Why I Came Home

"I know for fact he came home to see his girlfriend."

"Rumor has it that you couldn't handle living out of a backpack for a year."

"Of course I was right about Luke and Alex."

I was slightly surprised to encounter so much questioning of my resolve about travel. After all, I had lived in a foreign country for longer than anyone I know, and all entirely on my own without the help of an American program. I know that traveling out of a backpack is a beast of a different sort, but I think anyone who knows me knows that I have little need for anything beyond a few shirts, pants, really bad smelling sandals, a bottle of cologne to cover the smell of my really bad smelling sandals, and a place to sleep that won't get me arrested. As far as hygiene and sickness go, squatting dumps and daily bouts of diarrhea don't phase me. In fact, I almost enjoyed the novelty of it all.

Sometimes people paint travel as an unrealistic fantasy - to drop everything and travel the world. They say that when we actually do it, we'll realize that we're just as unhappy as we were before, and that travel is hard, gritty and unromantic. Well, those people are wrong. Frankly, there's very little that's difficult about traveling - it's a charmed lifestyle. You have no responsibilities but to wander amidst foreign cultures and meet some of the most interesting people you'll ever meet. You can be whoever you want, because friends last only one night and a few pints. Your only concern is finding the best priced falafel in town, and yes, I guess the daily bouts of diarrhea.

The truth is that when I left the trip, I wasn't exactly sure why I was abandoning what seemed to be the trip of a lifetime - a trip that had been arduously constructed by the dedicated research of myself and my companions. Every outward sign pointed to a great trip. However, for whatever reason, my heart wasn't in it. When I found myself planning our next move or wandering the streets of the old city, I wasn't enlivened by the traveler's spirit that I once enjoyed in Italy, a spirit that is essential for travel. From a romantic perspective, nothing should be done without passion. From a practical perspective, you probably shouldn't spend loads of excess cash on something you don't enjoy. Either way, I knew going home was the right thing.

Well, since coming home I've realized why I left. After graduation, the crossroad of crossroads in one's life, I found myself with a distinct need for some direction in my life. I hadn't taken the last two years of my life seriously, traveling Europe and planning our next trip, so that by the time I was actually on the trip, I was burnt out. I realized that I had lost all sense of purpose. I know that travel can be a justifiable purpose, but for this trip, it was not for me. Upon coming home, I begin studying intensely for the LSAT and am in the process of applications.

I've far from ruled out future travels, and maybe I'll have to to dispel people's doubts. My apologies go out to my companions for my abrupt departure, and I hope that this clears up why I left.

Walking in the Footsteps of Christ Despite My Unparalleled Disorganization

Never have I been this dirty in my life. Not through the back to back nights spent on a steady diet of Doritos and video games in Byake's basement. Not through a personal record 6 weeks without laundry, involving reusing socks twice, sometimes thrice. Not after 4 days of camping in the Minnesota "spring" (read:winter), forcing me to wear all my clothes at once. Never have I been this dirty.

I've spent the last 5 days in the midst of travel and confusion, from our farewell dinner with the Mubarek's to a night spent in Tel Aviv, watching the Vikings-Packers game until 6 am when the wearied bartenders finally got to go home and be free of 6 weeks of repressed American belligerence. Then traveling back to Jerusalem on no sleep, unless you count the accidental 2 hours Alex and I got on the beach, only to be rudely awoken by a strange, crouching man, inquiring in Hebrew about our bottle of vodka. Then straight to Tiberias, where I biked the Sea of Galilee, surviving not because of my exceptional organization skills, but despite my lack thereof.

With all the travel and excitement, I haven't showered in 5 days. I'm ashamed of the stench my body exudes right now. My feet could kill small animals, and probably has. But despite my physical wretchedness, what seemed perfunctory to any trip to Israel, has finally struck resonance in me - I'm walking in the footsteps of Christ. One would think this would occur almost immediately, after placing my hand in the spot of the crucifixion, or saying mass in his tomb, or walking along the stations of the cross. But despite the indundating amount of religious history that overwhelmed me, I felt just that - overwhelmed. Perhaps it was due to how divergent the modern layout of Jerusalem is to the layout in the time of Christ, obstructing a sense of how Christ saw it. Perhaps it was that I came completely unprepared for a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. Whatever the reason, biking the sea of Galilee gave me that childlike fascination that I expected when I arrived in Jerusalem. Christ really was here.

