was quite uplifting and inspirational. I am not by any means a religious person, however I do respect and honor the concept of spirituality and religion……..

11-24

I stood on the side of the road for about 30 minutes before I built up enough courage to ask a stranger which fixed route mini-van would take me to the “old town”. Eventually I asked an Iraqi woman and her daughter, both whom spoke a small amount of English and were more than willing to help. Running into such friendly Iraqis made me wonder what it would have been like to visit their country before the war. Perhaps it would be like Syria……conservative, regulated, and impoverished, but filled with people exhibiting an underlying peacefulness and tranquility that has been a result of hundreds of years of brotherly love and unselfishness.

After arriving on the edge of old town, I made way through the bustling city streets toward the Giant mosque located within the ancient walls of the city. The mosque was decorated by an outrageously intricate and beautiful mosaic of green and gold tiles. I initially thought it was a painting, but closer observance revealed its true nature. I believe the mosque was built in either the 8th or the 9th century AD. Also, the mosque is said to contain the head of John the Baptist………., no the Muslims did not Slaughter the biblical figure; they honor him as much as Christians do, which is probably the reason they created a shrine to honor him. This is because of course, Moslems believe in both the Old and New Testament.

Old town is basically a small urban village surrounded by a massive ancient wall and containing, a large mosque, Ottoman era houses and a massive market that rivals Istanbul’s Grand Bazaar. I enjoyed wandering around the market and observing all of the enthusiastic vendors trying to sell their products. One vendor had a table full of lamb feet that he was preparing on the spot with a blow torch……apparently many Syrians find lamb feet to be a tasty snack.

The residential section of Old Town Damascus consists of an incomprehensible maze of ottoman era homes smashed together, separated only by narrow alleys and dark tunnels. I found it fascinating to watch the local people casually go about their simple/primitive daily lives; essentially living historically traditional lifestyles, sheltered only by a large stone wall that protects them from a fast paced, bustling capital city of Damascus.


11-25

I am sick again!!!! I am plagued with flu like symptoms and am lacking the adequate amount of motivation and energy that is much needed at this particular moment. It is so damn hard to stay healthy while traveling; I am even thinner now than I was when I began my journey…….which is kinda scary. I can pretty much pinpoint the exact moment I contracted my current illness. I acquired this particular virus at a whole in the wall fool joint in downtown Damascus. Almost everyday around lunchtime, I wander the streets of Syria in search of some tasty fool (fool is basically smashed garbanzo beans, oil, large brown beans, and a few spices). A fool joint is relatively easy to find throughout Syria…….and the 30cent price tag makes it a tempting indulgence whether it be for breakfast, lunch or dinner. The problem lies in the sanitation practices of these places…….each table is equipped with one pitcher of water……one steel cup…a bowl of salt (salt is taken with a bare fingered pinch)…and a handful of hungry Syrian men,…….so basically sharing a dirty cup with one two many Syrian dudes is what got me sick.

Today was a bit rough…….. I woke up feeling horrible. Fighting off strong feelings of nausea and debilitating fatigue I managed to take a cab into the center of Damascus. Soon after arriving in downtown Damascus and flawlessly executing the ‘Lost Child Strategy’ I was in a fixed route taxi heading to the bus station. Unfortunately, I arrived seven minutes late and consequently missed the early bus to Bosra. After a less then entertaining two hours of waiting…..I was on a bus heading to the Southern town of Bosra. I arrived in Bosra at about 4:10pm and immediately began running to the city’s massive citadel and roman amphitheatre. The place apparently closes at 4:00pm, but after about 10 minutes of forcefully arguing with the attendant, the man smiled and told me he would allow me to view the premises for ten minutes. I literally ran around the castle and through the ancient roman amphitheater snapping pictures along the way. It was definitely not the ideal way to absorb and analyze an ancient historical landmark; however, I was able to enjoy a few moments of sheer amazement and joy while quickly soaking in this architectural marvel. After leaving the citadel, I wandered around the open air ruins of ancient Bosra. The bright red sun was gently melting into the smoky purple clouds as I wandered around the stone pillars and arches of the once magnificent ancient city. Romance and mysticism poured out of the city’s open wounds. While sitting on top of a partially collapsed ancient wall and staring at the massive citadel I began to reflect on both the past and present simultaneously. The hazy pink sky surrounded the walls of the citadel with protective comfort. I began to feel incredibly blessed and lucky to be enjoying such a purely blissful moment. The warm desert air complimented the explorative atmosphere by providing a brief moment of comfort for body and mind. Though short lived and seemingly insignificant, those few reflective moments in Bosra, were for me, utterly unforgettable.

At 5:15pm I began hiking toward the bus station, which was supposedly at the edge of town. After overshooting the bus station by over a mile, I was befriended by an old Syrian man and was walked back into the right direction. The short, stocky, weathered looking man sported a glowing yellow beard, and baggy brown shalwar kameez and a gentle smile. He spoke a bit of English, which he picked up while working construction in Saudi Arabia for 15 years. Overall, I would say he was a nice guy; However, I was given the cliché speech: “I love Americans, but your government is just a bunch of terrorists”……nonetheless the old man was kind, pleasant, and incredibly helpful……even to a despised American such as myself.

