The real Syria - where are all terrorists?

Next stop is Hama, around 1.5 hours south of Aleppo, home to some famous waterwheels and not much else. Hama is much more chilled than Aleppo. Wrong time of the year for waterwheels though – the water has not flowed here in what looks like years and all that’s left of the river are fetid bubbling green pools. Hope there’s more than waterwheels then…

As always, travelling to new places and experiencing different cultures challenges pre-conceived notions, and this is especially the case in Syria. Syria received a special mention by a former US administration (what was his name again?), which caused a huge drop in tourism... A quick check on the Australian government website suggests exercising a high degree of caution due to possibility of terrorist attacks in Syria.

However, despite these doomsday warnings, my experience suggests that terrorists don't await in Syria. On the contrary, Syria exudes a unique version of Middle Eastern hospitality and actively welcomes all visitors to their country. Syrians know a few words of English – mostly 'Where are you from?' and 'Welcome to Syria!' Its pretty standard for someone to hang out of a passing car or bus and yell 'Welcome to Syria', and the welcome is refreshingly genuine. People will stop you in the street to ask these 2 questions at least half a dozen times a day. Its hard not to feel welcomed by these people – each greeting is so warm and gracious.

This part of the Middle East is well known for its crusader history, and theres a massive ‘fairy tale’ castle, Crac de Chevaliers, a hundred kilometres south of Hama. The Crusaders knew something about location when they selected the site for this castle – it looms imposingly over the surrounding plains.

The rumours of the Crac being a fairy tale castle are true – this place looks exactly like I would dream it. Unlike sites in the western world, you can climb all over the walls, though the battlements and up and down all the passageways. Its also dirty, damp and dark, adding to the mystery and suspense. Only two stairways are blocked off – both are tiny spiral stairways disappearing into the dark bowels of the castle. And the view is spectacular from the top - you can see for miles.

In the evening, we go in search of a feed with a few fellow travelers, and meet a US basketballer playing in the local league in Hama. I didn’t imagine that basketball would be popular in Syria, but Chris is making serious cash – about US$6K per month plus all living expenses. According to Chris, that’s the low end of the pay scale – a friend of his in Iran is on US$50K per month…

Away in the desert are the Byzantine ruins of Palmyra, an ancient sprawling city set on an oasis. We head out here for a couple of nights with the intention of moving further east toward the Euphrates in a few days. Palmyra is amazing - there are 10 metre high columns in perfect line running parallel for hundreds of metres, a massive stone towers looking out across the surrounding valleys and another imposing crusader castle looking out over the entire city. Although the ruins are interesting, I find the desert just as interesting. It's so quiet and peaceful, but there’s a powerful energy out here. The moon is almost full and as the sun sets in the west, the moon is rising full and round in the east. It’s breathtaking sight to see.

South to Syria

Night bus was mental – the thought of ‘saving time’ did not return good dividends. Won’t be doing that in a hurry again. To add insult to injury, the dude at the bus company gave a special price – I’m pretty pissed at being ripped off and powerless to do anything about.

Antakya passes in a blur – its getting warm and skies are blue and clear, but I’m delirious after getting next to no sleep on the bus. I’m really nervous about the upcoming entry into Syria – we don’t have a visa and need to blag it at the border. I’ve heard horror stories of 24 hour delays and administrative nightmares. We decide to do it on our own steam too – flagging the package bus direct to Aleppo, we get a combination of micro-bus, taxi and shanks pony to cross the border. It’s hot, and tough going with our fully loaded backpacks on. I know I’m backpacking, but carrying the bloody thing for an extended time in the hot sun is not my idea of a holiday.

We pass through both borders with relative ease – the Syrian border official takes an obsessive interest in every page of my passport, and I realize he’s checking for evidence of Israel entrance. Any traces of excursions there mean no entry to Syria. And the visa, cushioned by a large ‘baksheesh’ payment, is no issue either. By 5pm, we’re strolling the streets of Aleppo, the northern Syrian city. Its way more in your face than Turkey, and more than once I have to shoo off predatory men intent on harassing Steph. Although she’s wearing a headscarf, there’s more attention than either of us would like and memories of India come flooding back.

At the end of the street where we are staying, there’s a falafel stand and holy shit, it’s really really good. At 25 pence per ‘sandwich’, it’s easy to hook into at any time of the day, and by the end of our time in Aleppo, we are regulars. The souqs, or markets, are a labyrinthine collection of covered alleyways, passages and tunnels, and there’s a shop for anything you want to buy. At first, its difficult to see any order in the souq, but after a while I get used to the way things work, although I’m not so good at getting my head around Arabic.

After Turkey, Syria makes me feel like a rich man - we change our Turkish Lira for Syrian Pounds and get about 18,000 pounds - one English pound gets around 65 Syrian pounds. The hotel costs us 960 pounds per night, so I won't be rich for long...