Wednesday, 20 August 2003 Paris, France 12:15 PM
Thankfully, an uneventful flight from Chicago to Paris, with Naeif recieving "SSSS" status going through security at O'Hare. Both of us had to practically disrobe, but the security personnel soon realized that my husband was a good egg, and we passed through quickly.

The plane trip over was smooth and unturbulant, but unfortunately stuffed with babies that screamed for the entire time. Argh. I chatted with an adorable Egyptian boy who immediately informed me that he wanted to be a pilot when he grew up, and commented on the pilots landing technique. He switched from perfect English for me, then to Arabic for Naeif and also told me he could speak Spanish. Totally great kid!

Now at DeGaulle Airport, possibly the ugliest airport I've ever seen - though I have not seen them all, so I will reserve judgement. Waiting for our flight to Damascus, Naeif is chatting in Arabic with all the people around us. I've noticed that when you have more than 2 or 3 Arabs in a room, it's an instant party - everybody becomes old friends instantly, and always discovers mutal friends, usually living within 5-10 miles of each other.

--
The flight to Amman is uneventful, typical packed flight. It's only after we drop off 3/4 of the plane in Amman to continue to Damascus that we start flying like rock stars! Naeif and I snag extra bottles of wine from the flight attendants, and we discover an American woman on board - traveling to see her Syrian husband and three children (they all live in the US but will move here soon). Naeif and I are practically jumping up and down - partly because we're giddy from lack of sleep, or maybe it was the little glasses of whisky the steward presented to us. Watch out for that short 50 minute hop from Amman to Damascus. Once you get the plane down to a few Syrians - yallah! Hafla! (party!)

We get to Damascus International, and it is still spotless and white, marble floors gleaming. Naeif is practically skipping, he's so happy. We quickly run into one of his friends, military guy, and whip thru passport control. Naeif's whispers of "She's American!" seem to actually make the military guys work faster, and we're on to baggage claim immediately.

Thankfully, Air France has NOT lost our luggage. I can now concur with my cousin Richard about the service - very good - and my sister in law about the coffee - great! Swoop thru the baggage claim doors, and there is everyone. Predictable hugging, shrieking, kissing and general merriment ensues. I'm swamped in cute little girls - my nieces! The little boys grab all the bags and take off for the car. We're on the road towards Jaramana, with little regard for those stripes on the road that divide the lanes. Yallah, back in Syria!

We're almost home when I realize I've lost my camera. It must have fallen out of my pants pocket on the plane. Frantic searches in the backseat does not locate it. We get home and there are more people - Naeif is so happy to be home, but we decide the best thing to do is call the airport immediately, and see if they found the camera. Marlin calls a friend she knows, as does Ghazwan. One of the family's friends comes over and collects us in his van, and we head back with Hassan (another brother) me and Naeif. The good news is, they've found the camera - it had indeed fallen out of my pocket on the plane. We sit in one of the military offices with a bunch of guys in uniform - apparently all friends of Naeif, as the greetings are enthusiastic - under enormous portraits of Basher Assad Jr. and Sr. We whip down a couple shots of kahwa muddher - VERY strong coffee, retrieve the camera and zip back to Jaramana, about a half hour away.

Back at the house, the party is still going on, and I join my girls in a Debke already in progress. Thuraiya informs me I have two new debke dances to learn now in addition to the one I know. We spin around the salon for awhile, and then I flip out to the back porch, where there are dozens of people and predictably, lots of food including SHWARMA!

By now, I'm REALLY feeling tired, so I bid everyone "tissbah all rheer" (Goodnight, I'm going to sleep) and have a much needed shower and retire to my cement-like mattress.