Generally, I have found that a political debate is never won with a Moslem…….one can only hope to achieve a mutual compromise, which only appears when humanity is elevated high enough over the top of religion to temporarily hide the scars of war and diplomatic failures. The truth is that most of the diplomatic strains that the West has with the Arab/Muslim world are a result of cultural ignorance and misunderstanding. The key is to allow countries to govern themselves, and to restrain from intervening in culturally firm diplomatic issues. For example……oppression is a relative term. What the West may see as oppressive behavior, the Muslim world may see as religiously and culturally imperative. After all, if a nation is unable to adequately understand the cultural complexities of a foreign civilization, they have absolutely no right to interfere with their political structure or the social makeup of their society. An opinion that one system works for all civilizations…….is incredibly flawed. Socialism by nature oppresses free will. Capitalism by nature evaporates the middle class and is fueled by greed and unfair predisposition. Democratic governments in thriving nations are simply republics run by the nation’s aristocrats; which often promotes the idea that rich people are more qualified to make decisions than the people who built the particular nation from the ground up.

While we were walking back into town, a dark skinned, grubby looking fellow pulled up on his motorcycle and joined in our conversation. He asked me “where are you going?” and when I told him that I was heading back to Damascus, he assured me that there were unfortunately no more busses heading that direction, and that he could take me by taxi to a nearby town (a town that has several busses heading to Damascus). This generous fellow was willing to help me out for only $20………what an excellent deal, how lucky am I for finding this guy! (The two hour bus ride to Bosra from Damascus was $1.20) I burned off all my naivety while I was living in Bulgaria, which means that this guy picked the wrong guy to mess with. I told the local con artist that I new for a fact that there was a 6:00pm bus for Damascus. He then adamantly proclaimed that the bus was sold out, and that I must take him up on his generous offer. After trying to ignore the man by walk past him,……the guy pretty much made me get on the back of his motorcycle. A few minutes later we arrived at the bus station (small office in between two fruit stands). As we approached the clerk I blurted out “one ticket for Damascus please”…….the clerk unenthusiastically acknowledged……and began writing me a ticket. This is when the persistence of the grubby bastard hit its peak;……He mumbled something to the clerk in Arabic and then pointed at the paper and said “see sold out”. The clerk paused for a second with a confused look on his face, but soon realized his role in the scam. The clerk then said “sorry no more tickets”……………At this point I am not really in the mood for bullshit, I would rather walk to Damascus than get in a cab with this guy. I calmly told them both that I would gladly wait for the next bus, and if the bus is in fact full……..I will simply take the 8:00pm bus. The con artist looked at me like I was crazy; why would I wait three hours when I could simply take him up on his offer and use his taxi service? Obviously the man is unfamiliar with the mentality of your average backpacker. A backpacker generally has more time than money…..and is usually not in much of a hurry. With a look of defeat and irritation; the conman left the ticket office. I waited quietly on the dusty vinyl couch in the dark office (the power went out) for about 35min before the clerk awkwardly wrote me a ticket for the 6pm bus.

I made it back to Damascus at around 8:30pm and was completely relieved that the horrible day was over. Four hours of waiting, six hours on a bus, one hour being conned…….all for 30 minutes of sightseeing. The day however was not a total loss; Bosra was in fact a pretty cool place…..the citadel and amphitheater were quite impressive.

Ohh, and I forgot to mention………when I was lost looking for the bus station and walking toward the edge of town, a couple shirtless guys on a motorcycle drove by and mean mugged me while giving me the bird.

Bosra gets a B-…………..and is the only city in Syria that I feel would have been more enjoyable without its residents.
-At Mustafa’s pad-



-Mustafa and his cousin Kaise-



-Downtown Aleppo-


-Citadel-







-Dinner with Jamal and his family at 2am-


-Soccer night in Aleppo-



-Lattakia-





-Maalula-






-Old Town Damascus-






-Mosque in old town-

-Turkey

5) Turkey-
10-25-2007
The second leg of my journey commenced as Max and I were excitedly torn away from the dilapidated city of Sofia and taken onward toward Istanbul in rolling, soviet era, steel cages. Max, a RPCV who served his assignment in a small Bulgarian town called Svishtov located on the infamous Danube River. Max and I had been articulately planning our future adventure together for the last three months, and were more than ready to get the ball rolling. The door to the open road had at last swung open; Max and I did not hesitate to storm through it and race down the dark corridors into the great unknown.

We were set to arrive in Istanbul at around 9am, unfortunately do to unforeseen delays; we arrived at 1pm instead. Upon arrival we met up with my high school friend Ryan Schrenzel and began to hammer out some logistical details for our trip through Turkey. After a few failed attempts of logistical planning; we had wasted most of our daylight and were forced to stay the evening in Istanbul. We passed the time by playing backgammon and reminiscing about faded memories while sipping on goblets of extortionately priced tea. I have noticed that after a few visits to Istanbul, the city begins to lose its charm. The overzealous vendors and money thirsty tourist traps begin to overshadow the cities cultural vibrancy and historical flair. Like many thriving economic capitals, Istanbul has more or less sold its soul to the greed driven beasts of capitalism and consequently has become a city of increasingly diluted culture and questionable ethics.

