Sunday, 7 September 2003, Jaramana, Syria
70 degrees, SUNNY, pleasant

Wake up, breakfast on the terrace. This is a routine I could get used to. Naeif opts to spend the day at home with his family, and rest after the crazy Arak party, so we head off to the first destination of the day, the US Embassy. US registrants need to get to the embassy to register before 11 AM, and we're leaving at 10:30 AM, so I'm not too sanguine about our luck at completing this task. Sure enough, we get a clueless bus driver that succeeds in displaying an area of Damascus that I've never seen. We're taking an incredibly circuitous route, and then we're back by the automotive area, where the highway back to Jaramana starts. I start getting irritated, and repeat our destination, like this will help him navigate. Finally, we're on the right track, but by now it's 11 AM. I know that even if I see my "guy" at the Embassy, I can't fight the 11 AM deadline. We succeed in getting Jeremy and Diana's cards to register, but cannot submit them. Ah well, it's time for tea anyway.

Diana is slightly woozy today, so the garden at the Goethe Institute is a welcome stop. We greet my favorite cafe owner, and get tea and coffee and some croissants and juice. We spend awhile here, until we're feeling cooled off enough to continue. It's a day to walk, and walk we will. We leave the Goethe, and head down Al Malekee, the street where the Goethe is located.

When I walk thru Damascus, there's no real "route" that I take, I just sort of wander, and turn a corner if I see something interesting, heading in the general direction of the final destination - which in this case is Omayyad Mosque and Old Damascus. We walk thru the "lazy souk" that Naeif and I visited the other day, and through that to the area near Martyr's Square and the al Hejaz train station. While crossing the street in this area, my leg grazes a car fender in motion, and it catches one of the cargo pockets on the pants I'm wearing. I'm unharmed, but my entire thigh is now exposed from the enormous rip in my pants. Arf. At this time, we're in dire need of a hammam, so I herd us over to the tea shop near al Hejaz, which is slightly above the street, and a good place to stop. While we're enjoying our tea, a man comes over with a needle and thread. Syrians are nothing if not thoughtful.

Feeling strong again, we head down the street to Souk al Hamidiyyah. On this day, it is stuffed with people. We manage to crush our way through it, but after awhile, have to stop for refreshing orange sodas. While we're hanging out near the orange soda man, he suddenly walks up with two large safety pins - he's noticed my ripped pants plight. I gratefully accept his offer and pin up the pants - maybe I'll start a new trend here in al Sham - the name the locals use for Damascus.

Between where the mosque begins and the souk opens up are some handcraft shops with very nice things - Damask tablecloths, furniture, coffee pots and such. We browse around, looking at the silver hammam water pourers (soup bowl size with Arabic script on them - very cool looking), bad paintings and textiles. Finally the three of us buy some old drawings ripped out of a book of 1001 Arabian Nights for 350 S.L. each. We don't have our negotiator with us, but these are small ticket items, and I think we want to bust out on our own, and make a few purchases - besides, the shop owner is charming and speaks English fairly well. This store also has a tremendous selection of Damask tablecloths, which the owner begins spreading out on the counter.

A curious thing in Arabic culture, is their runaround way of handling transactions. You can go into a restaurant, say "I'd like eggs." and the owner is likely to say something like "Have some steak!" Diana needs a long, fairly thin tablecloth, and tries to translate this to the owner, but more and more square tablecloths come out. After that, we walk past Nofara and check out a few of the shops near there. One of them sucks us in, and displays a few beautiful Uzbekistan tablecloths. There is a lot of restating of the obvious when viewing the pieces "notice that this is handmade." or "notice that this is very beautiful."

After that, we meet Naeif at Vino Russo to have a beer or two, and some cheese and salami, then head to Barampkeh to meet one of Naeif's friends - he wants to get a new Nay to bring with us to Lattakia. While we're waiting on the corner, feeling like bright white tourists on display, a small boy manning a nut hut manages to begin torturing us. First I start saying some simple Arabic phrases to him, and he quickly exhausts my knowledge of the language and tries to pull us over to check out his wares, spread out in a tent absorbing car exhaust. We buy a miniscule bag of cornnuts for 10 S.L. and then he's shouting "I love you!". Thankfully, Naeif appears at this point, we've tired of the small boy and his game, and we're off to go back home.

I sleep early, because now I'm feeling quite sick and achy all over. Utterly exhausted and unable to deal with the crowd of people on the terrace. Argh.