1. Syria is a modern, humble place where people are hard working and still gliding on some wave of self-empowering Arab nationalism. They have grown from 3 million people in the 1970s to 30 million today. Syria, unlike many of the Gulf states, is a "real country." Meaning that its people have a collective history--something all to rare in the Middle East.
2. Gas costs about 25 cents a gallon in Syria. Wow, they don't even have that much oil either.
3. How did the US and Syria get on bad teams? Well, Syria and a few other "socialist Arab states" sided with the USSR during the Cold War. The US sided with the Sunni fundamentalist states, like Saudi Arabia. And, the rest is really just history.
4. You can get your own room in a decent hotel that looks out at a crusader castle in Aleppo, Syria for $4 a night!
5. Syria has a world renowned internal security service. I have little doubt that this very blog post is being read by some Syrian in a uniform.
6. Both the best crusader castle in the world (Krak des Chevalier) and arguably the best Roman ruins in the Middle East (Palmyra) are in Syria.
7. Judaism is a recognized religion. Over 200 Syrian Jews are thought to be still living here.
8. Baathist Syria must be a lot like how Iraq was under Saddam: A secular, modern state that respects minorities, woman's rights and the rule of law. Democracy? Don't worry about it! But hey, I know it is unpopular to say in the West, but perhaps it is better this way.
9. Though many Syrian travelers are not from North America, many do visit this enchanting slice of the Orient. Most seem to be from Spain and Italy. A lot of random Eastern Europeans as well.
10. Never--and I mean NEVER--say anything that could be considered against the government.
11. Unlike Lebanon, the government in Syria keeps order. This means those little cameras that take pictures of peoples license plates and automatically send out tickets in the mail. People drive in between the lines, obey basic seat belt laws and even take it easy on the horn (well, for Middle East standards).
I have been to over 30 countries in my life. Syria is quickly climbing the latter in terms of "best to visit."
Friday, August 21, 2009
Monday, August 17, 2009
The Syrian-Lebanese boarder
By the time this post hits The Casbah I will be in Damascus. But for all intents and proposes, let's pretend that I am posting this live on the border between Lebanon and Syria.
My friend, Yousuf is my travel buddy. He is in his early 20s and is an American covert to Islam, whom I met traveling on the West Bank two years ago. He now lives and studies Arabic in Damascus. When anyone asks him what he is doing in Syria, his standard response is: “I’ve come to eat as much shwarma and learn as much Arabic as I can.” What a guy.
The service taxi from Beirut to the Syrian border is about 2 hours. It could probably be done faster, but the crude mountain road and the bridge that Israel blew up in the 2006 War makes the drive a little longer. The border, unlike most, has a checkpoint for each country; first you deal with the Lebanese, then you drive 5Km to the Syrian side and try it all again.
When I got to the Lebanese border my passport was taken out of the stack of our service taxi’s bundle. My visa had expired by 5 days. Early this week, I went to the government office in Beirut to try and get an extension. Official upon official kept telling me that five days should not be a problem and that one stamp is good for the “entire summer.”
After four different rounds of “La, you have to go to that window” (in Arabic of course) I finally got an extension that basically translated into a half-wet stamp and mustached mans initials. I was cleared to leave Lebanon.
We all piled back in the service taxi and sped the 5Km stretch of no-mans-land to the Syrian checkpoint. Fortunately we are in the high mountains so it’s not too hot. In fact, it is about 80 degrees and the duty free store that I am typing this rant next to has literally something for everyone! I think the Syrian conspiracy for making Americans wait so long at the border goes something like this: “We’ll let a trickle of Westernize goods into our country, but you have to sit at the place and buy ‘em.”
There are two basic ways to enter Syria if you’re an American: 1) spend $250 and send your passport to the US and wait for a month or, 2) show up, wait anywhere from 5-12 hours and trust that the guards are telling the truth that this is how long it really takes.
I met an American in Beirut a few weeks ago who told me one of the Syrian guards said to him in broken English: “We wait 8 years to come to American; you can wait 8 hours to come into Syria.” I suppose he had a point.
Upon entering the Syrian building that give entry stamps at the border, there are countless lines with no signs in English or in Arabic. The truth is that even the Syrians working there don’t know exactly which line is which. So, we stood in the wrong line for half an hour. It was for group visas. How could we have known?
After my friend Yousef and I found the “correct line,” we eventually got to the front, only to realize that we where still one booth off. A blonde-haired blue-eyed German dude, about our age, was in perfect position of the window and said, “Let me mix your passports with ours. It will probably go faster and I can reach him.” It sounded good to us and we all got our stamps—that is, except for me.
Unlike Yousef and the Germans', I did not have a visa. (Imagine how hard this would have been if George W. Bush would have put Syria on the Axis of Evil list a few years ago… my God.)
After a bunch of back and forth with these tightly groomed men in mustaches—and thanks to Yousef who speaks better Arabic than any other white American I have ever met—my new directions where to sit near the duty free shop and wait for “5 hours.”