10-27-2007
After narrowly winning a hard fought battle with insomnia, the gang and I woke up at around 8am and soon after departed for the bus station. Max, Ryan and I boarded the surprisingly luxurious12:00pm bus for Izmir. The bus pulled into Izmir at around 10:30pm.......we were all quite relieved that the bus trip was finally over; it had been a long day. We were in high sprits as we exited the bus and began to look for the home of our Turkish host Guilchen. After about an hour of disoriented wandering and escalating confusion, a crew of local men took us under their wing. They commanded us to sit down as they called our host and directed her to our whereabouts. While we waited we were taught a few simple Turkish words and fed liver sandwiches (as a gift); so far so good! We were all taken back by how friendly the locals were, our first impression of Izmir was quite favorable.
Our host arrived a few minutes later and escorted us to her home a few blocks away. Guilchen turned out to be an incredible host; her energy, kindness, sense of humor and generosity made our stay in Izmir absolutely unforgettable.
10-28-2007
We all woke up feeling energetic and enthusiastic; soon after we were on our way to Ephesus and Sharingay. Our wonderful host joined us as we wandered around the magnificent ruins of Ephesus. Ephesus has a vibrancy and historical charm that sets it uniquely apart from other ancient Roman cities. We all got a kick out of the communal shitter......not much privacy back then it appears. I am always amazed at how the Romans constructed these magnificent structures. How did they hoist these multi-ton rocks up in the air and perfectly into place? What sort of tools did they use? How were they able to make such large structures of precision and intricacy without modern machinery and technology? I am sure by now that scholars have developed accurate answers to these relatively simple questions; nonetheless, it is incredible how intricate, brilliant, and resourceful the human mind can be. It is easy to discard ancient civilizations and their people as simply thuggish, unsophisticated, and primitive; or at least intellectually inferior to modern civilizations and their people. However from my personal observations, I have discovered that the previous statement is entirely inaccurate. Yes, like rapidly progressing technology, lifestyles have changed, priorities have changed, and social norms have changed, but has the human mind changed? One only needs to read a bit of Socrates, Confucius, or a paragraph from the Tao De Ching to see that the human mind has seemingly always wandered deeply and vastly. One only needs to look at structures like The Pantheon, The Coliseum, The Great Wall, The Pyramids, and Baalbek to see that brilliant engineers and mathematicians of the past are as great as or greater than those of present day. The ultimate variable that has excelled the modern world is electricity ……….once we discovered how to channel electricity, the sky has been the limit; or has it?

Next stop was Sharingay: a charming ottoman village nestled against the mountainside near Ephesus. The village was in fact quite similar in appearance to your typical Bulgarian village. This was actually not the least bit surprising, seeing that the Ottomans ruled over Bulgaria for 500 years, and of course influenced the late 19th century – early 20th century architecture of Bulgaria. A couple hours into the exploration of the small wine producing town, my body began to weaken. By the time we had left Sharingay, my body was feeble and my stomach was trembling. I initially thought I had just over exerted myself and was suffering from a bit of routine physical exhaustion and dehydration. However, my original diagnoses proved to be entirely inaccurate as the intense feelings of nausea began to kick in.
So............... as Guilchen, Max and Ryan enjoyed a pleasant night out on the town.........I was home violently worshiping the porcelain god, and praying for a quick death.
10-29-2007
After shivering the night away with artificially cold discomfort, I awoke in the morning drenched in sweat and overwhelmed with exhaustion. My muscles ached and my head throbbed as I pondered the horrors of the previous evening. Due to my physical condition, I was forced to forgo the day’s cultural adventures; again, as Ryan and Max wandered around the beautiful city of Izmir, I was chained to my bed and violently tortured by my own body.


Max and Ryan returned to Guilchen's pad around 12:30am with incredible stories of adventure, kindness and stupidity. Ahhhhhhhhhhh, it appears that I again missed out on quite an escapade. I can only imagine how great their evening was.......it was a national Turkish holiday, so the streets were packed with people celebrating. The entire country was actually blanketed with large Turkish flags and pictures of their hero Attaturk. I had a difficult time shaking off feelings of anger and disappointment; my weak body had betrayed me and had prevented me from experiencing potentially unforgettable things.

From the information I have gathered, it is entirely accurate to label Izmir as the most secular large city in Turkey. Izmir’s modern, laid back, and relatively progressive social scene ensured Max and Ryan the time of their life. Unfortunately my personal observations of Izmir do not span much further than my host’s apartment.
10-30-2007
I had slept decently the night before and as a result woke up feeling low on energy, but slightly better. We said farewell to Guilchen (our favorite person in Izmir) and boarded a 12:00pm bus for Denizlie. We arrived in Denizlie at around 3:30pm and were immediately greeted by our hosts Baha and Semi, and Mustafa (Textile Engineering Students). After being guided through the pungent smelling fish market and through the crowded city streets on a small city bus, we had arrived at Mustafa's pad. I again was feeling far too weak and under the weather to adequately socialize, and was left alone at Mustafa’s apartment to rest. Mustafa's house was pleasantly filthy........it reminded me of my home during the college years; comfortable, yet hygienically on the verge of perilous. Actually, Mustafa's house was probably even worse............So in conclusion, I can see that young men on their own, no matter what nationality or geographic location, are in fact filthy creatures. Our natural reaction to lack of cleanliness is no reaction; consequently, young men on their own for the first time can easily live a lifestyle that would make most women cringe with disgust.
After sleeping the day away on Mustafa’s couch, I awoke feeling refreshed and surprisingly pleasant. I had beaten the food poisoning at last!

