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.