The Mad and the Bad

We’re now in Syria, the self-styled Cradle of Civilization, and very glad to be here. The ubiquitous Ataturk we saw in Turkey has now been replaced by His Omnipresence, shown above, who can only be referred to in a coded way for reasons of self-preservation. Though from the customs and immigration procedures we experienced, there’s not much to worry about with the Syrian government for tourists – they want the money.

But first, we had a great last few days in Turkey in the ancient city of Antioch, or Antakya as the Turks called it. They’ve only controlled Antioch for some 70 years, it was previously part of Syria but geographically it fits far better with Turkey; the change in scenery to stock ‘Biblical-looking’ begins at the border. Antioch’s a great little town and has a long history on the Silk Road as the largest Roman town in the region through which all east-west traffic came. It has only a couple of hundred thousand inhabitants now, but in the 1920s over 250,000 died in an earthquake. We walked up above the town to visit St. Peter’s cave, which more accurately was owned by St. Luke and is believed to be the oldest place of worship still in existence from the early Christian period. Services are still available for groups of pilgrims, but for phonies like us, perhaps not. We’ve left our pilgrim credentials at home this time. Unfortunately there were rocks falling from the cliffs above the two times we tried to visit and it was closed. Antioch has a fantastic collection of Roman mosaic floors in its museum, a sprawling covered market and a couple of hamams. We looked

into one rather seedy hamam in the market and found we’d stepped into a grungy underworld, the sole attendant was pacing round dressed in only his underwear and a grubby dust-filled wig. He saw us and went to put on an incredibly filthy towel round his waist and beckoned us over, but let me tell you there was no way I would lie face down on a massage table with this guy in charge, or face up for that matter. We high-tailed it out of there and went to the one just behind our hotel, which also needed a bit of a refurb but had bags of character and antiquity to it. The hamam we had visited in Antalya touted itself as being 600 years old, and it probably was, but I suspect that many of them are of similar vintage. Only in Antalya we paid about 17 Euros for the full monty – soap massage and oil massage. Here we paid only 2.50 Euros for just the bath, which it really isn’t, it’s a mild steam sauna and a good washing with running water poured over ourselves from small pales. It was a bit decrepit but for 2.50 it’s the equivalent of the fast-disappearing local public baths in Japan, the sentos. It’s a great tradition, a chance to actually use and experience something that’s been around for hundreds of years for a price that is next to nothing. Hamams always have small domed roofs with glass stars or hexagons cut into the roof in odd (or rather, sophisticated) geometric shapes and are usually near mosques, though everything is near a mosque in Turkey and so far, in Syria too.

We had a dream-ride from Antioch to Aleppo in Syria, two days of steady warm tailwinds and beautiful farmland scenery. I didn’t have a Syrian visa and was hoping to get one at the border, and was not disappointed. In fact Michael had more difficulty getting in as they asked him the key question in their visa approval process, a question concerning his previous regional travels. He’s been bounced at the border before by Syria, and this time they got very excited by a visa from Mauritius, thinking it was this other country referred to by travellers only as ‘Disneyland’. But we made it, and while waiting at the border we met round-the-world motorbiker Nick Sanders, who interviewed ‘Knight of the Road Sir Michael Kiljan’ for a podcast on his website http://www.nicksanders.com .

The scenery changed drastically as we passed through the line of low hills that marks the border between Turkey and Syria. It’s immediately more rocky, arid and ‘Biblical’ looking and buildings are low and cream-coloured. Goat country. We stopped to change money at the first village we came to, getting a not so great rate but appreciating the convenience – and a cold beer. Syria’s not dry – that’s great news, and a good indication that Syria is not a country of religious extremism. The Syrian beers were all around the 10% alcohol mark so I picked a familiar Turkish beer – only to find it was a mere 9% alcohol after I’d bought it. In the euphoria of getting a visa and our both going to a new country together for the first time, I chugged it down and we headed off into a fine evening ride, but instead of finding horses and carts, we rode amongst the most maniacal drivers I have ever experienced, it was like India at high speed. When the ten year-old drove past us on a tractor towing a water tanker, that was it for me. I really regretted the beer, it made it hard to concentrate with traffic around us flying by, stopping, starting and sometimes reversing without warning, yelling and honking at us while the road broadened and narrowed for no reason. It got worse as we approached Aleppo, I think it was payday and everyone was off the fields and heading into town. Syria’s a mandatory crash-helmet country for bikers, sad to say. The road crossed over a section of Roman road in excellent condition after 2000 years and still in use today.