Max, Ryan and Mustafa returned to the house around 11:00pm gleaming with smiles and speaking of a wonderful night out with a large crew of Denislie's textile engineering students. Again, I can do little more than complain about missed opportunity.
Mustafa turned out to be an excellent guy; his caring attitude and hospitality made me feel right at home in his apartment. He insisted that I take his bed, and was constantly making sure that I was well and comfortable. I only wish I had more time to spend with the Denizlie crew, perhaps next time.
10-31-2007
After sleeping no less than 20 hours the day before, I awoke in Denizlie feeling absolutely wonderful. My health had returned to around 80% and I was now able to return to my adventures and enjoy time spent with my friends and host. Mustafa escorted us to Pamukale, a nearby tourist attraction filled with Roman ruins and incredible mineral deposits. We began our journey through Pamukale by exploring a grassy hillside filled with ancient roman tombs. The area was filled with tombs, ancient roads, large and small buildings, and even a massive roman amphitheater. These Roman ruins led up to the grand finale, which were the natural chalk deposits of Pamukale. The sight of this natural treasure was absolutely incredible; any written description I may attempt to bring this area to life will inevitably fail miserably. The mineral springs and salt deposits created a large cluster of clear-blue mineral pools surrounded by white chalk that creeps over the steep hillside and emulates a series of beautiful frozen waterfalls. Irresponsibility and neglect associated with mass tourism during the early 20th century has marginally dimmed the vibrancy of the area by dirtying the once bright white chalk that consumes the entire area. Though decades of selfish improprieties have slightly cheapened the landmarks appeal, it is still nonetheless magnificent, and truly a gift and treasured masterpiece from mother nature. In recent years, great efforts have been made to curb irresponsible tourism, in an attempt to preserve, and bring back the area to its historical level of greatness.
We said farewell to Mustafa at around 4:30pm and were soon on our way to Konya. Despite my diluted energy,........I was feeling great. My lack of nausea made me feel alive again. Food poisoning while on the road, proved to be a horrific experience. In spite of lingering stomach problems, and diminished levels of energy; my body was now holding it’s own against the elements and more than able to handle social interactions.
We arrived in Konya at around 8:00pm and were greeted by our hosts Selda, Unsal, and his wonderful girlfriend____ who happens to be a news anchor. After sharing a couple of pizzas and an enlightening conversation\debate that took us into the early morning…........we hit the sack. Ryan, Max and I slept smashed together in a small room, but were more than content because the apartment was cozy and clean. This time we were staying in the home of three college girls, a polar opposite of Mustafa's pad.
11-1-2007
We arose at around 10:00am, and enjoyed a wonderful breakfast made by our host Selda. Selda was a sweet young college girl in her early 20s, who spoke hardly any English, so as you can imagine the communication was to say the least, patchy. Her warm smile and kindhearted giggle, helped buffer over the communication gaps which bread misunderstanding and confusion.
Max, Ryan and I entered the center of Konya at around 12:00pm and began our exploration. We began with Mevlana: a museum of tombs, old books, and religious artifacts of the Muslim - Sufi (Whirling Dervishes). Konya was the Islamic capital of the Ottoman Empire, and the host of one of the earliest Sufi communities. A distinct and regionally specific Sufi (Islamic sect, non-orthodox, literally meaning: free thinker) tradition is Turkey’s Whirling Dervishes.

Using a nail in the floor for guidance, a Whirling Dervish will spin in circles often more than 2,000 times in a row, while drifting into a spiritual trance. They feel that they are able to speak with Allah only when they reach certain meditative states. The Dervishes are able to walk away from the whirling without the slightest bit of disorientation or dizziness.
After Mevlana, Ryan and I stumbled across a back alley barber shop where we decided to clean ourselves up a bit by getting a straight razor shave from an expert. Ryan, being the jokester he is, had the barber shave him a traditional moustache. Throughout the rest of our time in Turkey, the locals would often tell Ryan that he looked very Turkish, and Ryan of course would each time gleam with pride.
Konya is a huge city with a very conservative reputation; it is in many ways the opposite of Izmir. Though we did appreciate the contrast and did enjoy the city’s deep rooted traditions; we came across an unfortunate snag that we will undoubtedly never forget.

Max, Ryan and I had recently become hooked on backgammon, so when we came across a back alley tea shack, we entered without hesitation. The idea was to use our newfound obsession as a gateway into the local social scene. Thus far, these Turkish tea shacks had been hospitable and generally erupting with friendly locals.

Strangely, the men in this particular cafe met us with unwelcome stares and suspicious faces. The awkwardness and intimidation did not soon vanish. After we had finished our tea, a man approached us and began to angrily inquire about our nationality. After it had become known that we were American, he stood up irately and yelled "Bush, Bush" and followed these words with physical gestures of shooting a bunch of people with a machine gun (with sound effects and everything). This uncomfortable situation came to a head when the fiery eyed man began pointing at the door and yelling “go go go”. All of the men in the café stared at us silently and displayed little emotion as the angry old man adamantly expelled us from the dark café. The point was taken............. and we left the premises with our heads down in shameful silence. Unfortunately anti-Americanism is a very real and apparent thing throughout the Muslim world. It has become a burden for all traveling Americans throughout the world. Hating Americans has become hip in Europe and increasingly visible throughout the Muslim world. Such is life I suppose, the only thing I/we can do is show the world through intellectual debate and noble actions that we are not the Muslim hating war mongers that they many people think we are.
At round 8:00pm we met up with Ihsan a tall humorous Turkish fellow who was responsible for our accommodations. Ihsan escorted us to 'Sun TV' where we watched Unsal's girlfriend give the evening news to the people of Izmir. After a half dozen cups of tea and a rather ridiculous debate about the war in Iraq, we were off to dinner. We were taken to a small roadside restaurant where we all ate some sort of spicy vegetable paste on leaves of lettuce. It was not terrible, but was a bit much for my freshly stable stomach.

We finished our evening with warm conversations and several puffs of tobacco from large nargiles (hookahs/Shishas/Water Pipes). Our new friends in Konya were a pleasure to be around, and thankfully the communication barrier had been demolished thanks to the English language proficiency of Ihsan and Unsal.
11-2-2007
We woke up bright and early and by 9:00am were on a bus heading to the city of Dureme in the Cappadocia region of Turkey. I had heard many wonderful things about the Cappadocia region, and was incredibly excited to finally be able to explore the area personally.

