Aleppo, Day 2

Hama, Syria

So after an exciting first day in Aleppo, I headed out on Wednesday hoping for more hospitality and free tea. I headed north from the hostel towards the Christian Quarter of Aleppo, known as "Al-Jdeida". The Christian quarter is full of narrow, sign less streets that you can just lose yourself among within a few minutes. There isn't all that going on in the quarter, but it is a peaceful respite from the honking and traffic just a few blocks away. Apart from some friendly "Hello's", a few kids that wanted to talk English and some basic street wandering, I didn't spend all that long in the quarter.

From the Christian quarter, I headed back south towards the relatively massive Sheraton Hotel that is being built right in the heart of old Aleppo. It's no more then a stones throw away from my hostel (and all the other hostels) but obviously it's intended for a different clientele. The building actually looks more like a mosque (minus the minarets) from the outside rather then a hotel. And while obviously not finished, the entire construction site was strangely void of any construction equipment, let alone construction workers. I would learn later that the hotel is indeed still being built, so Syrian construction must either take place late at night and they remove all their equipment by day break, or everything is invisible.

On the backside of the construction site, in an area that was borderline home to the homeless (though at times it's tough to tell in Aleppo because there is litter everywhere), I got yet another "Hello" from an elder man named Mohamad sitting under a tree beside an even elder man named Hussein. Mohamad looked homeless, but again, you never know. Hussein didn't look quite so homeless, but again, I'm not all that well versed in Aleppo's homeless population.

As I started with some basic conversation with Mohamad a stool somehow magically appeared from behind the tree, no idea where it came from, but one minute I was contemplating sitting on the ground to join then, the next minute I had a nice stool to sit on, go figure. Within seconds of sitting down, a tray with two tea's comes yet again from behind the tree (though now I can tell there is a small tea stall behind what I thought was a boarded up shop). Mohamad offers me the tea and he takes the other one. I was pretty sure the second tea was for his buddy Hussein and politely turned down the first half dozen offers but ultimately relented since I really did want a free tea. Could have just been me, but I'm pretty sure Mohamad gave me his buddies tea...

Hussein and Mohamad.

Unfortunately, Mohamad didn't really know all that much English at all and Hussein didn't talk, so the conversation was a little rocky to say the least. When in doubt, comment on how much you like the tea, how beautiful Aleppo is, remind them your name is Kenny and then just say "Canada". Lord, or I should say Allah, only knows what he was trying to tell me. With the tea finished, I politely excused myself from underneath the tree behind the unfinished Sheraton and headed on my way towards the souq.

The souq in Aleppo is nowhere near the size of either the Grand Bazaar or the Egyptian Bazaar in Aleppo but it can still hold it's own when it comes to shear impressiveness of what is sold. It is, however, more impressive when it comes to trucks inside the souq. While I'm not going to hand out any "good driving" awards to the Syrians, I am in shear awe of their ability to get trucks in and out of the souq. California SUV owners, or just plain San Francisco drivers for that mater, would do well to get some pointers from these guys (didn't see any women souq drivers) because they know the exact dimensions of their vehicles to the millimeter, well at least 90% of the drivers do. It is absolutely amazing to see these guys drive their mini pick-up trucks through the souq, around stalls that overflow into the "street" and not hit anything. Of course, the horn is going every 5 seconds, but still. You really need to see it to believe it. And for the most part this is done with completely overloaded trucks. The odd time, a truck will take a corner too sharp and scrape the cement wall, or two trucks won't quite fit through the space designed for one, but somehow they manage to eventually squeeze by, all with people mixed in just for good measure.

On the outskirts of the souq, I passed a friendly shop owner named Antoine who I ended up spending over 2 hours with in his shop (must have been a slow day). He was Christian and for some reason decided I needed a bit of a lesson on what it was like to be Christian in a Muslim city. Not being overly religious myself, I kept steering the conversation back more towards global issues related to religion, government and politics. Much easier to talk about that then the intricacies of Islam or Christianity. Antoine spoke equally well in French and English and we switched between the two languages rather freely. (I was actually surprised my French was holding up so well, seeing as I speak so little of it these days).

