Saftypins Borders and Food

Syria, finally. I arrived in Haleb (Aleppo), Syria, on Thursday, the 20th of November. I crossed the border by bus from my temporary hideout in Antakya, Turkey. The border crossing went relatively easily, well I suppose I'm not sure what to compare it to, but I wasn't interrogated or anything. My lack of even conversational Arabic (I'm learning!) required the assistance of one of the bus attendants who lead me around the immigrations office and handed my passport to the right people. He took me into an office where a large Syrian officer was on the phone, the three stars on his sleeve held on with a safety pin. The man took my passport, set it on his desk, gestured me to a seat, and continued about his business as if I hadn't arrived. Someone brought tea, passed through a window between the office and the immigrations desk, and the woman sitting across from me smiled at me when we both sipped the too hot drink and flinched simultaneously. I killed time trying to read every bit of Arabic I could spy in the room, able to pronounce most of it uncomprehendingly. I smiled when I read the word "Haleb" and "Palmarya", a famous ruined city in central Syria.

After about fifteen minutes and much discussion between my bus attendant/guardian and the safety pin officer, we were sent to the desk again, where the man looked up my passport while slapping away a few insistant house flies. He handed it back and sent us to the bank where I payed an entry fee of 16 USD. We were sent once more to the desk where my passport was finally stamped, and then curiously (and to my discomfort and annoyance) the man wrote inside the cover of my passport in pen some Arabic letters and numbers I've been unable to comprehend. No one else seemed to think this was strange, however. The stamp said only 15 days, but as I didn't yet know my plans, this was fine. I was met at the bus station by Ziad, a very nice local man who works with ICARDA. He drove me around town (city of 4 million) pointing out sites, picked up lunch for me, then drove me to the ICARDA guest house where I've been staying and will remain a few more days. The lunch was wonderful, the room is extravagant after spending months in hostels and tiny simple hotel rooms. The bathroom (hammam) is about the size of my bedroom back in Bozeman. The only downside is that my only internet access is by dialup connection on an aging computer downstairs.

Ziad returned that evening and he and his wife took me to dinner. He ordered nine dishes so that I could try as much as possible, and also water pipes with grape leaves to smoke. I've never smoked, but he assured me there was no substance in it, just flavor, so I tried it gladly and quite enjoyed the scent. The food was almost entirely unusual to me, with the exception of shish kebab chicken and fries. The most unique dishes were the eggplants stuffed with rice and soaked in a pomegranate sauce, and a dish of raw lamb meat mixed with wheat flour. Both were actually quite good.

The next day I headed out shopping, well wandering, taking a taxi from the guest house. I had assumed, wrongly, a taxi driver would know the word "University" to get me home, and only later realized that reading the Arabic word from the University signs would probably have helped. I finally returned home after the driver asked a friend for directions, and was met by Amor, the man who has organized all this for me. He had just returned from Turkey, and laughed to find out I was out exploring already. Over tea we talked about family (he has a daughter my age named Sonya going to school in Missoula), and what I would be doing in Syria, and my future plans for grad school. He has spent the last couple of days showing me around, introducing me to dozens of people, and has twice taken me to dinner at a family friends house. Amalie, his close friends mother, and her granddaughter Tamar (who is from Montana but moved to Syria to learn her heritage and the languages) are wonderful. Amalie cooks simple succulent dishes vicariously through her attendant as her mobility is limited, and has a dry sense of humor, a stubborn will, and wanders back and forth between English, Armenian, and Arabic. Tamar, like me, is learning Arabic. She speaks more of it, whereas I read more, and we both follow the gist of the conversation between Amor and Amalie, though often Amor plays the translator.

I have vague plans now for my time in Syria, which will probably be til at least the new year. This morning I signed a visitor's contract allowing me to stay til the 19th of January, though that can be extended. I'll be giving a seminar next Sunday (they have Fri/Sat weekends), and assisting in a couple projects while meeting and talking with various grad students and scientists. I have a couple more stories to relay, but this is already a book, so I'll delay. Besides, I have "work" to get back to. And yes, I know, post pictures. I will, haven't taken many yet.