The days run together when you’re suffering jet lag and expected to rouse at the godless hour of 3:30 a.m. (local Paris time). But there are many miles to go before we reach our destination. Our day will take us from Charles De Gaulle airport, through an hour layover in Vienna, to our eventual stop in Damascus. We arrived very early at CDG, which turned in our favor as Air Austria had oversold the flight by 50 seats! As per the standard operating procedure at CDG, one is asked to clear security, walk to one’s gate, descend a staircase onto the tarmac, then board a bus. Inevitably, the bus driver knows the long way and wants to take it. One gets the impression that his goal is to cause all the passengers to tumble over onto the ground by making sudden stops while giving an unguided tour of the perimeter of the entire airport. It is no surprise, then, that the final bus is late in arriving at the plane and we are forced to delay our departure. With only an hour layover in Vienna, we are in great danger of missing our connection. Thankfully, we arrive in Vienna only 10 minutes after our scheduled departure. We are able to rush to our next plane, which has been delayed 40 minutes.
The flight from Vienna to Damascus passes uneventfully, at least for me because I was asleep for the three hour leg. As we make our way to the passport control center in Damascus, I realize why it is never a good idea to fall asleep on a plane bound for Syria. Once again I did not receive the appropriate disembarkation documentation. This happened to me in 2005 also, but in that year I hadn’t realized it until two weeks into the trip, and there was some concern about the logistics of my leaving the country. All turned out well in that year. By recognizing the lack of disembarkation documentation while still in the airport this year, I was able to locate the appropriate card in the terminal and fill it out before reaching passport control. With that potential crisis averted, we passed blindly ahead to the next looming crisis. More of a hiccup than a true crisis, it turns out the quick exchange in Vienna was only possible for the human element of our entourage and not for the luggage. We would have to return to the airport tomorrow to retrieve (hopefully) our luggage.
In a situation of lost luggage one desires a serious, task-oriented airport clerk. Our clerk, while hopefully capable of completing the requisite reports, instead presented the air of someone whose true aspirations could be best fulfilled somewhere in the comedy night-club circuit. As it turns out, he had spent two years in Massachusetts and was keen to exhibit his English language skills to us. In the end, Robert and I are scheduled to return to the airport tomorrow to check on the luggage.
On the taxi ride from the airport to our hotel, we observe that the current elections have giving rise to an even more ubiquitous series of political billboards in favor of the current administration. The images range from the serious, introspective, yet caring portraits to the more humanistic portrayals of the incumbent working a hoe in the field. I’m sorry I cannot report to you on the various contenders in this political race because I’m not sure that there are any contenders other than the incumbent.
Hotel arrangements here are notoriously difficult to make from afar. The hotels are loath to reserve rooms in advance, preferring that arrangements be made in person. Our usual neighborhood hotel was unavailable, but fortunately arrangements were made for us at the hotel just down the same street, hotel al-Haramain. In my two previous visits, this hotel has struck me as more of a youth hostel for young Europeans. However, once inside we find that it is also arranged on the traditional open courtyard plan, with four rooms on the ground floor and more on the upper levels. Rooms are also scarce at this hotel. Dennis and I share a double on the ground floor, while R&C (Robert and Carole) find their double somewhere on one of the upper levels. With the exception of nearly blowing my electrical surge protector, we settle in without incident.
This is my third year traveling to Syria. With each year the internet café improves slightly. This year it seems to have improved greatly. Both Dennis and I had the impressions that the connection speed was nearly that of what we are used to at home. As such, I am cautiously optimistic about uploading photos of our daily activities.
R&C generously spend the afternoon searching for a hotel that might have three rooms available instead of the two at al-Haramain. They not only come back with an option for a better hotel, but also with a shirt, towel, and bar of soap for each of us until we can retrieve our luggage. There is sort of a running joke about finding the funniest graphic T-shirt each summer. In 2005, my favorite shirt was printed with the following words: MORE HOT BUTTER. I man of about 20-25 years was wearing it, which added to the absurdity. I’m sure he didn’t know what it said. He just liked the graphic quality of the English T-shirt. Well, R&C were kind. They got us T-shirts with the Puma logo, albeit certainly an illegal reproduction. So far, the leader in the contest for funniest T-shirt is one I saw today: Log out, Shut down, Go run. I suppose it is supposed to be like the Nike motto, Just Do It, but this shirt was displayed on a mannequin in the window of what appeared to be a store for men’s dress clothes. “Yes, I’d like the tweed jacket, the khaki pants, and…oh yes, the Log out, Shut down, Go run T-shirt to finish the combo.”
In the late afternoon R&C take me to see the new hotel. It is not far from our current location, just across the main thoroughfare and around the square. It’s located on the third floor. The entrance from the street is difficult to find even when you know what you’re looking for. From a distance one can see a red neon arrow pointing to the hotel, but as you approach the entrance blends in with the surrounding shops. The lobby seems nice. The clerk seems somewhat confused about our plans. He seems surprised that someone wants a room in the hotel. We hope this is not a sign that the hotel is really a front for some sort of illegal activity. In the end it seems like we will be able to rent three rooms for our entire time here in Damascus.
All throughout the city people are setting up tents and chairs for what looks to be a series of block parties. The temporary tents are decorated in political posters, lights, streamers, and flags. As usual, each tent is equipped with its own sound system capable or producing high decibel noise resulting from the distorted music played at maximum volume. As night falls, the parties really begin. Around each corner one tent hosts a performance on men dancing in a large circle, while next hosts small children dancing and singing. The local elections are cause for celebration, not cause for personal introspection and political comparisons. Without knowing exactly the process at work in the elections, it strikes this observer that the election is more of a confirmation and re-installation of the beloved patron than a competition of political ideas. I don’t mean to suggest that one is better or even required. This seems to work here, whereas, in our society, we relish the opportunity to oust our leaders every few years.
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