We arrived in Dureme around noon and easily found a cheap hostel situated snugly in a sandstone cave on the edge of town. After a quick rest; we were off to the underground city of Kamakli. Kamakli is an 8 floor deep underground city consisting of a network of tunnels, staircases, and rooms that are an estimated 4,000 years old. They were most notably used as hideouts by Christian settlements during the 5-9 centuries (maybe off a bit). The Christians, fearing persecution, were able to completely hide out and shield themselves from the dangers of religious persecution. With help from underground cities throughout the Cappadocia region, Christians were able to escape violent oppression and maintain their religion through the difficult years of conflicting theology.

I found the caves to be brilliant in all aspects of the word, and completely fascinating. How could these people live in such a place? Claustrophobia and boredom must have been a bit overwhelming, but at least they were able to hold onto their lives and religious freedom. It was interesting to see the large disk shaped rocks which were once used to block the city doorways and to hear about all of the other methods that were once used to elude enemies. Not only was this underground city ridiculously deep and extensive, but it connected by tunnel to many of the nearby homes, and even to another cave city 10km away (Derinkuyu).

That evening we had the pleasure of meeting some interesting and friendly travelers from all around the globe. I always enjoy congregating with members of the backpacking subculture to trade adventure stories, and acquire travel knowledge and tips. Among the travelers at the hostel were two returned Peace Corps Volunteers who served in Kyrgyzstan from 2002-2004. Max and I had a great time taking turns telling Peace Corps War stories over beers.

.........................................a couple notable stories by : ............................. Kyrgyzsan RPCV Mitko.........................................................

In Kyrgyzstan it is an age old tradition to steal your wife..........................seriously! So how it works is like this..............................A man finds a girl that he is interested in, he pulls up in a car kidnaps her with the help of some family members. Next the woman is taken to the man’s house where she is greeted by the gentleman’s mother and sisters. So while the sisters and mother are convincing the woman to stay, the father is at the victims’ house giving a gift (a dowry) to the girl’s father (usually a horse, some cash and a few goats or sheep). The stolen woman will be forced to stay at the man’s home for three days and then is released if the woman refuses to marry.

The catch is that the woman has already spent a night in the man’s home and even if not raped, the whole community assumes intercourse happened. Therefore, she is not as innocent and clean as she once was. As it turns out most women stay with the bridenapper and get married because of the overwhelming stigma that is placed on the women that refuse to marry. Because of this, she may never get another chance to marry.

I find this to be a bit ridiculous..............but I have been assured by Mitko, that this is in fact the way things are done in Kyrgyzstan. Also, one may assume that it would be easy to avoid a crazy guy patrolling the streets looking for ladies, but from what I hear the guys are quite tricky. Mitko told me that one of his colleagues had been stolen 3 times already, but has refused to marry. (see more about this social epidemic in my Kyrgyzstan Chapter)

.....................Story number two involves a PCV who went on a hike in the hills with his host sister. As he was climbing the hillside near his town he was approached by two men on horseback. The men started yelling at the Peace Corps Volunteer, and telling him that he was a Russian and was going to take this girl up on the hillside for sex. The volunteer tried frantically to explain his innocence, but the men would not budge on their assumption. After a bunch of bad noise, the horsemen dismounted and began to brutally beat the young American volunteer. The beating continued for about a half an hour until the local villagers rescued the PCV by scaring the horsemen off with shots fired from their Stolichnikovs (Russian AK- 47s). .....................................................................................................................................
Trading Peace Corps stories and experiences is always a good time. Our experiences are all quite diverse, and our country’s cultures’ significantly different. I hope to meet more PCVs and RPCVs in the near future and hear all about their strange and crazy experiences.

11-3-2007

We involuntarily woke up early in our cave because of an early arriving Japanese backpacker who found it appropriate to fiddle with his bag for about an hour at around 6am.

After Breakfast, Max, Ryan, and I decided to do a bit of exploring. We chose to venture into a nearby canyon and to follow it as far as we could. We ended up Hiking and climbing through the canyon for hours and exploring every interesting looking cave along the way. The canyons within the Cappadocia region are filled with abandoned cave dwellings carved into the sandstone hillside. Many of the caves are artistically carved and have several adjoining rooms. A few of the caves we explored expanded up to 4 levels, each one accessible only by a 3ft wide hole in the floor; a ladder of some sort must have been used during the time of occupancy. The Cappadocia region of Turkey reminded me of Petra, Jordan; both containing a vast number of intricately designed cave dwellings. The caves in Dureme are incredibly vast and practical but lack the astounding architecture, intricacy, and geological beauty of Petra, Jordan

After several hours of climbing, hiking, and exploring the region’s incredible canyons; we stopped in a nearby town and visited the castle of Ughisfir. The castle was basically a giant hill of sandstone that had been carved up like Swiss cheese. We comprehensively enjoyed exploring the castle and marveling at the view from the top. As I am writing now several days after leaving Cappadocia; I can’t help but think I left the region too soon. Four days was not nearly enough time to adequately explore the region and soak up its beauty and charm.

