The Road to Syria

Deciding to venture off the Turkish track, My friend Robin (Canadian, 26, English Teacher/ Aspiring Journalist and World Leader)  and I decided to head south, into the Middle East. Syria, with it’s shared border with Turkey, cheap currency (Syrian Pounds,  if you were wondering) and exotic allure made it the perfect destination. As icing on the cake, I had met several travelers who had just past through the region to sing it’s praises. So, we marked it on our calendars, and planned to meet in eastern Turkey, in the border city of Antakya.

Antakya, as well as being the gateway to Syrian- bound travelers, is also a marvel in it’s own right. Known in biblical times as the city of Antioch, this sea-side settlement has a long history and remarkable religious importance. St. Peter and St. Paul lived here for 3 years, preaching out of a certain cave-church, spreading the words of Christianity at the beginning of it all. We visited this church on our way home from Syria; perched high on a hill, we soaked in the warmth of the sun and the peaceful ambience of the chapel.

Now, coming into Antakya, I arrived late, via BUS. Why is ‘bus’ in capitals, do you ask? Well, my friend, that is because, to get to this side of the country, there was an ungodly excess of this thing.  I had taken a 19 hour bus from Fethiye, my little port heaven, to the buslting masses of Gaziantep in Eastern Turkey. There, I stopped for a few hours, taking a short trip into town to search out the baklava this city is so very famous for. I found the place my handy Lonely Planet dictated was the best, and oh, did it live up to it’s title!

From Gaziantepe, I took a 4.5 hour bus south,  to Antakya. I arrived around 9pm, loitered around the station, and patiently awaiting the arrival of my friend. I met some very interesting characters, one of which was Tama. Tama, a very kind and helpful Syrian man, was currently travelling on business, as had had all over the world. He was eager to help me on my venture into Syria, and expressed disappointment in the Western media for painting it such a dangerous and volatile place. He walked me though my coming visit, warning me of the scams, and giving me advice. He reiterated what I had heard before - that Syria is safe, and the people are extremely friendly. He gave me his name and number, inviting me to his home if I were to venture towards Homs.

Robin arrived in the wee hours of the morning, having taken then train from Istanbul (the famous Orient Express route!). We hung out at the bus station, where the restaurant  patron lent us his couches for a couple hours. He even offered us free food and drinks, which felt a bit odd, as we were in a restaurant. At 5am, we were up and waiting to board our bus to the border.

After an hour on the road, we reached the Turkish/ Syrian border. We exited the bus, and formed a line; one by one, the Turkish official stamp-approved out exit. Then, we re-boarded and drove for about 10 minutes through the large, hilly expanse that was No Man's Land. I was genuinely surprised by this. I guess I had expected parallel lines of grave-looking army men, standing meters apart, staring fiercely into the eyes of the 'enemy'. Overactive imagination, I guess. Not the first time!

On the Syrian side, we applied for our visas. After a few questions about the next couple days, Robin obtained her visa- with a hefty 56USD fee. I,  of different nationality, and, frankly, not one on particularly good terms with this country, had to wait for approval from Damascus. After 3 hours of waiting , the very friendly chief (a young, strapping, 30-something) informed me they were working on it - the line in Damascus was busy.

2 hours after this, he invited me into his office for tea and a chat, along with another high ranking official.  They were both very kind, apologizing for the wait. The chief gave me his name and number as well, encouraging me to visit him if I made it to Homs, his home town as well as Tama's. I finished my tea, said a number of thanks, and headed out with Robin.

We had met a Turkish man in the lobby, and he informed us he was heading to Aleppo (known as Halep) too. He offered us a ride, and we took it cautiously. Though you can most times distinguish the genuine people from the bad ones, we still were on edge.

Exhausted, we arrived in Halep that evening. We checked into the historic Hotel Baron, where the likes of Agatha Christie, Lawrence of Arabia, and Teddy Roosevelt have stayed, among many other names.

The owner himself, was everything we could have wanted. He made us feel right at home, treating us to tea and coffee, and helping us with everything. He even drove us personally to the old city the next day. Wallid was such a wonderful person to meet; the embodiment of Syrian hospitality and generosity.

 It was a very nice hotel; the museum feel and our extended exhaustion gave us some of the best sleep we've had in a while. After two nights of very little of that sweet stuff, it was definitely needed!