We knew we wouldn’t make Aleppo that evening, and as light fell our choices evaporated as to where we could stay for the night. A sign for camping led us 2 km up a side road and to the home of a Belgian-Syrian couple. Crystal, also seemingly dressed as an extra for Life of Brian, is a Belgian woman now living in Syria. She hasn’t converted to Islam, being a non-believer (shhhh….) but she chooses to dress that way, and to sit on the ground when she wants to, refusing offers of a mat. They have a few small businesses and take in campers and she’s starting to grow food on their half-acre plot. She’s done a good job with the solar showers and clean toilets too.

We spent an hour finding the hotel my guidebook recommended, the Al Gawaher, but would have found it in minutes if only I hadn’t lost my compass. A hotel could be a few blocks away in this town and no one would know of it. It’s the best budget place in Aleppo and they let us camp on the roof where we have plenty of space and shade and a view. The breeze at night is wonderful and we watch the neighbours on their roof-tops. They all seem to be pigeon-fanciers and many have a soft spot for the hordes of cats who wander the side streets and roof-tops at night. Dogs are nowhere to be seen, this being a Muslim land.

The food was a big hit straight away, especially at lunchtime when it’s freshly prepared. The local fast food – falafels and a soupy mix pronounced ‘fool’ is just to my taste. ‘Fool’ consists of large beans like fava beans, chickpeas, some yoghurt and olive oil and spices. There are so many more spices than I have eaten in this kind of food before. We’ve had cups of coffee with cardamoms mixed in, mint leaves with everything, new variations on baklava. It’s very inventive. Dinner is a bit duller, it looks as though it’s been prepared earlier and just kept warm, though if we could speak Arabic we could ask for something to be made fresh for us. The water is drinkable as far as I can see, but getting a bottle avoids some of the rather excessive handling that drink, food, cups and plates etc usually seem to get.

We went to see the Citadel, the enormous castle that still dominates the now sprawling city. Every building is the same dusty dun colour and there’s been little new building in the last forty years, a lot of the newer buildings faring worse than their much older neighbours, as is so often the case in the Middle East. The wall the Byzantines built around Constantinople has lasted much longer than the half-century old slums next to it. The walk back from the Citadel through the covered souk is at least a mile long.

We strolled around the Christian quarter as it seems to be the oldest surviving medieval neighbourhood in Aleppo, lots of narrow alleys and low archways that keep cars out.

It’s a very tolerant country in terms of religion, there are a couple of Armenian churches, the larger Syrian Orthodox Church and the Greek Catholic church we went to this morning. There were just half a dozen worshippers plus two very dubious-looking sinners at the back and a grumpy priest who we thought spoke and sang in several different languages through the service. I thought it a brave little outpost of Christianity but when we went to the Forty Martyrs Cathedral almost next door to watch a bit of the Armenian Orthodox service, there were over a hundred people and it looked like a thriving place. We have seen a few heavily wrapped Muslim women in the streets, but the percentage overall looks to be less than one might find on the streets of London – my feeling is the Muslims over here are more moderate than the ones that made it to Britain, as a generalisation. We saw a lot of Bedouins working the fields when we rode in and saw their tents too, but in the whole time we spent in Turkey and here I have only seen one man with the full ‘mujahedeen’ look, ZZ Top beard and all. Aleppo’s streets have a wonderful variety of religious dress and of course non-religious dress with no feeling that anything is being imposed on women. Shorts are OK for sports or male tourists though I did see some kids following a western woman in shorts and laughing at her. Talking of dress, someone in turkey did ask us if we were in the military, which made me a little nervous. Actually these clothes are working out great, the shirt sometimes gets soaked while riding but is breezy and easily washed out, and keeps the sun off very well. I didn’t wear it for the entry to Syria though. Perhaps we should tell them we’re Al-Aksa Martyrs Brigade veterans? Mike vetoed that idea.