However, all this revelation (ba-dum-ch!) may never have occured had it not been for the generosity of the local people and some dumb luck coupled with an increasing know-how of how to sneak into sites for free. I left yesterday morning, planning on seeing the birthplace of Mary Magdalene, the Mount of Beatitudes, where Christ gave his famous sermon on the mount, the place where he multiplied the loaves and fishes, where he conferred on Peter the keys to the Church and his home town for much of his life - Capernaum.

However, the organization gremlin struck me again, and I began my ride without any water or food in my belly. I figured I would stop at the first town to eat and drink, because I could not carry anything with me. By the time I reached the first town, I was already feeling dizzy and thought I might not make it. At this point, I decided that it was time to eat and replenish my salt reserves. I opened my wallet and was greeted by 40 shekel cents, roughly equivalent to one dime in monetary terms, and roughly equivalent to no food in actual terms. Fortunately, my bike uphill reaped precious rewards, as I found the one place in all of Galilee that accepted credit card. Score one for the disorganized! A bag of chips and liter of water later, and I was rejuvenated and ready to start my ride again.

Unfortunately, I was unaware of the absurd amount of hills in the region. For some reason the "Mount" of Beatitudes didn't cause me any concern. Well, biking up the mount in high heat to arrive before closing time is less than fun. So is arriving at the gate and realizing that you don't have the money to pay the entrance fee. Things always seem to work out though, because I silently sneaked by the gatekeeper as he washed his plants. And my reward was an astounding view.

Also, I asked the woman at the concession stand if I could buy anything with 40 shekel cents, to which she responded with a crippling laugh and said she accepted American money. I tried to get her to accept either Syrian or Jordanian money, but to no avail. Finally, she took pity on me and my odorous and beleaguered self and gave me a bottle of water. Following my trend of luck, I continued my win streak on my Palestine bracelet, which I expected only to receive scowls and slammed doors, but in fact won me sandwich from ya boy Omar, who said, "I saw your bracelet and knew you must be one of the good Americans." Omar, as you probably guessed, is Palestinian, and hasn't seen his family in Bethlehem since the wall was erected, because he has the Israeli blue passport.

My trek continued to the Church of the Multiplication, which is built around a stone that has been historically recorded as venerated since 28 AD. For those of you keeping track that would be before Christ's death, and would have to be soon after the occurence of the miracle. It's the closest thing I've seen to historical evidence of the occurence of a miracle, because 28 AD is before even the first Gospel was written, so there were no fervent Christians reading the story in the Bible and retroactively assigning a spot to the story. Over 5000 people witnessed the event, according to the Scriptures, and if this were the case, news would have spread fast, and it wouldbe hard pressed to believe that the spot was either forgotten, or created as a well-executed and subversive plot to obtain followers for this man who had not yet even began the Christian Church. Not that it's proof of its occurence. Not at all. But it is at least evidence.

My last two stops were the place where Christ called Peter rock, and conferred upon him the primacy as pope, which is beatifully situated along the shores of Galilee, and Christ's hometown of Capernaum, which is mentioned in the Bible as where Christ made his home.

Who knows the historical accuracy of these exact places, but one thing is certain is that Christ did walk these shores, and whether he was the Son of God, a madman or simply an eloquent speaker that followers formed a religion around under no compulsion of his own, he was here. And that note finally struck resonance in me.

Here are some bonus pics of our dinner with the Mubarek's, courtesy of Manal, since my camera is still broken.

This is too good. Now if only I had a picture of Alex with a moustache...

What Makes Traveling Worth It

Traveling has an idyllic shroud that surrounds it, filled with fantastic vagaries of empty beaches of endless white sand, setting suns that pierce the sky with a spectrum of reds and purples and nights that end when most people are beginning their work day. And in truth, it is all these things. But not only these things.

