Saturday, 23 August 2003 Jaramana, Syria
97 degrees, SUNNY!

Naeif and I sleep until NOON! We get up, have a quick breakfast and beat feet out of Jaramana to Damascus. We're heading to the High Institute for Music and Ballet, Naeif's alma mater, so he can check it out and see if any of his friends are still there. As we're exiting the cab, serendipitously, there are two of his very good friends - Hassan and Nahill, a French horn player and a Trumpet player, both current music students. Nahill is studying in Genoa, Italy and speaks English very well. Myself, a trumpet player as well, enjoys chatting with him. These Syrians get around! We go into the Institute - the music school in Damascus is very new - large and modern - the home of the Syrian National Symphony of which Naeif is a former member, 2nd chair French Horn and the first French Horn major to graduate from the Institute.

Visitors to Damascus would enjoy a concert by the Syrian National Symphony - they have several concerts during the year, and are quickly becoming a world class orchestra. Inquire at the High Institute for concert schedules - there are also dance and theater performances.

Inside the school, Naeif sees another friend, then another and soon his name is being announced over the intercom. Naeif Rafeh in the House! Ossama, an oboe player, and very nice guy hangs out in the cafeteria with us, and then we decide to go to Damascus, to the coffee shop of the Cham Palace.

It's meltingly hot outside, and I don't have the desire to walk as much as I did last time I was here. In the cab, it's still hot, no air conditioning. The Cham coffeehouse is very swanky, marble Arabic palace style with fountains - and blissfully cool. Several Saudi businessmen are sitting and chatting, with their spotless white robes and headgear.

I've seen many Saudis in Syria. They are unmistakeable, with their white robes and white or red and white checkered keffiyah headgear. They are accompanied by one or more wives (I saw one guy with three) completely robed in black with tiny slits for just their eyes. Almost all of the women have one or two children in tow and are power shopping, clutching many bags. I saw one Saudi man in Bhab Touma, the picture of a cross between paternal adoration and decadence - in a store for baby clothes, picking out many adorable baby outfits, one after the other, while smoking up a storm, filling the store with cigaret smoke. Brand new Mercedes and Jaguars glide thru the Damascus streets unscathed, with Saudi Arabia license plates.

After the coffee shop, Ossama leaves us, and we head to Souk al Hammidiyyah. Last time I was here, there was a lot of construction going on. Read, a lot of guys sitting around drinking tea, all dusty. Now, the souk is packed with new shops, clothing, "Oriental" goods, cheap belly dance costumes for the tourists, lingerie, furniture, ice cream shops, food, nargilahs - anything you can think of. Inside the souk, I start feeling weird - weak and hot. Thinking a glass of tea will pick me up, we head to Nofara. The last time I was here, I used to hang out at al Sham, the tea shop across the way, all the time. Today, we opt for Nofara, as al Sham is in direct sun. We order tea, and I'm sweating a lot. I'm feeling very dizzy and disoriented, can't even sip my tea. Naeif swoops me out of there, and we head to a restaurant where it's cool. At al Essar, one of the beautiful old houses in Damascus that's been made into a restaurant, we have a nice salad, hummus, some mineral water and kabobs, and I start to come back to life. Our restaurant bill comes to less than US $5 per person.

There are many of these old houses in Damascus, made into restaurants. The terrace is filled with tables, and when the hottest part of the day has passed, a canopy is rolled off and it becomes an outdoor cafe. Some rooms are furnished with traditional Syrian sitting room furniture - curlicue wood, inlaid with different colored wood veneers and mother of pearl. Also, if you're looking for an actual bar to enjoy a glass of wine or your mixed drink of choice, most of these restaurants cater to tourists, and have a full array of drinks to enjoy.

We need to pay a visit to the (now) former Maestro of the Syrian Symphony. Naeif's conductor when he played French Horn with the Symphony for eight years. He suffered stroke, while conducting - the poor guy collapsed off his podim into the Concertmaster, six or seven months ago, and is still convalescing. He's married to a British woman, they have an apartment in Damascus. We head up to their place, it's a VERY elegant 60's-ish apartment right off a busy street. It's full of books, African art, piles of sheet music, records and CDs, audio equipment and . . . a blaring TV which gets turned off immediately. The conductor is a bit out of it - poor stroked-out guy, but seems to liven up after we all start chatting and laughing - in fact he seems quite lively, despite his unfortunate condition. He whispers to Naeif that he thinks I'm cute - awww! His wife is absolutely great, and I enjoy speaking English with her a great deal. Their two adult children are there also, both around my age. The woman is here with her mother, taking care of the conductor, and the son shows up later with his Lebanese girlfriend who has just had radial keratonomy surgery that morning! I immediately begin chatting with her about it, being somewhat interested in eyesight improvement, and she's a huge proponent of it. Seems to have been an utter success for her. Everyone's laughing and talking in Arabic, English and a little French, and I'm feeling quite stupid for only knowing one language. The conductors wife pronounces me "extremely articulate" as I'm talking about this blog, and my other travel writing projects, so that makes me happy.

After the conductors house, I want to zip to the Goethe Institute, which was one of my major hangouts last time, for a little glass of shay. Naeif heads off in what I protest is the wrong direction, but he's confident. I let him lead me thru streets that I know are incorrect, but it's a possibility that I'm disoriented about the streets that fan off in a wheel shape from the corniche near Abu Romaneh. Finally, Naeif says "Here it is!" and I say "Ah, yes. The British Embassy". He's been away a long time, starts laughing and says "Habibi, you know Dimashq better than me!" We hop in a cab and go to the REAL Goethe, just where I left it, however my friend is not there - he works mornings. A quick tea in the garden, and we walk off towards Bhab Touma. On the way, Naeif points out a coffeehouse, Mermer, where Naeif used to take quite a few of his ladies - he was a pretty swank, stylin' guy when he was in Damascus, I can see. I feel lucky, at least.

After we get to Bhab Touma, I feel sort of achey, weak and tired again, so we to back to Jaramana. A few of Naeif's friends are waiting for him, but all I can do is lie on the couch, even refusing offers of Barada. Think I've been hit by a li'l travel sickness, uncharacteristically.

After we're home awhile, Hussein invites us over for nargila and a visit on his terrace. Since I had such a great time the last time I was there, I decide I can rouse myself for a visit. We walk over, about a half block, and are greeted by an enormous, crazy fountain painted copper with broken Greek vases spilling out water into a pool. It's over the top and I love it. We spend a long time there, and are joined by Naeif's cousin Omar's (who lives in Chicago) sister, her husband, their son and adorable daughter Miera - who I utterly fell in love with on my last visit. Miera and I are never more than six inches from her, I'm either taking photos of her or kissing her, or she's dancing for me. What an utterly gorgeous little girl!!

We stay there until 3 AM, then wobble home. Naeif gets tons of amusement out of my attempts to use the Arabic toilet in his parents house. I'm slightly trashed, though, and while I do complete the task successfully, I manage to squirt myself in the head with the hose, and also soak my feet. What's a girl to do when she marries a cute guy, and finds it necessary to learn an entirely different concept for going to the bathroom?