Dazzled by Damascus

Interesting things happen when you travel, and this time it was the experience of getting a brief introduction to Damascus from an American woman who teaches psychology at a private university in Kuwait! I bump into Cathy at a dry fruits stall in Boukein, about 80 km from Damascus, where my driver Adil, who speaks about four words of English (and the Indian baksheesh !), has parked his brand new SUV, from which the plastic seat covers are yet to come off. I have no clue why he has brought me here and he makes the sign to suggest it is for drinking.

Natural spring water

Now certainly it can't be beer or wine — I have been advised to cover my head but see many women wearing tight tops and jeans walking around with uncovered heads — and my attempts to get an answer from Adil prove futile. Till the encounter with Kathy and her friend, who is a Syrian living in Kuwait, happens. The Syrian woman says in flawless English that Boukein is famous for its natural spring water. “People from the surrounding countries come here to drink “as much of this amazing mineral water as they can. So please drink as much as you can, then buy a can, fill it and take it with you.”

The water is indeed the freshest and sweetest one has savoured in a long time; not only the water but the dry fruits are tempting and have to be acquired. Figs that are twice the size available in India, and several times sweeter and softer, cost 200 Syrian pounds (a Syrian pound is equivalent to an Indian rupee) a kg. Lemon pistachios and large salted, roasted almonds of superior quality each cost Rs 500 a kg.

On a daylong sightseeing tour of Damascus, Adil's first halt was the parking lot of the Shaam Bazaar. The lanes and bylanes of the bazaar lead to the erstwhile grand palace of Yazid, now called the Umayyad Mosque, where the family of the 7th century martyred grandson of Prophet Mohammed, Imam Hussain, was brought after the battle of Karbala in Iraq. Imam Hussain had defied the dynastic succession of Yazid as the ruler of the region after the death of his father, Muawiya.

At the nearby prison, the family comprising mostly women and children were confined and tortured and Imam Hussain's three-year-old daughter, Rukaiyya, died here. There is a glittering shrine erected in the palace complex in her memory.

But it is the grand shrine where Imam Hussain's severed head was kept for 200 years, before being shifted to Cairo, which gets a huge inflow of pilgrims.

The severed head of John the Baptist is also kept in a shrine at this complex, which was originally a Roman structure and includes typical majestic Roman columns and huge chandeliers. The opulent and huge structure, now a mosque, was originally a church. The Muslims worship John the Baptist as Prophet Yahya; many western tourists are here to pay their homage to him and I talk to a few who are from Denmark and The Netherlands.

At the exit of the edifice is a fruit juice seller who each day offers a different juice. On that day he was hand-pressing a fruit that looked like an orange but was deep red like a pomegranate… It is a mix of both orange and pomegranate, he says in broken English. Whatever it is, it is delicious and refreshing.

Treasures of Shaam bazaar

But nothing compares to the treasures that the Shaam Bazaar or the Hamidiye souk as it is called, holds… beautiful tapestry with calligraphy, colourful scarves, pearl and other jewellery, clothes, handbags and footwear, table linen, cushion covers and bedspreads, and an amazing number of shops selling cosmetics.

And then come the stores selling the famous West Asian delicacy baklava … the choicest of fluffy pastry stuffed with almonds and pistachios.

Almonds, pistachios, walnuts and other nuts are available heaped at roadside stalls or handcarts.

By now, the palate was pampered enough, and the special kebab café where Adil drove me to, in a small hill-town about 80 km from Damascus where one could clearly see snow-capped peaks, completed the experience.

But I could hardly find anybody who spoke decent English. When this is mentioned to Cathy who loves Damascus and is a frequent visitor here, she says, “Ah, that's because you are not going to the right places. You should have gone to the cafes and coffee shops that surround the Umayyad Mosque and the Hamidiye souk; there you would have found lots of people speaking fluent English.”

Coffee at sundown

Even though the aroma of Arabic coffee was tempting enough, the orange-cum-pomegranate juice had to take precedence. Adil made up for all the frustration he gave me by not knowing English, by ending the evening at Jabal Qasioun, the mountain overlooking Damascus. This is barely 20 km from the city, and finally it was time for some good coffee. As the sun went down and the temperature dived to around 8 degrees Celsius, a welcome sight was a couple of coffee vendors who had smartly turned their vehicles into makeshift coffee dispensers. Armed with a cup of piping hot cappuccino, one settled down to savour the magic of the dazzling city of Damascus. As evening turned into night, the dramatic effect of the spectacular, glittering minarets and domes of numerous mosques left one speechless.

And, after Iraq, it was such a relief to find women not clothed in sack-like black gowns complete with hijab . Cathy is dressed in jeans, a top and a jacket to take on the low temperature. “ Hijab ? No way; in all my 13 years in Kuwait, and so many visits to Damascus, I've never worn anything except similar clothes… and nobody has ever asked me to cover my face or hair either,” she says.

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