I was happy to spend the evening curled up a courtyard armchair at the Al-Rabie Hostel, unwinding. Thunder and lightning seemed miles away among the company of new companions. Having spent the past three days intensely sightseeing through most of Syria, it was nice to relax. The next morning, however, the rain was still falling and the hostel windows were dark and foreboding. I made an attempt to disregard the bad weather and forged out towards the Old City to explore with my friend from Capadoccia, Alex. As we took to the streets it became clear that the weather was not the only thing bleak about the city. The inhabitants also seemed to lack vibrancy and color. No brightly colored headscarves, no enthusiastic smiles and warm well-wishers saying "welcome to Syria." Even the red and white keyifas worn by the men seemed somber. There's a sour smell of sweet and sickly milk in the air. The trickle of a river that passes through the city center was dirty and smelly. And we were followed by strange men in the souqs. I was expecting a touch of modernity in this capital city and looking back on it, I'm sure it was the weather that made this new world appear so dismal, but at the time the whole city felt oppressive. I tried to rectify the situation by sitting in a coffee shop in the botanical gardens (a miniscule patch of green within a sea of brown buildings) with a hot cup of "French Style Coffee" (Nescafe, with powdered milk - ew!). It didn't help. I came home to a somber crowd at the hostel, none of whom were excited by the idea of celebrating Halloween. I wanted to go home and eat Reese's Cups, don a ridiculous costume and drink jungle juice. Instead, I was in an Arab country where alcohol is scarce, Halloween doesn't exist and candy options are scant at best.
With the rain still falling the next day, again I ventured out to see the Umayyad Mosque, a beautiful structure I'd seen only in pictures during my Islamic Architecture class. It took much more self-determination than it should have to get out the door, but I kept having to send encouraging messages to myself... Damascus is the longest continuously inhabited city in the world, surely this counts for something? Surely I should give it just one more day? Though the mosque was spectacular, I returned to the hostel drenched and depressed. There I found Alex, Anna and Santiago debating whether to face the weather themselves. I almost urged them against it, hoping they'd be inclined to stay at the hostel, even though the power was out, making the courtyard eerie and cold. With the stormclouds brooding above us, we took to the streets one more time. We wandered into the (slightly more) modern part of Damascus, passing the countless knock-off watch and clothing stores, nut and cigarette stalls, baklava and kebab shops all in search of something familiar and Western.
We puddle-jumped (unsuccessfully) to the Cattan Hotel, where we found the "cinemacity" complex. There, we found a slice of heaven - the new Michael Jackson movie playing in English on a big screen. For 300 Syrian Pounds ($6) we sank into luxurious movie seats with salty popcorn and felt our socks dry out in the warmth of the heated theatre. Watching MJ performing Thriller in a Middle Eastern city the evening after Halloween made me teary-eyed. There was no justification for it - my mind kept telling me I should feel sympathy for losing a wonderful performing artist. And I suppose I was a little... but mostly I was just recognizing a sense of homesickness and I was taking the time to feel a bit sorry for myself.
But I walked out of the theatre a new woman, ready to face the rest of the Middle East. I realized that I had made a conscious decision to come away from the familiar. I realized that home would always there to come back to, or find a tiny element of, even in the most remote landscapes. I realized I'd begun to forget some of the things I had become accustomed to in my other life - instant access to music, TV and internet, for example. High heels, hair straighteners and mini skirts. My teddy bear. More than anything else though, I realized how happy I was about my decision to be here. Every traveler I've spoken to has mentioned that being on the road has its euphoric highs and monumental lows. Having had almost a month living in happy revelry, a little hitch makes me feel human. And now I'm back on track again.
Santiago and I took a taxi across the border to Jordan yesterday, and spent the night in another typically gritty and unappealing Middle Eastern hostel in another gritty and unappealing capital city. I had my first hitch-hiking adventure to get to the ruins of Jerash (a bit sad and pathetic in comparison to Ephesus and Palmyra) and Ajloun castle (small but wonderfully situated for views of the Jordanian landscape). It was a thrill to take this first step, and I'm sure it won't be the last time I catch a ride with strangers. Santi is an epic traveler, who doesn't let anything get in the way of his wanderlust. He has been traveling all over the world for over ten years (on and off) and really knows his stuff. It is a joy to travel with someone so knowledgeable, and I just tend to stand aside and watch him work magic with the locals, disputing prices for taxis, finding the cheapest doner stalls, and bargaining for my new towel (I left my old one at the last hostel... what an idiot!) Santi's travel advice: be patient. It's easy to get scared, overwhelmed and angry when asking for help, especially when five Jordanian men are shouting advice in broken English, but more often than not, by staying calm and collected and wearing a friendly smile, you can get the information you need. Or a free ride!
Tomorrow I cross into Israel (Occupied Palestine, to many here), for a quick visit before returning to Jordan and south to sunny Egypt and much needed sun!