11-4-2007

Max and I bid farewell to our friend Ryan (he is part of the working world, and could only spare a couple weeks away from his job) and began our day by exploring the fairy Chimneys nearby our hostel. The massive sand pillars looked like giant.............um................carrots. Two of the large sandstone pillars were hollowed out with rooms carved into them; most likely used as ancient watch towers. With childlike curiosity, Max and I took the liberty of exploring these enormous naturally formed towers. Max and I used our MacGyver skills with a stick and a rock, and were able to hoist ourselves into the cave at the base of one of the towers. As we explored the cave I noticed a large hole in the ceiling. The 2ft hole in the ceiling turned out to be a passageway to the upper chamber. The barely accessible hole opened into a 3x3 square shaped chute that connected to the upper chamber 50ft above. The vertical tunnel had shallow notches (4inch x 4inch) about every 2 feet on each side of the shaft for footing. Even though several of the shallow foot holes were eroded and nonfunctioning, I decided to go for it. After about 10ft of climbing, I began to feel a bit uneasy about my predicament. My visibility was very minimal, and it became increasingly obvious that a slight footing error could easily result in a disastrous fall down the narrow chute. I was physically shaking by the time I had reached the top of the chute and peered my head into the secret room. I was around fifty feet high in the chute and only had a few inches of foot space on each side of me as a lifeline. Consumed by fear and adrenaline, I decided that enough was enough. I briefly observed the upper room before carefully beginning my decent down the dark chimney chute. I began to regain my composure as I slowly lowered myself down into the first chamber. I found it to be marginally more challenging on the way down due to the lack of visibility; my body seemed to block what little light was available. So anyways, that was my Indiana Jones adventure of the day. Probably not that exciting to read about..............but for me it was quite a rush.

11-5-2007

It rained all day; our optimistic hopes of enjoying another wonderful day of hiking were bitterly shattered. The day became even worse when Max returned from the town center with some very unfortunate news. Due to an unforeseen circumstance, he found it necessary to return home immediately. It was something that he definitely had to do and a stateside obligation that he is better for fulfilling. He will be missed greatly and will hopefully rejoin me on the road in the not so distant future. So it looks like I am now on my own and will have no one to share my adventures with. Life is full of unexpected changes; however, I am sure things will work themselves out. I just hope that I will be able to maintain enough courage and motivation to complete my journey as planned.

11-6-2007

I woke up early with a chalky throat, lingering frustration, confusion, and mild depression. I am on my own now, and have no other choice but to try and make the best of my situation. I boarded the 7:30am bus out of Dureme for Nevisher and soon after was on a bus from Nevisher to Nidge. After arriving in Nidge, I decided that I no longer wanted to pay the high prices for bus tickets, and would instead travel by hitchhiking. Unfortunately for the Turks, when the overexerted and collapsed Ottoman Empire was dissolved and divided, the Turks were left with a chunk of land with a very minimal amount of petrol resources. And because of this, petrol prices and correlating public transportation costs are disproportionately high in Turkey.

Despite the monsoon like rains and uncontrollable weather; I headed to the freeway in search of free transport. After about 30 minutes of drenching rain, a large semi-truck pulled over along the side of the freeway and gave me a lift.

The grisly looking middle aged truck driver greeted me with a warm smile and a “Mier Heba”(hello)………and I responded with “Mier Heba, teshecue edeyum”(hello,… thank you). The truck was on its way to Bagdad with a truckload of supplies for the American Government/Military. I did not pry for more details because the guy already thought I was English, and for the sake of peace and comfort I declined to correct him. After about thirty minutes of easy conversation with a bit of help from the simple phrases section of my Lonely Planet guide book,….we were both consumed by silence. To pass the time and break up the monotony of freeway travel, we occasionally smoked cigarettes and halfheartedly attempted to communicate with one another. A few hours later we stopped for lunch.

We met up with a crew of my driver’s raggedy looking trucker buddies at a roadside diner in an incredibly desolate area alongside the roadway. My driver’s pals kindly ordered me some traditional lamb kebab with flatbread, and also made sure I had a hot cup of black tea in front of me at all times. These working class Turks showed an incredible amount of kindness and hospitality as they took me under their wing and treated me(a stranger) as an honored guest. Soon after, we were back on the road to future adventures. We didn’t talk much during the ride; every so often he would point his leathery hand out the window and muster something incomprehensible (to me). I would then agree with him by nodding with an interested looking facial expression. I smoked about 5 cigarettes during my journey with the Turkish truck driver, not because I am a smoker, but because he offered, and I figured it would be more polite and sociable of me to smoke with my driver than to decline.

I arrived in Osmanyie as the fiery red clouds in the sky were beginning to submit their powers to the night. Darkness fell around me as I walked along the grassy roadside with my thumb raised. After about an hour of unsuccessful hitching, a mini bus pulled over and gave me a ride to Kadirli.

My eyes began to widen and the adrenaline began to flow as the minibus pulled into the small bus station in Kadirli. I was now submerged in the deep rooted jungle of cultural purity. A city far enough away from the tourist track to offer an accurate glimpse into the relatively unmodified rural Turkish lifestyle. Watchful eyes and inquisitive faces became attached to my every move as I began to walk across the muddy parking lot. Friendly locals began approaching me with warmth and enthusiasm. Several teenagers took me under their wing and were thrilled by the opportunity to practice their English with a true American. I had not been in Kadirli for more than thirty minutes before I was certain that I had found a geographic nugget of purity and unforeseen bliss. Kadirli was pleasantly simple yet bursting at the seams with culture. Though I found several aspects of this city to be somewhat mundane, I was impressed by how Kadirli appeared to be unspoiled by uncontrolled tourism and damaging industrialization. It was/is the perfect Turkish town, finally a place where I could slow down my pace and soak up a bit of knowledge, serenity, and Islamic culture.