It occurred to me that I might be getting the lighter end of the wait because I was in Syria a month ago with the Arabic program I was doing in Beirut—meaning I already have a Syrian stamp in my passport. The again, who really knows…
If there is one connection I can make from this experience it is that the concept of a bureaucracy is not universal. Anyone who understands anything about Arabs knows that they don’t work like this; rather, these bureaucratic systems they’ve adopted are more like a hollow shells that exist for the illusion of modernity. The Middle East is at heart a feudal region that has been operating through tribes and family connections for as long as anyone can remember. This is perhaps the most plausible reason for poorly functioning nation-state’s and bloated government institutions that hardly ever work.
In the meantime, I am teaching this 10-year-old Iraqi kid how to strum a G chord on my cheep acoustic guitar. He is from Baghdad and he is going to Lebanon on vacation with his family. They all like me and they keep taking pictures of us fumbling through both language and music. It is truly a sight to be seen.
My friend, Yousuf is my travel buddy. He is in his early 20s and is an American covert to Islam, whom I met traveling on the West Bank two years ago. He now lives and studies Arabic in Damascus. When anyone asks him what he is doing in Syria, his standard response is: “I’ve come to eat as much shwarma and learn as much Arabic as I can.” What a guy.
The service taxi from Beirut to the Syrian border is about 2 hours. It could probably be done faster, but the crude mountain road and the bridge that Israel blew up in the 2006 War makes the drive a little longer. The border, unlike most, has a checkpoint for each country; first you deal with the Lebanese, then you drive 5Km to the Syrian side and try it all again.
When I got to the Lebanese border my passport was taken out of the stack of our service taxi’s bundle. My visa had expired by 5 days. Early this week, I went to the government office in Beirut to try and get an extension. Official upon official kept telling me that five days should not be a problem and that one stamp is good for the “entire summer.”
After four different rounds of “La, you have to go to that window” (in Arabic of course) I finally got an extension that basically translated into a half-wet stamp and mustached mans initials. I was cleared to leave Lebanon.
We all piled back in the service taxi and sped the 5Km stretch of no-mans-land to the Syrian checkpoint. Fortunately we are in the high mountains so it’s not too hot. In fact, it is about 80 degrees and the duty free store that I am typing this rant next to has literally something for everyone! I think the Syrian conspiracy for making Americans wait so long at the border goes something like this: “We’ll let a trickle of Westernize goods into our country, but you have to sit at the place and buy ‘em.”
There are two basic ways to enter Syria if you’re an American: 1) spend $250 and send your passport to the US and wait for a month or, 2) show up, wait anywhere from 5-12 hours and trust that the guards are telling the truth that this is how long it really takes.
I met an American in Beirut a few weeks ago who told me one of the Syrian guards said to him in broken English: “We wait 8 years to come to American; you can wait 8 hours to come into Syria.” I suppose he had a point.
Upon entering the Syrian building that give entry stamps at the border, there are countless lines with no signs in English or in Arabic. The truth is that even the Syrians working there don’t know exactly which line is which. So, we stood in the wrong line for half an hour. It was for group visas. How could we have known?
After my friend Yousef and I found the “correct line,” we eventually got to the front, only to realize that we where still one booth off. A blonde-haired blue-eyed German dude, about our age, was in perfect position of the window and said, “Let me mix your passports with ours. It will probably go faster and I can reach him.” It sounded good to us and we all got our stamps—that is, except for me.
Unlike Yousef and the Germans', I did not have a visa. (Imagine how hard this would have been if George W. Bush would have put Syria on the Axis of Evil list a few years ago… my God.)
After a bunch of back and forth with these tightly groomed men in mustaches—and thanks to Yousef who speaks better Arabic than any other white American I have ever met—my new directions where to sit near the duty free shop and wait for “5 hours.”
It occurred to me that I might be getting the lighter end of the wait because I was in Syria a month ago with the Arabic program I was doing in Beirut—meaning I already have a Syrian stamp in my passport. The again, who really knows…
If there is one connection I can make from this experience it is that the concept of a bureaucracy is not universal. Anyone who understands anything about Arabs knows that they don’t work like this; rather, these bureaucratic systems they’ve adopted are more like a hollow shells that exist for the illusion of modernity. The Middle East is at heart a feudal region that has been operating through tribes and family connections for as long as anyone can remember. This is perhaps the most plausible reason for poorly functioning nation-state’s and bloated government institutions that hardly ever work.
In the meantime, I am teaching this 10-year-old Iraqi kid how to strum a G chord on my cheep acoustic guitar. He is from Baghdad and he is going to Lebanon on vacation with his family. They all like me and they keep taking pictures of us fumbling through both language and music. It is truly a sight to be seen.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Internet Censorship in Syria
Ok, so I am in Syria but I cant load the post I typed on my computer because the computer I am on in this cafe seems to be older than the old city itself. In the mean time, take a look at what I am working with over here.
Click here to watch a video on Internet Censorship. Thanks Wills.
Update: Somalia by the Sea? Don't think so. Consider this also an update to the superb piece The Rooster gave us a few days ago on Gaza.
Click here to watch a video on Internet Censorship. Thanks Wills.
Update: Somalia by the Sea? Don't think so. Consider this also an update to the superb piece The Rooster gave us a few days ago on Gaza.
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