Traveling has an ugly underbelly that can soften even the strongest wills. Hellish days in the blistering sun carrying 30 pound packs on your sweat-drenched back, prostrating yourself to the mercy of foreigners who can't speak your language and could care less about how badly you need to find a bathroom and hygenic standards that are so low I won't even discuss them here.

Worst of all, there are days of utter displacement. On the heading of this blog there is a description about traveling in the land of foreign minds and foreign tongues. Sounds romantic. It can also be no less than rattling. Life on the road means life without home, and life without home means life without constancy. Being creatures of habit, this just cannot do.

So what makes traveling worth it? Why do we travel? If you type it into google, you'll find a slew of answers that range from a primordial and inordinate desire to explore to "we're bored." I venture that whatever the reason we travel can only be satisfied by the people we meet. Traveling forces you outside the box that you've constructed for yourself back home and into the world of the unknown - the world of potential rejection where every face could mask a hidden contempt for you. But once outside that box, you discover that, outside a few outliers, people exceed any expectation of generosity and hospitality that you ever had.

We've met so many different types of people on this trip (and I wish I had my camera to provide pictures). They range from Turkish communists that scoff at Islam to hermit imams that scoff at everything that is not Islam with a myriad of people in between. Tonight we have dinner with a Palestinian Christian family who live on the Vatican estate in Jerusalem, as the father is the private driver for the archbishop and the Pope when he is in town. Tomorrow morning, we have breakfast with a Catholic priest who studies here and then a third day of tours led by another Palestinian Christian, whose passion for his race is only outmatched by his passion for his faith, and a group of 80 Christian Ugandans who I've known for only 2 days but have been invited into over 15 houses.

Occasionally you do meet that one person who has nothing but contempt for you, but that one is overwhelmingly surpassed by the amount of men that welcome you without question, no matter their race, religion or disposition. Without these people, traveling is nothing more than a continuous stream of historical and aesthetic sights that begin to meld into one. But the people give traveling life.

Jerusalem My Destiny!

Though I cannot see the end for me, I cannot turn away! For all of you who actually know what I'm talking about, you've been exposed to too much bad Church music.

Anywhom, I'm in the Holy Land! I crossed the southern border into Eilat on the 29th. We were pulled aside for questioning, most likely because of our Syrian visas (although someone got through with an Iranian and Syrian visa). It only took 2 hours to cross when we were told it would take up to 8 hours.

We've spent the first 4 days here wandering the streets of the Old City, the same streets that not only Christ would have walked, but King David, Solomon, Abraham and Herod. It's an amazing city, not only because of the thousands of years of integral Biblical history, culminating in the death and resurrection of Christ, but because of the continuing modern political and religious turmoil in the city. To absorb the tension and conflict here to a point of understanding seems impossible. I can do nothing but observe and listen to the stories of others. I've spoken with Jews who have claimed that "if you look into the eyes of a Muslim, they are dead inside." I've spoken with Palestinian Christians who have castigated the Israeli government with scathing words of inequality and injustice. The tension here is not just religious and political in two independent spheres; rather, the spheres blend to a point of indistinction. For example, only days before our arrival there was an incident of violence (only one in a long history of incidents) between the Jews and the Muslims that was, fairly or unfairly depending on with whom you speak, regulated by the Israeli military.

To provide some background of the incident, I need to explain the layout of central Jerusalem. The most holy site in Jerusalem for the Jews is the western wall, one of the remaining walls of the structure that upheld the second Jewish temple. When the Messiah returns, the third temple will be built. However, on the Temple Mount, the platform directly above the western wall, is the second holiest site in Islam, the Dome of the Rock. This is the site that Allah gave Mohammed the Muslim faith to give to the people. The layout provides a wonderful breeding grounds for tension. Jews throw rocks up. Muslims throw rocks down.