(Side note, many older Syrians speak French since France controlled what is now modern day Syria back around the First World War. You can read up all about the " French Mandate of Syria" at your leisure.)

So things are going along well with Antoine, the tea is flowing, we're having a great conversation (being able to actually converse always helps) when another local shop keeper comes in. Clearly they know each other and certainly act like old time friends. Lots of those lean-back chuckles you see people do so often. But the second he leaves, Antoine looks at me and says "Whatever you do, don't tell him you understand French." Strange, but I'll play along. So the shop keeper keeps coming back in ever so often (business must be slow for him). He mostly speaks Arabic and fluent French, since he has a second residence in Niece. His English is passable, but for the most part he just talks with Antoine in either Arabic or French. Whenever he talks to me in "Franglais", I can see Antoine waving at me to pretty to not understand. All very bizarre in a room no larger then 10x10 feet. I almost slip up by answering a question he poses in French but Antoine steps in and changes the topic.

Antoine and I in his shop.

All very strange. The only explanation Antoine ever gives me is that the other vendor is a "crazy Muslim guy"... Hmm, maybe Antoine isn't quite as open as he says he is. (His main sticking point on Christianity vs Islam is that apparently in Christianity you're taught to love all people while in Islam you're taught to love other Muslims.) Beats the hell out of me if that's true or not, but I wasn't about to start debating a topic like that when I can't even tell someone if I've ever been baptised... (Which, I should add, creates some pretty blank states when my answer is: "Uh, I don't know" I guess for religious followers that's the equivalent of asking someone: "So, do you have one leg or two legs?" and responding with "Uh, I don't know.")

So yeah, things start getting a bit deeper into Christianity when Antoine starts insisting that I must visit church on Sunday so that I can talk to god. I tell him that I can talk to god anywhere, anytime, it doesn't have to be on Sunday morning in a church. He persists telling me that the only way to be with god is in the church. So I ask him if god is with him in his store since he has a cross on the wall. Answer: "Well yes, god is with you all the time." Well then, if that's the case explain to me again why I have to go to church on Sunday morning to see him. At that point Antoine wondered if I was interested in any of the jewelry he was selling. I declined, thanked him for the tea and wished him well, both with his religious beliefs and with his business practices. That said, it was certainly one of the best conversations I've had to date on this trip.

As I ventured deeper into the souq, I met a nice guy named Mohamad working his jewelry/textile booth. (I swear I'm not making up all these Mohamad names.) We chatted a bit. Most times the conversation always goes like this:

"Hello"
(Turning around) "Hello"
"Where are you from my friend"
"Canada"
"Where in Canada"
"Ottawa"
(Blank stare)
"Where?"
"Ottawa"
(Another blank stare)
"Uh, Toronto"
"Oh yes, Toronto, beautiful place. My sister/uncle/brother/friend/cousin lives there. Very nice"
"Yes, it is a beautiful city."

Then, depending on my mood and desire to keep talking to said individual I either just move on with a nice smile and friendly wave, or I'll actually linger and follow it up with the following:

"Are you from Aleppo?" (Or possibly saying Haleb, since Aleppo is the English name)
"Yes, from Aleppo/Haleb... Do you like Aleppo?"
"Yeah, it's great so far. Lots of friendly people."
"Do you like Syria, is it nice/great/beautiful?"
"Nice, very nice/great/beautiful."

Then, if things are really flowing, we can actually start talking about something. In Mohamads case, he wanted me to meet his uncle so he took me a few stalls down to meet his uncle, who's name escapes me but his open gayness does not. After living in San Francisco for six years I'd say I'm pretty comfortable with whatever your sexual orientation because personally I don't give a shit. Well, the uncle was by far the most openly gay person I've ever met... People, I'm in Syria if you forgot!