At around 7pm I made a phone call and soon after was greeted by my host Gohkan. After spending a few minutes getting to know each other, my host enthusiastically escorted me to his home. Gohkan is a warm, genuine, young, (my age) English teacher with an appetite for travel and foreign cultures. One of the first things we spoke about was his recent journey to Iran. His stories punctured my curiosity and strangely left me unfulfilled. As much as I desire to visit Iran and gaze upon the historical cities of ancient Persia; I know in my heart that this is currently an impossibility. Until some major diplomatic changes are made, Americans will not be allowed to explore the magnificent wonders of Iran freely. Gohkan welcomed me warmly into his modest home and ensured me that I was now part his family. Gokhan’s father, mother and younger brother were all equally welcoming and hospitable. I immediately felt at home amongst my new host family, and was assured by them that I was welcome to stay as long as I wanted. How could these people be so kind to a complete stranger? I began to see a cultural pattern forming; Muslims expel kindness and hospitality in abundance. I am starting to feel as if I am in on a secret that the Western world is completely oblivious to.

Instantaneously, I began to appreciate Gokhan’s family dynamic. They were all very optimistic, happy, and humorous. Perhaps my favorite of the bunch was Gokhan’s father. He was an energetic jokester and the ultimate football fanatic. I began to appreciate his slew of English phrases that he would blurt out at random with an infectious smile. I found it very inspiring to see the way he encouraged his children to speak English.

After a delicious and hearty Turkish meal, we all sat down in the living room and watched a Turkish football match. As we sat on the couch socializing and watching the match, Gokhan’s mother continuously brought us food to snack on. It all started with some peanuts, next came some sort of hard grain snack that tasted like a mixture of raw wheat and sour kraut, and to finish the meal we were all given a large bowl of fresh fruit. I must say, I could really get used to this sort of lifestyle. It was great being treated as part of the family, and refreshing to be in a place where I am both accepted and appreciated. It has been far too long since I have felt the nurturing touch of a family atmosphere. Living alone and in far separation from any sort of familiar support network can weigh heavily upon ones soul. I remember not long ago when dark shadows began to linger within me at frightening depths. My often bleak and painful Peace Corps lifestyle is now in the past, and I am currently presented with glimmers of sunlight shown through a family that has no logical reason for treating me with such vast amounts of warmth and generosity.

Gohkan’s father took me to work with him the following morning and fed me a wonderful breakfast of unrefined honey, olives, salami, cheese, homemade butter and flat bread. We hung out in his stationary store for a few hours and shared tea as we met with all of his visiting friends and customers. For lunch we drove to Gohkan’s mother’s school where we ate more traditional Turkish food in the school’s cafeteria.

The kids at the school were animals; it was hilarious to see how excited they were to see a foreigner. After being escorted from office to office meeting the school officials and drinking mass quantities of Turkish tea...........I began to really enjoy the experience. Every time we entered the hallway or playground we were surrounded by amped up children begging me to shake their hand, and shouting out simple English phrases and words. The kids stampeded toward me like a pack of goats to a lone bale of hay. It was comical trying to eat lunch while group after group of kids would come into the cafeteria and swarm my table. My unmerited celebrity status was a bit overwhelming at times........and made me feel like an Ethiopian in a snow storm. The sporadically toothed security guard sporting a green military jacket and a warm smile had a rough time controlling the kids. He would yell and physically force the kids out of the cafeteria about every 5 minutes, or when the crowds became a bit wild. At one point he picked up a brick shaped metal napkin holder, and chased the school kids out of the room with his improvised weapon in firing position.

11-9-2007

Well...............the last few days here have been absolutely incredible! I have felt at home here thanks to the warmth and hospitality of my wonderful hosts. I have been paraded around town like a visiting son, and included in all sorts of interesting social events. I have been taken to three different schools and have done simple English lessons with several classes at each school. I mostly played a bit of Q and A with the kids.................and of course my questions were quite varied. The kids would ask me everything from: do you like milk...............to do you like Bush? Haha…. crazy kids…

I have been watching football matches with Gohkan’s father every evening and have enjoyed his company thoroughly. My time here in Kadirli has been remnant of my early Peace Corps life. My frequent boredom and awkwardness has been greatly overshadowed by the joys of basic integration and the knowledge and experienced gained through cross cultural exchanges.

Today is Gohkan’s birthday so we went out to lunch at his favorite liver joint. Gohkan considers himself a liver connoisseur and was eager to take me to the best goat liver restaurant in town. We traversed through a couple alleys to get to the cement sheltered BBQ pit. Foot high stools were pulled up along a narrow table on the edge of the pit & grill. I was seated directly in front of the chopping block that hosted large chunks of dark purple liver and yellow colored chunks of animal fat. The restaurant was charming, simple, and brutally authentic. A stack of metal skewers containing small chunks of liver and fat were placed in front of us on the long narrow grill. We enjoyed our large portion of liver skewers with spiced salad and flat bread while washing it down with salty beet. I had to adamantly insist on paying for the bill because in spite of it being Gohkan’s birthday, he sincerely wanted to pay for our meal.

After lunch, Gohkan and I met up with a couple of his buddies who run a book store in the middle of town. While waiting for the guys to arrive; I casually looked at a small red planner book before putting it back on the shelf and was soon after taken to a back room for some more nonverbal conversation and a cup of tea. After a few minutes the crew and I headed for the door, but before I made it to the front door, I was presented with a bag containing the red planner and a pen as a gift. I am beginning to feel inspired by all of the random acts of kindness that I have experienced within country;...............it will be very difficult for me to leave this wonderful country.