So a few days ago, when the Temple Mount was closed to all non-Muslims, a group of Ultra-Orthodox Jews climbed to the top and began to perform their fervent prayers in front of the Dome of the Rock. The best analogy I can describe the insulting nature of the actions is to imagine if a Muslim entered the Vatican in the middle of the Homily and began praying to Allah in front of the altar. Well, the Jewish prayers were met with rocks and rocks were returned. In response, the Israeli military fired rubber bullets on the Muslims and injured several people. One thing I've learned thus far is that the military most often sides with the Jews. So today there is military posted all over the city, because they expect retaliation from the Muslims. I never expected Israel to be the most tumultuous country I've visited, even with traveler's tales of the unquestioning hospitality of Syrians and Jordanians. It's a very unique situation. I'll post another post on my take of the religious and political tensions.

I'll also post something on my religious experience so far, which has largely been overwhelming. I really can't wrap my mind around the fact that Christ walked the same steps that I have walked - that he was really here. I'm going to wake up very early one of these days and walk the steps of Christ during the last days of his life. From the point of the Last Supper to Gethsemani to the place of his arrest to his captivity with Caiphas to the Praetorium where he was judged by Pontius Pilate, and finally through the Stations of the Cross up to the place of his crucifixion and burial.

Also, I'll be making a trip to the Sea of Galilee to see the birthplace of Mary Magdalene, the Mount of the Beatitudes, the place where Christ performed the miracle of the loaves and fishes, and also where he conferred upon Peter the keys to the Church. It's all very exciting and very overwhelming. I also have to write a post on the people we've met. I wish I had pictured to share but my camera is broken. I take it as a blessing though, because now I'm forced to engrave these experiences in my memory rather than through a camera, and I think it's more meaningful this way. I'll keep you all posted though!

More Blogging to Come

It's crazy right now! We just got out of the desert and my camera is broken! I'm gonna try to fix it here at the Canon store. I've got some good pics to come though so stay tuned when I have more time. Btdubs, tomorrow we cross into Israel and a friend (who lived in Jerusalem) said that he'd be surprised if we got in in under 8 hours...

The Friendly and the Not-So-Friendly

Today our group of three split up again as Alex headed for Hama, a base for several historical sites in the area, and Beddor and myself left for Raqqah, our first town on a several day trip down the legendary Euphrates. We took a cramped minibus out there that sounded like it was going to fall apart.



Our first destination before Raqqah was Lake Assad, a gigantic project undertaken by Hefez Al-Assad, the father of the current Syrian President, Bashar Al-Assad. The lake dams the Euphrates, providing water in the remarkably arid region. You don't realize the importance of water to civilization until you travel a region as arid as the Middle East. On our way there, we passed a military checkpoint, and a soldier, upon seeing the two Americans in the van from 30 feet away, immediately pointed at us and motioned for the van to pull over, much to the chagrin of our fellow passengers. He asked for our passports and after about five minutes of questioning, sent us on our way. At this point we've become used to the MO of constant questioning by military personnel at all checkpoint and before taking any bus.

When we arrived in the town nearest to Lake Assad, we were immediately, and not coincidentally greeted by more military police who had been called by the former. He took our passports and scoured them for several minutes, grilling us with questions that culminated in the most important question of all - "Have you ever been to Israel." "No, no, no." After that, they apologized and asked us where we were going. After finally getting across to them Lake Assad, they told us that they'd take us there! So we hopped in the back of a Syrian military police car!

I don't know how we would've found this place without them, because it was outside the city over nearly impassable roads. But the lake is beautiful with the most crystal clear water I've ever seen (I'll post pictures when my camera isn't dead). They were so excited to take us there that they ran up the craggy cliffs and allowed us to take some pictures with them. As we got back into the car, they asked where we were going, and we said Raqqah, but they insisted on personally giving us a tour of the town!



The town itself was very small, and not very wealthy. There were some tents pitched on the outskirts of the city, and the driver said, "Poor people. Iraq. Because of Bush." We've learned that we must have the perfunctory stance of Bush- bad, Obama - good. Because the American invasion in Iraq caused extreme instability in the government, many different factions began vying, violently, for power. As a result, terrorist attacks have increased because there is no longer an indisputed leader like Saddam. Consequently, many people fled over the border into Syria. He took us by the local church (Syria actually has a large minority of Christians, and both Christians and Moslems coexist peacefully), the mosque, the cemetery and then through the main square. What was great about it was that it was like a day in the life of the Syrian police, because as we drove around they just went about their business, reprimanding cab drivers and the like. After about and hour and a half with them, and much exchange over families, girlfriends, wives and jobs, they called us their brothers and sent us on our way.

