Crouching Pigeon's Flight

101 welcomes to Syria

Holy flying carpet! Perched on top of a craggy mountain overlooking a seemingly barren landscape was our respite for the next few days- the monastery of Mar Musa, on the map a couple of hundred kilometres north of Damascus. This monastery is a place of religious solitude and reflection; I can see your eyebrows already raising, but believe me, it was just what the travel weary pigeons needed, a bit of Jesuit-style R&R. Of course daily duties aside such as washing dishes, serving food and chaotic Persian carpet cleaning, we were able to witness somewhat of a miracle as Arab Christianity is indeed flourishing in Syria as we stayed there with spiritual seekers and young locals alike. Mass was held in the evenings after meditation by the larger than life Padre Paulo, a Jesuit who had painstakingly restored the 11^th century frescoed church and built an attached monastery. Let’s just say it was a moving multilingual multi-faith ceremony as the father cited the liturgy in Arabic, spoke of Jesus in French and thanked the Lord in English under candlelight and smouldering frankincense late into the night. This was followed by our grumbling tummies welcoming a communal dinner of goats’ cheese, olives, pita bread and copious cups of black sugary tea, before a quick chat and lights out, the men left the safe walls of the church for their lodgings and the womenfolk could quietly sleep in separate quarters or for the more faithful, in the church itself. Nothing could beat the tranquillity of counting the stars in the desert sky in absolute silence. Of course not all was rosy and tranquil as our faith was tested by a daily task of cleaning the church’s carpets. Easy you think to just skirt around with a vacuum however, led by Brother Peter, a monk with Rasputine qualities, we were organised with the sole Arabic word of Y’alla (c’mon) which is rather limited as we were expected to understand with clarity the Syrian ways of rug cleaning with powdered Jiff and lots of water.  Although chaotic it was loads of fun with the devilish thought that the wet dog smelling carpets slung over the monastery walls could potentially fly off into the secular world below.

Couch surfing Aleppo style. Please sing an Australian song for us our couch surfing hosts in Aleppo begged after a good hour of Syrian classic lyrics belted out complete with dancing with an electronic keyboard in hand. Our response, apart from Matti’s usual you don’t really want to hear my singing voice, was the argument that Australian music is not so world-renowned as the Syrians may like to think and therefore not as easy to join in like The Beatles Let it Be and Europe’s Final Countdown. Yet one of the girls proudly began to play from her mobile a song one does not want to be under the spotlight for, but after the first notes of the flute we knew we had it coming- Men at Work’s Land Down Under. Good news is that neither the Syrians nor us could decipher the lyrics after ‘Do you come from the land down under? Where women [flow/grow/mow]… and men [sunder/thunder/plunder]…’ We have as some of you know been bunking it in strangers’ homes throughout our journey. It has been amazing to see the generosity that people provide where you arrive as a guest and leave as a friend. In the case of northern Syria, we were fed, led and bedded and Matti even got to kick around a soccer ball despite the unusual allotted playing time of 1 to 3 in the morning.

Syrian delight. Apart from the amazing archaeological sites, sumptuous vegetarian food, dusty streets, friendly truck drivers offering us lifts and more tea offers than coffee, Syria has to be by far the friendliest place on earth. Take for instance our arrival in Aleppo after an overnight bus from Turkey to be caught up in the midst of Syrian Independence Day fever. We were literally carried off our feet in the mad milieu formerly known as the city square that had been transformed into an open-air disco with live bass thumping music, Syrian flags and portraits of the President Assad. Every Syrian man (and a few ladies) decided to get either a large framed portrait or t-shirt of the Syrian President and shimmy the afternoon away.  All we got were excited cries of “Welcome to Syria” and shown the various traditional dance troupe highlights as we were dragged around for photos to take and be taken of. Aleppo itself is a grand old city purported to be the world’s oldest continually inhabited which Damascenes also claim. It’s full of winding alleys, a bustling easy-to-get-lost-in souk and crumbling and some restored Ottoman houses built on layers of history. It’s the kind of place where it’s just satisfying to wander the different quarters such as the Armenian, Christian and Muslim although it can be sometimes slower than anticipated, as tea and pastry shop titbits were continuously given with laughter and broken English.

Damascus and all the sights in between made us think why Syria seems to be the unknown travel destination. After jostling with cruise ship crowds in Turkey’s proudest archaeological site Ephesus, we found the Syrian equivalents such as Palmyra and Apamea were virtually deserted and thus gave a real sense to how an ancient Roman city may have looked without foreign pale legs walking around in Nike shoes and shorts. At the same time with its cultural wealth on show and dependant on tourism, the country relies on outside and paltry resources from within for conservation of these ruins, which not only you scramble and climb over but can tap dance on exposed colourful Roman mosaics. I hope that soon with considerate foresight the treasures of Syria can be rightfully preserved for everyone to appreciate. As people used to say, visit Syria before Bush does- all we can say is you gotta go!

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