For dinner, Gokhan and I went to the home of a teacher at Gohkan’s school. I had met her the previous day at her school and was immediately invited by her to come to her home for dinner. I had originally planned to leave the following morning for Antakya…….but figured it would be wise to take advantage of the gracious hospitality while it was so prevalent and in such abundance.

Dinner was excellent and the experience was quite educational and interesting. We ate our meal on the floor because the prophet Mohammed ate his meals on the floor. It was quite an experience because I had no idea this family was so religiously conservative. I guess the wig should have given it away. When I met this women she was wearing a tacky and unattractive looking wig. I did not inquire about the wig simply because I assumed that she was a cancer patient, and that her health was not any of my business. I later found out that she wore this wig as a way to beat the system, and hold on to her religious values and principles. She used the wig as a make shift head scarf to affectively cover her real hair. This is completely necessary in her situation because of Turkey’s ‘Church and State’ laws. Women are not allowed to wear head scarves in government/State buildings, which include schools. It is the Turkish government’s controversial way of ensuring the survival of a secular and progressive Turkey.

11-12-07

After hesitantly leaving my recently acquired Turkish family; I hitchhiked to Antakya, a southern city with deep Christian roots. Nervousness and uncertainly began numbing my enthusiasm after a car load of cops pulled over and lectured me about hitchhiking. The interrogation was short lived due to the language barrier; essentially the cops became frustrated and left me alone. Shortly after, a couple college kids picked me up and took me to Antakya. When we arrived in Antakya they took me to their favorite restaurant for lunch. It was basically a few stools and a shabby newspaper covered table on top of a meat market. I slammed my head pretty hard on the ceiling as I made my way up the Stairs/ladder to the second floor. After a delicious kebab sandwich and some amusing diologue of gestures and broken English, they paid the bill and took me to the address of my host Koray. The guys were great…….and made me promise I would stay with them next time I was in Adana (their home town).

Koray (my host), is a secular Turk in his late 20s who works as a professor at a nearby university. He was hospitable, generous, and helpful but was slightly arrogant and judgmental when it came to American Culture.

Excursions-
11-13-07
I visited St. Peters Cave church the second day I was here. The Church is incredibly old and is said to be the first Christian Church in the world. Antakya is a city that is located within the region of ancient Antioch. (***briefly describe Antioch, and the history of St. Peters Church)

Next I visited the ruins of St. Simon’s monastery. I began by taking a dolmus (mini-bus) out of Antakya about 17km and then continued by hiking up the 7km road to the monastery. At the base of the steep dirt road, a couple Turkish guys in their early 30s picked me up and took me to the monastery. After we arrived at the abandoned monastery, the guys walked me around the ruins for about an hour. After we had explored the area in depth, we loaded back into their vehicle and headed back to their barely accessible village for lunch and tea. After the meal and a lot of comfortable silence (they did not speak a word of English)..they drove me all the way back to Antakya.

{ St. Simon’s monastery is another historical church……..basically, St. Simon was a wise and progressive prophet who do to being a bit stubborn and controversial ended up living a monk/outcast-like lifestyle on the edge of town. He started living and preaching on a small pillar. His followers greatly valued his teachings and constantly came to him for advice. His followers began to earn a reputation of doing whatever St Simon said. Sound familiar yet???????? This is the dude that sparked the game ‘Simon Says’. As the story goes, St Simon lived 40 years on the pillar while periodically raising its height. By the time St Simon passed away the pillar was said to be around 9-11 meters high.}
-There is also a St. Simon’s monastery in Northern Syria…………so uncontested authenticity has yet to be established.

11-14-07

Today I went on a long day trip to some of the surrounding villages. I began by taking a dolmus to Samandag, and from there walking 7km to the town of Hiderbey. This little mountain town is home to an absolutely enormous tree, which was my reason for the trip. Legend has it that Moses placed his staff on the ground in Hiderbey and from that point a tree began to grow;………so yeah, it must be a pretty old tree. After a cup of tea and a few photos, I hitched a ride on the back of a make shift tractor to Vakifli.

Vakifli is an old Armenian Village that overlooks the ocean………….besides the view, an old church, and some organic fruit………there was not much there. However, the local villagers were quite friendly and hospitable. I became locked into a social holding cell as one of the local pensioniers bought me a cup of tea and talked to me for about an hour in Armenian as he thumbed his prayer beads. The only thing I got out of the conversation was that he was Armenian and that his religion was Armenian Orthodox.

Next I headed to Celvik where I spent a few hours exploring a giant cave and the ruins of the ancient city of Seleucia Pieria. The ancient city was formed in 305BC,………and the ruins are absolutely amazing. The Tunnel of Titus is an enormous tunnel carved through the hillside in order to protect the area from floods. It is narrow and about 40 meters high in parts. I also really enjoyed the intricately carved chambers of tombs and graves that were carved into the hillside
So anyways I hope all is well back in the States…….Things are great here on the road. I am having the time of my life and learning and experiencing incredible things. Please keep in touch via email. I do get lonely from time to time……and of course I miss you all. Celvik was definitely the highlight of the day. The view from the top of the large hill was breathtaking. Pink clouds delicately reflected off the dark blue sea creating an image of heavenly beauty. The wind gently blew the tall brown grass along the hillside of scattered ruins. It was a perfect time and place for personal reflection and an introverted analysis of my recent experiences.

I am heading to Syria tomorrow morning………….so the adventure continues.



Ephesus:



Konya:




Pamukale:



Kadirli:


Cappodocia:








Hiderbey:


St Simon: pillar in middle

Lunch with my new friend and his family in village near by


St Peters:


Celvik:






More picks from Max are on www.flickr.com/photos/maxwellwoods