Sunday, September 20, 2009

Al-Quneiytra

I got my permit to go to Al-Quneiytra, the Syrian city at the entrance of the Golan Heights, and this morning set off on my little yellow bike, southwards along the Eastern Lebanon Mountain Range (or, according to the "Western" name, the "Anti-Lebanon Mountain Range"... hmm, that's not political at all), past olive fields and apple orchards. As you get closer to the Golan, the breeze gets cooler and carries the smell of pine. It's a refreshing change from the gridlock and grime of Damascus.

Today was also the Muslim holiday of Eid Al-Fitr, marking the end of Ramadan. I suppose people celebrate that not only by eating and congratulating each other, but actually giving plastic guns to their young sons. So all along the road I was being shot at by hordes of little brats. One of them actually gave me a welt on my belly... what the hell happened to Legos? Maybe those were the "arms sales" the Russia recently announced to Syria. I think the Syrians should be wary of those Russian arms; the last time they used them, they lost the Golan.

I left home at 6am, and 4 hours, 40 miles, one flat tire, one shwarma, two nasty Spam sandwiches and one cucumber later, I found myself in the Liberated City. It's pretty liberated: no one is living there, except for the few secret police who accompanied me around the city, showing me the ruins of houses, hospitals and churches the Israelis left behind as they retreated. From the third floor of the bombed-out, bullet-ridden hospital (one guard takes his position on the second floor which must be really boring), you can see the mountains of the occupied Golan Heights, with a huge Israeli surveillance base watching us.

After a few jokes, my police companions lighten up, and the officer tells his subordinate to ride my bike and he offers to take me around on his motorcycle. For a second, I think about equality and comraderie, but then quickly brush that thought out of my mind and happily jump on the motorcycle. We go past more houses, mined-areas and generally depressing scenes from a city that once was home to some 16,000 people, according to Officer "Can't-Tell-You-My-Name". When I ask him about peace with Israel, he candidly admits, "In Sha Allah". He catches me off-guard when he says that Syria would be willing to share the precious water of Lake Tiberias with the Israelis, but says that Israel doesn't want that, and I think he might be right. The Golan Heights is one of the more fertile areas of Syria, and now of Israel, and an important source of water in the region. The Golan Heights have also entered the realm of cyber-war recently, with Facebook allowing their users in the occupied territories to choose between describing their location as "Israel or Syria".

The most recent international efforts to return the occupied territory to the Syrians were interrupted when Syria unilaterally ended them in protest of last December's Israeli-massacre of Gazans. Obama's recent efforts have failed to produce anything, so for now, it seems that Al-Quneiytra will remain a ghost town, frequented by a few crazy gringos on yellow bikes.

Friday, September 18, 2009

My New Bike

So I finally bought a bike at a used (or stolen) bike street-fair (if you’re interested, held ever Friday in Zublatani). Most of the bikes are vegetable sellers’ bikes, and I was told that it is embarrassing to be seen riding one of those to the university unless you are delivering vegetables to the severely-understocked school cafeteria. And I would never dare to be seen as a vegetable seller. I already look strange enough with this weird hole that suddenly appeared in my beard. Does anyone know what to do? People told me to rub lemon and garlic on it (sounds lovely); if I were in Colombia, some campesino would tell me to put a freshly-laid egg on it, or even to rub some fresh horse shit into it. Oh! Why can’t I have Ben Bernanke’s lush recession-proof beard??

My bike is a nice, blinding yellow, indistinguishable between the yellow taxis zipping past me at 120 kph (that’s kilometers per hour, not Kansas Public Housing), and I actually enjoy surviving the 10-minute trip to university that I make every day. Past the pictures of Bashar in uniform, the pictures of Bashar amidst flowers, Bashar smiling. Why can’t they put up a picture of Asma, the first lady? Apart from sounding like a respiratory illness, she’s quite attractive and it would make my trip better. Actually, there are posters of Nasrallah, the cherubic Hezbollah leader, smiling at me from all the alley walls of my neighborhood. He looks almost as cute as Asma.

And I went to the permits office today to register for a permit to go to Qunaitrah, the city in the Golan Heights. Most Syrians can’t go there, but it seems to be easier for foreigners, I suppose because they want to show how Israel left the city. I thought it was pretty amusing when the official asked me, very seriously: “So you want to see the liberated city?” I asked, “You mean Qunaiytrah.” “Yes, the liberated city.” I wanted to say yes, I want to see the city that you Syrians had so bravely wrestled from Satan’s claws, but I second-guessed my sarcasm. Actually, historical check: I’m pretty sure it was through negotiations that they got that city back... anyone know?

If I get the permit, I will try to bike to the Golan Heights and let you all know how interesting or not it is. Actually, my housemate (who is still sleepy, but talks more now), has relayed to me - over several evening tea breaks - that he was a veteran of the 1973 “Yom Kippur” War (when Eygpt and Syria tried to take back the Sinai and the Golan, respectively). He has the shrapnel wounds to prove it. Apparently, he was on the front lines of this bloody conflict (that left some 10,000 dead in roughly two weeks), entered 5 km into Israeli territory, and he pointed out to me that when he took some Israelis captive, the first thing he did (after taking away their weapons) was to give them some of his army rations. That was a nice last meal. (Just kidding.)

Other than that, some of us took a trip to a small village outside of Damascus to go to a Greek Orthodox festival. It was quite fun, and interesting. It’s a small town with a majority Christian population. (In spite of the fact that the Orthodoxes - or is it Orthodoxi? - had littered the surrounding hills with hundreds of lit-up crosses, some wise guy decided to build a mosque right in the middle of town.) The festival got a little strange, however, when someone lit a cross on fire. Not sure if that was intended, but I felt a little strange. I got really anxious when I saw people dressed in robes, but then relaxed a little when I realized they were just nuns. Or were they penguins...? hmmm...

And my pops is visiting me in October. If any of you speak to him, convince him not to bring over those books I told him too, because they will probably cause me to be stranded on the Palestinian-Jordanian border, arguing with some 20-year-old budding fascist, and that would really blow.

That’s the news from out here. Wish me luck on my midterms and on my bike ride!

PS. I finally uploaded the video of the Kurdish dancers. You can check it out here.

Sunday, September 6, 2009

First Day of Class

Sorry I haven't written, things here aren't nearly exciting as rebellious mountain dancing in the Turkish Southeast. By the way, I have been meaning to put up a video of this incredible Kurdish dance group, but everytime I spend an hour uploading it, at the end it says error. So until I can show you all the video, here is another one that is equally interesting.



Other than that, I started my first day of class today at the University of Damascus. It's ok so far, we'll see how it goes. I have a new roommate, a middle-aged Syrian man who is really nice and teaches me Syrian Arabic, but seems to sleep a lot. Maybe talking to me makes him tired.

Ok, that's it for now. Everything good. In Iraq, I guess things seem to be heating up between the Kurds and the Arabs, over Kirkuk's oil. And Iraq and Syria are having a little fight. US bombing Afghans and Pakistanis. Everything normal.