Gay uncle, Mohamad, cousin.

So the uncle is laying it on thick, tons of one liners that he picked up while living in Sydney, Australia for a few years. His cousins keep making fun of him and while they are eating keep asking me if I want to "Eat them", then quickly correct themselves and say "Eat with them." At the end, the uncle tops it off by asking me if I have a blind date tonight? Uh, no, I don't. Tells me he does with a "big black guy" and hopes it's everything he's heard. People, you really have to put all this into context. I'm in a souq, in Aleppo Syria, just about any women that passes me is at a minimum covered head to toe and this uncle is just openly saying all this with me. Personally, I'm getting a kick out of it (hey, I don't get him on all that much so I'll take what I can get.... ;) but really the situation is borderline unimaginable. Finally I moved on, much to his and his cousins dismay, but I knew I'd be back in the coming days and I did keep my word to visit him again... More on that later...

As I kept walking through the souq I had a bit of a social conscience moment. I noticed another Western tourist couple just a bit ahead of me. The guy had some pretty serious camera gear slung around his neck so of course I had to get a bit closer for a peak. The guy definitely wasn't a pro, but he was sort of dressed like one with the faux-photographer vest and baggy cargo pants. He was probably late 30's to early 40's, though looked older. What got me a bit pissed off though was that he was pretty much shooting vendors at will, without asking them if it was ok. I could tell he was purposely shooting without the flash to not make a scene because normally you'd need the flash since the lighting in the souq is terribile. One more then one occasion, he took the picture as the vendor was waving him off saying "no". I could hear the shutter go off each time and I know he got the shot, or at least a shot. Out on the sidewalk, he'd quickly pull his camera up and snap a picture of a person walking past with a load of goods balanced on their head. You could clearly tell the person was like "what the fuck... or WFT!"

I was just about to go up to him an call him on his bullshit. Every time someone said "No", he would say "Oh, ok, no photo", but I knew he had already taken the picture. Did he delete them after the fact, I doubt it. Part of me was jealous that he was getting all these shots that I wasn't, because I'm too shy to just start snapping away at people without asking, but the other half of me was pretty pissed at the guy because he was totally playing up the Western stereotype. White dude walking around the souq with 3000$ of camera gear around his neck, taking photos of people that say "No" and not really stopping to chat or meet anyone. No idea where he was from, but in the end I just let it go since it would probably be hypocritical of me to chastise him for getting the very shots that I so covet. (For those keeping score, any shot that I've taken so far of a local I've asked them first and only once been told "No". While ethical, in my mind, it doesn't create much diversity among your people shots because they are all of people smiling for the camera... /sigh)

But I digress from my rant because shortly after wanting to smack said wanna-be National Geographic photographer, I found myself wandering around the fruit and vegetable souq/market and within minutes had a small group of locals come running up to me asking me to take their photo and a photo of just about every other fruit vendor. Most obliged and it was kind of fun getting pulled around the market being told "Him, take photo of him... And him, take of him... etc". I got a few people shots, but again, all with people looking at the camera. (How could you not look, by this point there was me with the camera plus an entourage of about a half dozen locals all pointing at our next "target".)

Banana vendor, who actually did allow me to take the photo.

By now it was getting late so I decided to head back to the hostel to figure out dinner. I quickly met two other travelers, Daniel from Australia and Steve from Canada and the three of us went out for some quick kebabs. Back from dinner, I hung out in the hostel lounge with Chris, an Australian who does multi-week guided tours through the Middle East for tour groups and Michelle, a fellow Canadian from New Brunswick who as traveling through the region. I'd end up hanging out with her and her best friend (and her best friends husband) for the next few days, while sadly I never really did see Chris again since his tour group left the following day.

All that in just my second day in Syria. For those thinking of traveling, but Syria on your list. Don't come if you're looking to see churches, castles and all the usual "sightseeing" stuff, come if you just want to wander around a city and meet friendly locals who aren't all (some are, but not all) out to sell you something...

Kenny