We arrived in Raqqah, but didn't stay long because of a hotel that smelled literally like there had been a very recent crap taken in the hallway and a room with no light and apparent bedbugs. We were flocked by over thirty people in the bus station, all talking to us about different things until we finally got on a bus and bargained them down to half the price.

On our way to Deir Ezzor, we began talking affably with some of the passengers on the bus and found that several were Christian. We picked up a passenger on the side of road in the desert who was dressed very formally, but neither Chris nor myself thought anything of him. One of the passengers asked to see Chris' cross and he complied. They examined it and joked about stealing it. A few minutes later, the tone of the conversation changed when the new passenger spoke up to the other passengers. You have to understand that at this point, we had no idea what was going, because we spoke no Arabic. However, I listened attentively and heard several key phrases as "Qur'an" "Mohammed" and "America." The tone of the conversation was civil but very tense. I had a Christian on my right and the new passenger on my left, and pretended to be entirely oblivious as they warred in words on either side of me.

After about 10-15 minutes of conversation, we dropped the passenger off in the middle of the desert. We asked the only passenger who spoke a little english if he was upset with us, and he said yes. Then Chris held up his cross and asked if he was upset about it, and he said yes again, and then called him crazy.

It was a really interesting conversation, because everyone in the car vehemently jumped to our defense against this obvious Moslem extremist, who was in fact an imam living alone in the desert. Even the Moslem in the car did not speak a word, seemingly because he didn't want to associate himself with the imam. I'm really glad we had the experience, because it later struck me as a microcosm of Syria. To this point, we had encountered no hostility, but rather extreme friendliness and hospitality. But the stereotype could not have arisen from nowhere, and now we've experience the type of person who gives the Middle East its damning stereotype. But the key I think was the veracity to which people came to our defense, two foreign Americans to which they had no association. It seems that a few bad apples have spoiled the whole bunch.

Even with this hostility, there seemed to be no danger, because none of the other passengers were alarmed, but merely dismissed him as a backwater extremist, very similar to our dismissal of some religious extremists in our own country (*cough* Christian fundamentalists *cough*). My point is that we dismiss the Middle East as a bastion of terrorism and hostility towards Americans, because of the stream of consistent news reports condemning terrorist action and reporting American deaths in the war, but I've found the Middle East to be, at its core, not much different than the United States. Of course there is significantly less freedom here, but also the people are much friendlier. There is danger here of course, but there is also danger in Chicago or Minneapolis, where the murder rate is much higher than it is here. In the end, I've encountered no reason to condemn the Middle East as an unstable and unjust region that hates Americans, even with my recent travels to the Iraqi border, and I've spent more time here than most reporters. That's not to say that there is no reason to condemn certain areas, but that doesn't given justice to condemning an entire country.

So that was my day yesterday! Crazy with military police and Moslem extremists but it makes for a great story! Tomorrow I leave Deir Ezzor in the afternoon for the much more touristy Palmyra to meet up with Alex. I'll post pictures in this post as soon as I get the chance, so check back if they're not here, because I've got some great pics!

A Day You Only Hear About in Stories

It began innocently this morning when we began our 2-hour minibus trek this morning to Dura Europos, an ancient Roman city on the Euphrates. It ended with Beddor and myself less than a mile from the Iraq border with aspirations to cross into the last country I expected to see on this trip. Let me preface this entire post with the fact that we knew what were doing, the political situation, the legality of the situation, and never exercised poor judgment or impetuousness.

But hold on. Let me back up and take you through our day. It began to go south when the bus driver told us to get out at what seemed to be the absolute middle of nowhere, and we were greeted with a vast barren desert on all sides, subsequently followed by a chorus "Good god's".



The fun continued when we began our 2 km trek towards Dura Europos and found this.



