Syriausly Hospitable

It is only when you get a repeatedly implored invitation to enter a lingerie and women's clothing shop that you begin to realise that profit is not motivating Syrian conversation, hospitality is. As I had wandered the streets, it seemed that everybody knew two English words - "Hello" and "Welcome". Those that spoke more than a handful used all their pleasantries before graciously allowing me to continue the next 10 metres down the street before I would be bailed up again. Initially distrustful, suspecting that everyone wanted to sell me something, I slowly opened up to people's invitation to conversation, with the reward of being able to sit inside a lingerie shop (and a muslim one at that), chat with a herbal doctor (though I declined the herbal viagra offered, invariably unneccessary but even more so for a westerner in Syria), and meet (very) extended family family matters, (though now I realise that this email may be flagged as junk mail as it contains the words 'viagra' and 'extended' in the same sentence (oops, now twice).Apart from the aforementioned markets, there was little to offer in the city of Hama. Their claim to fame are some large wooden waterwheels, oft pictured. What pictures fail to convey is the stench of the river which hosts the waterwheels. When I arrived, they had not yet re-started the river's water flow and hence the waste which accumulated was in an advanced state of decay, causing me to seriously question my guidebook's suggestion of a romantic walk through adjacent parks.A day-trip out of the city let me to the ruins of Apamea, whose columns make for good photographic material, but are otherwise uninspiring. What is of more interest is the driving skills of those people who drive their scooter around the ruins hawking 'old' coins.
A far more enjoyable afternoon was spent climbing a castle I stumbled across en route, behind which lay a surprise canyon full of sheep and goats, and a charming river.The next day, the river began to flow for the summer season, lessening the haze of aroma, only to be replaced by the mournful sound of the wooden waterwheels turning. This chorus of bagpipes hounded me from the city, as I journeyed to mountains and castles in search of Syria's less noxious tourist attractions

On such a castle expedition, we arrived to find the first castle closed for the day, which only increased my desire to enter, whether by way of medieval force or subterranean subterfuge. My method of ramming the front door down proving itself unsuccesful, and lacking the time to starve the occupants out, nor a battering ram, catapult, ladder, or flaming carcass with which to force entry, I employed all that I knew about castles - there is always a secret exit - which I was able to locate (on my umpteenth attempt of peering into holes which seemed to have been converted into makeshift lavatories). Having discovered the castle's weakness, my interest in it waned and I moved on to a grander adventure - that of conquering Crac de Chevaliers, the best preserved Crusader castle and a place to relive childhood fantasies. This double walled castle would certainly also have been impenetrable, were it not for the fact that the front door lay open, the guard easily bribed with an entrance fee.

However short my visit was, Syria's greatest attraction was its people, welcoming and hospitable. There is no symbol of Syria's generous hospitality greater than the amount of refugees they have taken in - palestinians, Maronites & Armenians, demonstrating tolerance and diversity. If only our nations could follow their example.