Palmyra

Palmyra was the next stop on our list. A 4-hour bus ride from Damascus, we arrived in early afternoon. We met some Australians on the trip, the only other western travelers on a rather intimidating busload of surly Syrian men, and followed them to the hotel they had selected from their guide book. Here, we learned that the owner, Muhammed, was a Bedouin. The Bedouins are an ancient nomadic tribe, and have lived peacefully out in the desert for centuries. He informed us that his tribe also provided accommodation, and, with eager nods, Robin and I made our decision.

Muhammed tied me a desert hat, and we hopped into the back us his pick up truck with his friend, Abdul. We were off for the night, into the sand.

We arrive for a late lunch with a tour group, apparently here for only the meal. After being entertained by some traditional song and music, we sipped tea and ate. Delicious!

I took a motor bike ride with Muhammed after this, He answered my many questions about Bedouin life as we zipped through the desert basin. I even gor to drive the bike myself – an exhilarating experience!

This particular tribe had been here for 8 years. His family,  immediate and extended, lived nearyby. They could easily find eachother through the seemingly invisible roads beaten in the sand. Muhammed’s family has a heard of about 70 camels, and hundreds of sheep and goats, The government funds schools in the desert for the children, and they carry on their way of life largely interrupted. The healing powers of camels milk (mixed with some camel urine) somehow came up in the course of the conversation– and he related some stories of people who have come from all over the world for a period of months to stay bere, drink this unsavory mixture, and been cured.

Muhammed, however, was very savvy on current events. He spoke 4 languages with near fluency, and had a very open-minded approach to life that I would never have expected from a member of such a traditional culture. He had traveled to other cities, into Turkey, and to Barcelona. He was so warm and inviting, so eager to share his life. It was such a pleasure to meet him, and an honor to stay the night in his tent.

Later on, we rode camels into the sunset. One camel, quite bent on not following commands, continued to make its way to water troughs, and small patches of  snack-greens. It was hysterical. With cries of “Hatz!” and a threatening purr of the small motorbike, it finally surrendered.

 

That night, we enjoyed the desert’s cool silence with two good-humored Spaniards, with impeccable English, and 3 Bedouins. We had enlightening conversation about human nature, world events, media, other nationalities, the Beduoin experience, and so many more topics, We smokes nargile and drank tea by the light of the fire, curled up in handsome handmade sheep’s wool blankets and a overflow of soft cushions. It was a night I would never forget; people of such different worlds coming together, sharing opinions, experiences, food, and sleeping space. It gave me a great confidence in the human race.

The next day, after a delicious breakfast of boiled eggs, pita, and jam, we were back in the ‘saddle’ so to speak. The lengthy camel rides of yesterday had left us aching in certain areas, lending a certain unpleasantness to this morning’s trot. It was an hour to the ruins of Palmyra, and, by the end, I was begging to be let off. I’m still a novice with camel riding.

The ruins were spectacular, even more so being set against the sandy landscape. Robin and I clamored through the ruins of temples, palaces, libraries, and main streets. It was, if you can believe it, bigger than Ephesus.

Exhausted, we grabbed a bus back to Aleppo that evening,  via  the city of Hama, for an early departure the next morning for Turkey.  A dizzying whirlwind of travel, but a string of unbelievable and unforgettable experiences.