Probably an AK-47 shell, the weapon of choice in the Middle East outside Israel. Not a good sign so close to the border, but we dismissed it as target practice or something of the like. Approaching the ruins, which were completely bereft of visitors, we were disappointed by the lack of remaining ruins, and bolted straight for the mighty Euphrates. It's a strange sensation when you come across the body of water around which civilization formed itself over 5000 years ago, and find that the legendary mighty river is no more than a placid stream that flows through the country.

We worked our way down the cliffs onto the river and saw some children and teenagers on the edge of the river. When we turned the corner, we saw some men sitting around a fire they had built. One had his gun resting beside him (don't worry, this is very normal), and got up and yelled at what seemed to be us, but turned out to be at his kid. We spent twenty minutes on the river with the kids, trying to communicate, and ultimately failing, while being subject to their general sneers and jokes before we left back for the road.

Down the road about 30 km is another site of ruins, these Mesopotamian dating from 5000 years ago, and 10 km further is the city of Abu Kamal, the last town before the Syria-Iraq border. And the powerful and primitive force of curiosity began to unrest our spirit. We asked the ticketers outside the site if there were any towns where we could eat, but a military policeman told us that the food was bad and that we should go in the other direction. Thinking that we've eaten more than our fair share of bad food on this trip, we decided to go anyway. After a short hitchike, we found ourselves hitchhiking towards Mari with a Saudi Arabian businessman in his incredibly nice car (Saudi Arabia is bathed in oil). Our intentions were to hitch to the next town to grab a bite to eat and some water and make our assessment after talking to some of the locals. Our intentions were then complicated by a stationed car of the same Syrian military police that we spoke with earlier that called the Saudi Arabian's car over after he slowed down to pick us up. We don't know what words were exchanged, but we do know that the police began tailing us.

We asked the Saudi businessman to drop us off to eat at the next town, but he assured us that there was no food and said he would take us to Abu Kamal. As we approached the city he spoke more and more of how close Iraq was, which we realized later was to elicit some sort of response to obtain information of our destination. The police continued to tail us, and most likely became more suspicious when we passed Mari, our supposed destination. Knowing though that we had done nothing wrong, and were only being tailed on suspicions, we continued. When we were dropped off at a restaurant, the police immediately pulled the Saudi over, presumably for questioning as to our destination.

We ate lunch cautiously and decided that if we walked out of the restaurant, and the police were not there, I was going to walk to the border with Chris and cross by myself (because we only have dual entry visas, and Beddor wants to go to Lebanon), get my stamp, maybe take a picture, and go right back into Syria. We of course were going to ask at the border if this were possible/safe, but we knew that the Syrian side of the border is safe and that the border itself would be secured by military personnel. However, when we walked out of the restaurant, the police were still there waiting for us. At that point, we decided that it was too much hassle to go to the border (I say hassle, because even if the police did detain us, they had nothing more to stand on then suspicions, and it's perfectly legal for an American to enter Iraq), so we began walking in the other direction towards Mari. The police continued to follow us at a decent distance, but obviously with no care as to our noticing them. We spoke with some children along the way, and afterwards the police immediately called them over to the car to ask what we talked about. At that point, we realized that one policeman had gone into the restaurant to question them, which means it was very good that when the patron asked us if we were going to Iraq, we gave a vehement no.

Finally, the police ended their absurd obsession from a distance with us, and called us to the car. They were actually extremely friendly and welcoming. They asked where we were going, and when we said Mari, they gave us no more trouble. They then became our greatest allies, because when we told them we were going to hitchhike to Mari, they flagged down some car and asked him if he could take us to Mari. When he said no, they forced him to take us to Mari. The man was obviously unhappy, but complied and brought us to Mari. The police continued their pursuit of us. When we entered Mari, the police came with us. But Mari was actually expensive, so we decided not go, and when the policeman asked why we were leaving (obviously because of his continued suspicions of our possible intentions to cross the border), we said that it was too expensive. So he forced the guy to lower his price from 75 pounds to 10! So we were able to explore the remains of this Mesopotamian civilization on a mere 20 US cents. In fact, I took a pottery shard with me, because they didn't maintain the site at all, and I figured that I would take better care of it. Plus it's 5000 years old!

