Day 6 - Thursday 2nd April 09 - Damascus

This was the day we left the hotel. We made the most of the final shower, ate the last of the olive, yoghurt and bread breakfasts then arranged to store the luggage while we went to meet Matt and Tim at the handcraft market. We bought a couple of presents including a clock with Arabic numerals. There was a music shop selling Ouds, drums, whistles etc. The whistles were the cheapest and had a wonderful bagpipe drone so I bought a double set for 500sp. Terry and Tim were mortified and persuaded me to take them back and swap them for a drum. Secretly I would have preferred the drum but didn’t think I could justify the expense so their prejudices against my piping played to my benefit...

After a tasty restaurant lunch we collected the bags from the hotel. On the way we passed a bike converted for cooking crepes. Matthew told us he used to hear the vendor pedalling round advertising his wares in English by shouting loudly "Crap on a biiiike!”. I had forgotten how much I miss Matthew’s anecdotes and sparkly eyed humour.

We went by taxi to Matthew's where we met Laurence and Nour who accompanied us to the garden centre with the grand plan of greening Matthew's balcony. It was wonderful to walk round somewhere brimming with greenery. There were also a range of birds for sale including some big chickens cramped into tiny cages where they could scarcely turn around, far less stretch their wings. One cage had a dying bird lying on its side in the heat and flies. Tim and I took the cage to an assistant but we could not understand their reply so really didn't feel we had helped either the bird or our own conscience. Tim and I discussed whether we should secretly set the birds free or at least help their chance of escape by removing the stone from the top of the cage. But in true English fashion we ended up not making a fuss or causing embarrassment to us or anyone else.

We got a lift back with Laurence, Nour and Omar (who joined us at the garden centre). Carrying the plants up to the fourth floor was hard work but not as hard as carrying the soil - thankfully we didn't need to do that particular job as the friendly delivery man who does the roof garden for Laurence and Omar seemed quite willing to lug the bags up the stairs! We had tea with Laurence's family and I found out what a skilled and knowledgeable photographer Omar is. He is doing an MA in Vienna on a part time basis. I envied Nour who is growing up with his Dad speaking Arabic, his Mum speaking French and English liberally sprinkled as their social language with friends. He will end up knowing three languages without studying any. However, it seemed strange that a couple so cultured and well educated had decided to settle in a noisy polluted city and bring up a child there. The extent of my surprise suprised even me. It reflected deep seated prejudices; not against amascus, just about cities in general - I still find it inconceivable to choose to live in one. I know many people have few choices but I would sacrifice a lot for the joys of clean air and the song of birds.

I was very tired after tea and just wanted to sit down but Terry had realised she still had the key for the hotel room and I knew it was better to take it back sooner than later so I forced myself to walk back to the hotel to deliver it. As an incentive I took my camera with my new lens attached and gave myself the luxury of abundant time. Damascus seems busier in the evening than it is in the day and I walked slowly, choosing unfamiliar routes to broaden my knowledge of the city. On the way back I picked my way through the dark and narrow streets of souk Sarouja using the moon for navigation. It was a much longer route but being more interesting was less tiring. It also felt remarkably safe and it was with some confidence I explored the maze of little streets. I knew if I got lost I’d be unable to ask for directions but I didn’t expect to get lost. It wasn’t that I knew where I was, just that I was fairly sure I could end up in the right general area provided I walked far enough and could see the moon now and again. I spent a long time photographing a stray cat in a derelict building and an equally long time composing the moon behind the crescent on top of a mosque.

Walking through the city at night, with its bustle of activity I felt an invisible spectator, almost a ghost from another time or place, unable to communicate. I looked in on restaurants, recognising few of the foods and overhearing wholly incomprehensible conversations. There was an ambiguity in my invisibility. Part of it was appealing but part of it was alienating. I felt like a beggar must feel as people walk past avoiding eye contact; but then I realised that this was nothing to do with language barriers - I feel equally distant when walking through any English towns; if truth were known I feel an outsider in every group, sometimes even among my closest friends and family. It's something to do with not being a nuisance, not imposing on people but insecurity is only part of it. It’s also about the joy of solitude (mixed, no doubt, with a bit of pride and aloofness). The origins are dim and distant and the motivation mixed but I’ve learned to live with it happily enough … though it sometimes frustrates Terry.

When I got back to Matthew’s I was ready for bed and we were greatly blessed to find his flatmate, Kate, had tidied her room and changed her bedding so that we could sleep in her bed until she got back from Beirut.