As I slowly get around to fleshing out my experience in Syria, a thought flashed in my mind. The time I spent in Damascus (excluding the first weekend I went there when I was incredibly ill) was like a modern-day replaying of Casablanca. My flight to Moscow was leaving out of Damascus at 2am, so I left Aleppo that afternoon having nothing else to do in Halab and wanting not to rush. “In and out like a surgical airstrike,” to borrow a phrase I use probably more than I should.
The best laid plans….
I finally left Damascus four days later. And it soured me on Sham, though, to be fair, the city was not to blame. Neither was Syria. The delay was all on me (but just a little) and on Aeroflop (a whole lot, for which they have yet to repent).
I ended up finding a charming hotel that, luckily was dirt cheap too. Its amazing courtyard is what’s in the above picture. The area where I was staying, I got the impression (having been forced to go to several hotels before finding one with a spare room) that such courtyards were a dime a dozen, but I didn’t care. I sat out there for hours. Half pissed that I was stuck in Damascus and half relaxing in a very relaxing atmosphere. I calmed down so much that I nearly turned into someone else – I was actually sociable when I was there.
I rarely ventured out of the hotel’s domain during my stay. I left only to eat, use the internet, and hope against hope that someone would show up at the Aeroflop office to do their job. The rest of Damascus could have been “conquered” during the three full days I had to sightsee, but like I said above, I was pissed. I just wanted to shut Damascus out. The lack of decent restaurants/eating places in the area didn’t help my mood, either. If this had been Casablanca, I would’ve holed myself up in Rick’s Cafe until the plane came.
But damn if I didn’t enjoy that courtyard. I don’t know. Maybe it’s one of those “you had to be there things”. But I was there. For four days.