When we left, the police came with us. We tried to get a ride back to Deir Ezzor, but because of the holidays, there were no cars. So the police came to our aid again and flagged down a car, but apparently the military command a lot of respect and the subsequent 4 cars behind it pulled over as well. Then he forced the less begrudging Mohammed to give us a ride back to Abu Kamal so we could take a bus back to Deir Ezzor. The police of course came with us and helped us get onto a bus back to Deir Ezzor, and finally left us after I'm sure telling the driver to not let us out before Deir Ezzor. They ended up tailing us for four hours!

So we returned a few hours ago to Deir Ezzor without a scratch, and have found that Iraq is really not that far away, that the people on the border (who are most likely largely Iraqi) are extremely friendly and welcoming, and that despite that the police may be extremely suspicious of American they will go far out of their way to help you out, even if it is to assure that your story is true.

Again, again, again, I'm sure you all will freak out over this post, but know that we are aware of the situation and our surroundings, especially Beddor who has his degree in Middle Eastern politics. I'm sure I'll get in plenty of trouble for this, but just remember that we're here, and no matter how many news reports you read, we experienced it, and found that it was nowhere near the portrait journalists portray. So with that, here are some other pictures! (Apparently, I'm having trouble posting the pictures, so I'll try to do so in another post)

P.S. Be sure to check out my forthcoming post after this one, because yesterday was nearly as exciting as today, although today was certainly the highlight.

More on Syria

Today was our third day in the city of Aleppo, and the city and the people continue to grow on me. I've never been to a place where people have been so aggressively friendly. The sidewalks are packed with bustling people and shouting vendors. The streets are packed with cars that seem to have no regard for your existence as they brush your legs when you cross the street. The air is filled with the screech of car horns and the scent of freshly cooked felafels. I can't tell you how many times people have come up to me and try to talk to me, or how many times I've walked down the street to a chorus of hellos and welcome to Syria. I was walking down the street with a Syrian friend when I shook hands with an enthusiastic street vendor. He tried to speak to me in Arabic, and I just nodded my head as I was swept away by the sea of people in the streets. My friend then told me that he said to me "Hello, welcome to Syria! We want to show you that Syria is not a dangerous place!"

Everything that I have experienced so far has given me no sense of danger. In fact, quite the opposite. I feel safer here then I would in downtown Minneapolis or Cincinati. I've walked the streets with food in hand during the Moslem fast, and have not received a single look of disapproval. The worst I've seen are a few sneers from Syrian teenagers that seem to have a little too much to prove. It seems that the US government exaggerates when it advises, "This Travel Warning warns U.S. citizens of ongoing safety and security concerns in Syria. American citizens are urged to consider carefully the risks of travel to Syria and to take adequate precautions to ensure their safety."

Then again, the warnings are not to be entirely disregarded. While the Syrian people are perhaps the friendliest I've ever encountered, there seems to be a lot of undercurrents to the government. Syria is a military state run entirely by the government. The country has been under emergency law since 1963, stripping the citizens of essentially all their constitutional rights. For now, because of oil production, the Syrian government is very rich and can provide for its citizens. All it asks in return in unwavering trust and no questions asked. The Syrian leader, Bashar Al-Assad, is pictured on every street corner and every shop, reminding every citizen of who is watching.

Furthermore, one can see the natural propensity for volatility in the streets of Aleppo. Chris Beddor put it best when he said that in order to start a riot, one would simply have to walk into the street and start shouting mutinous claims, and the anarchy would descend, whereas in the US any sort of protest must be organized prior to its execution.

That being said, I haven't seen anything that would lead me to advise anyone against traveling to Syria. This could be my favorite country that I've ever visited. Historically and culturally it could be one of the richest places I've ever seen.

Tonight, the fast of Ramadan is breaking, so the streets will be packed body to body with endless streams of Syrian celebrants. It's a very strange phenomenon, because many Moslem will appropriate their schedule to fit the Ramadan fast, and sleep during the day, while staying up all night. In previous nights, the streets have been more crowded at 4 in the morning than they are at noon. And tonight is the mother of all celebrations. I'll be sure to update you all about it!

