So now we are in Palmyra. There's not really a lot to say about Palmyra, unfortunately. This is because I am now suffering from ABC syndrome. You know the thing - ABC - Another B***** Cathedral... well in the case of Palmyra, not cathedral, but Roman Ruin. ABRR. It's actually a shame, because this is a lovely town and the ruins really are quite something, but I think if you were to compare it to Ephesus, although Palmyra certainly is extensive in terms of size, much of the detail on the ruins, like the decorations at the tops of columns and stuff, has just eroded away - whereas much of this detail still remains in Ephesus. Or perhaps I was simply underwhelmed by Palmyra because it was sooo unbearably hot (again!).
In the interests of not being ripped off (and also not wasting time) we spoke to our hotelier, Smile (yes, that's what he said his name was, but no, his smile was not all that - in fact it was something to avert your eyes from. Not one straight tooth in the whole mouth!), about organising a little mini-tour. Well, it worked in Aleppo, why not here, right?
Smile's idea of a tour was to book a local taxi driver to take us around. This was ok in that at least his English was a bit more advanced compared to Mr "Good Very Good" from Aleppo, but bad in that this guy thought he needed to serenade us in the car by singing, and might I add, extremely NOT tunefully, some traditional Syrian songs. However he did give us a good little tour and we did see all the important things, especially as he kept pulling over to his favourite photographic spots and insisting on taking pictures for us. That was fine except for the fact that this guy's photographic technique, let's just say, wouldn't earn him a job with National Geographic. So I have some rather blurry Palmyra shots...
After our tour the taxi driver took us to the bus stop to get the bus to Damascus. We tried to buy tickets but for some strange reason the guy wouldn't sell us any right then, but we had to wait 30 minutes. What difference does it make if we buy our tickets now or in 30 minutes, I don't know, but he wouldn't allow it. When we did finally get the tickets they didn't have seat numbers, but he said it was ok, we could sit where we liked.
Only problem with this was that several kiosks were selling tickets, and hadn't heard about the unreserved seat thing, so we got on the bus and positioned ourselves nicely, when a man came up and absolutely insisted that we were in his seat. Sure enough, we were - he had a seat reservation - but when Agnieszka explained we were told we could sit wherever, he wasn't having it. And it was my seat that he wanted.
In the interests of diplomacy (and also because I didn't want to get chucked off the bus) I gave up my seat, but Agnieszka wanted to make the point, so she stayed in her place. That was fine until a bloke came and sat next to me who seriously should have gone to Jenny Craig. This bloke was big, sweaty, and ponged of last weeks socks. And also had no idea of personal space. So I spent the whole 3 hours or so squished up like a cane toad on the road, splatto, against the window, whilst this bloke fully occupied half of my chair. And to top it all off, he obviously thought that he had to keep the 'crown jewels' fully ventilated, because his legs were so far apart that I thought he was trying to set the world record for doing the splits, or something. Not the most pleasant bus ride, thank you.
But again we were subjected to Egypt's finest, in terms of cinematography. This time, it was an odd little romp called "Hammam in Amsterdam" which again started with a big musical number (spelling out Hammam's name) and basically was the adventure of this bloke Hammam (surprise, surprise - in Amsterdam). The problem was, though, that again, they'd obviously got this DVD as a dodgy back of the marketplace rip-off copy, and it kept locking up. So much so that we didn't get to see the end, it fully froze and then packed it in when Hammam was trying to buy Toscanini's restaurant. The interesting thing about it was that apparently this film is fairly recent (well 1999, anyway) but seriously had the look of a dodgy 70s flick, and also, I couldn't believe the blatant racism towards the Israelis in this. This guy Hammam fully freaked out when he found out his co-worker was an Israeli, made such a big deal out of it, wanted to quit his job because he couldn't work with an Israeli, did unkind things to the Israeli - and the whole bus was totally cacking themselves about it!
Anyway, finally arrived in Damascus and I was able to peel myself off the window and get out of the bus after Mr Sweaty Smelly Fatty Fatty Fat Fat got off.
We got a servees into the heart of Damascus, thanks to the kind help of a stranger, and then made our way to the hostel which Smile had booked for us (we'd had such problems getting a room and managed only at the very last moment to secure the last 2 beds in all of Damascus, I'm sure). This hostel is at the back of one of the smaller souqs in Damascus, not far from the Souk Medhat Pasha (which once upon a time was Straight Street, where the apostle Paul was converted). Our dorm is somewhat interesting, it doesn't have a door, and is pretty hot, but at least its clean. Well, of sorts.
So we dumped our stuff and headed off to see the sights...
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