P.S. More pictures are on their way, but today I forgot my other memory card. Sorry!

P.P.S. I got to use my Italian yesterday!

Syria

We just arrived in Syria this morning after a 17 hour bus ride that probably could have been 5 hours had it not been for the circuitous, unpaved roads that wound along the cliffs of the Mediterranean. We entered border control, and as Americans, were immediately removed from the foreigner line and given special attention, because Syria has problems with America's bombs. I just kept my mouth shut. We were brought back into an office room for some light questioning, but actually made it into the country in only 45 minutes, when we were preparing for a 2-4 hour wait.

Syria is crazy though! I finally feel as if I'm in a foreign country. I'll keep this post short, but this is what I expected from the Middle East. The city center is chaos with speeding cars, honking horns, full burkas and shouting vendors. And it is cheap! We're staying in a hotel for $5 a night (we bargained them down) and our meal cost us only $3 (and we were disappointed in how expensive it was). I'll post again with more updates, including pictures, but for now I'm off to find food, fanta and a frosty brew in the Christian quarter.

Turkey

We are just wrappıng up our tıme here ın Turkey before we cross the border ınto Syrıa. Unfortunately, my last blog post was deleted so thıs post most lıkely wont match my last ın verbosıty. We spent the last few days tryıng to hıke the Lycıan way, a rıgorous 500 km hıke that goes through the mountaıns along the Medıterranean through the ancıent Greek regıon of Lycıa. Unfortunately, we were fırst stıfled by the Russıan laden cıty of Goynuk wıth ıts 7-star hotel and scantıly clad Russıans. Our second hıccup was more paınful. We traveled to the more backpacker frıendly cıty of Olympos. In order to get to Olympos we had to take a bus down mountaın traıls to the valley that borders the sea. The town ıs geared for backpackers and rıngs of a place created wıth the ıntentıon of attractıng backpackers rather than a spot backpackers fırst found. But the nıcest beach ın Turkey doesnt hurt.

The next mornıng I was feelıng terrıbly ıll and dıdnt eat breakfast. Thınkıng I was ınvıncıble, I began the rıgorous ascent. Unfortunately, sweat gave way to stomach paıns, whıch gave way to dızzıness, and I found myself pukıng my ınsıdes out, whıch consısted of prıncıpally water and stomach acıds. My haughtıness betrayed me and I found myself swımmıng and lazıng ın the Medıterranean for the rest of the day, so I cant complaın. Im just glad I got my fırst stomach sıckness out of the way.

Tonıght, we wıll head for the cıty of Gazıantep to enter Syrıa on the 17th wıth a prıvate taxı takıng us across the border, set up for us through Berkens dad wıth Cargıll. The border should be ınterestıng gıven that Ramadan ıs stıll goıng on untıl the 19th, but we want to cross the border before the end of Ramadan, because ıf we waıt untıl the end the border wıll just shut down for an ındefınıte perıod of tıme. So ın two days Syrıa!

Im extremely excıted for Syrıa, because ıt ıs the only country ın the Mıddle East that we are goıng to that ısnt geared for tourısts. The dangers of Syrıa seem to be greatly overexaggerated, and theır grıpe ıs wıth Israel over the Golan Heıghts, not wıth us. Syrıa ıs also home to some great ruıns ıncludıng the greatest remaınıng crusader fortress, Krak des Chevalıers, and the spectacular ruıns of Palmyra. Well also spend tıme ın Aleppo, Damascus and Bosra before we head ınto Jordan. Also here are some pıctures below!

When we arrıved ın Antalya, we passed out ın front of an ınternet cafe, waıtıng for ıt to open. Beddor ıllustrates our emotıons pretty well here.

Not a bad vıew from the beach ın Olympos.

Thıs was the only ATM ın Olympos. It was ın the back of a van. After puttıng ın your card, the screen flashed - I wıll not be able to gıve you a receıpt for thıs transactıon. Contınue?

Vıew from the Lycıan Way. Before ıt was puked on.