update
34.
it's tea time all the time
Cycling in Lebanon and Syria
20 March 2009
Total kilometers cycled: 51,314
Specific country info on routes & roads/food &
accommodation/the locals available here.

Swooping
down towards the Mediterranean from the mountains one stormy evening on
a
winding, pot-holed highway, through suburbs plunged in darkness
(and we'd thought
power cuts blighted only Africa), we had our first
glimpse of Beirut. Once known as the 'Paris of the Middle East',
Lebanon's capital is nowadays more of a byword for urban destruction.
Darkness obscured most of the war damage as we pedaled past French style
patisseries,
newly-built high rise apartment complexes and trendy shops. Flashy
Mercedes and BMWs clogged the roads, splashing us mercilessly as they roared
past . Thoroughly soaked, we showed up three hours
late at the apartment of our contact from
couchsurfing. Affable Ryan came down to meet us at the entrance
of what, to us, seemed a very posh place to live. He immediately
rang up the
concierge who
whisked away the bikes and then lead us up to his flat where we were
greeted by his wife Jennifer and an enormous fluffy white cat named
Romeo. After almost three years on the road we've become a bit
scruffy, I suppose. Eric hadn't shaved for days, our shoes are
holey, my tee-shirts are ripped, my socks don't match and our trousers
are worn thin. So there we were in a spacious high-rise
apartment with a view of the city and the sea
dripping water on the expensive carpets and lugging in our muddy
panniers to the guest room. Dinner was served on white
china rather than the plastic we're accustomed to and we fumbled
around with the utensils and tried to remember the right way to hold a
wine glass. And then the pressure to make intelligent
conversation rather than converse in hand signals and broken English.
For some odd reason our hosts we're completely repelled by our
appearance and manners and let us stay for a week. Not seeing the
sights, mind you. Just hanging out
in the flat, learning how to use an I-Pod, watching pirated movies (I
highly recommend
The Visitor) and depleting Ryan and Jen's reserves of espresso and imported cheeses.

One
day we did manage to venture out from our comfortable suburban haven
into the chaos of downtown Beirut. In most people's minds the
city is linked with bombs and bullets, but a surprising amount of
rebuilding is going on. An expensive and controversial project to
restore the town center to its original grandeur has resulted in a few
blocks of swanky shops like Gucci and Armani and fashionable cafes where the
in-crowd goes to be seen and drink $10 coffees. Plenty of
bullet-ridden buildings still lurk around

the center and the scars of
war have yet to healed, but Beirutis
seem to be on a quest to put the past behind them. It's a
sophisticated, western-looking city and you'll see more
head scarves in Frankfurt than you will in downtown Beirut.
On our way out of Beirut the rains began lashing us with a
fury and we sought shelter under a precarious lean-to where some
men were warming themselves around a wood burning stove. There
we met Ali, a Somali refuge who has been bouncing around the Middle
East trying to eke out a living while waiting for the UN to grant him
asylum in a Western country.
He smiled as he recounted his story but his sad eyes betrayed the
suffering a man endures when he's far from home with an uncertain
future. From Beirut we headed north along the coast, following
the old road
which runs parallel to the new superhighway. The Lebanese coast
certainly is spectacular with the snow-capped mountains rising up from
the
Mediterranean, but just as in other coastal areas around the world, the
natural beauty has been marred by concrete sprawl. We passed town
after town, one much the same as the other with fast food joints like
Dunkin' Donuts, faceless multi-story housing blocks, European chain
stores and
giant supermarkets. Nothing much to hold our interest apart from
the
Roman ruins and Crusader Castle at Byblos and its atmospheric
harbor and old town.


Nobody seemed to mind the scruffy traveler look in Tripoli, Lebanon's
most northern city and an Islamic stronghold that feels much more like
the Middle East than cosmopolitan Beirut. Although the rain put a bit of a
damper on our wanderings, we still enjoyed strolling around the souqs
and sampling a bit more of what traditional Lebanon is like.
Europe is knocking at the door and we want to keep its less
appealing aspects(look alike shopping malls, stressed-out shoppers and
soulless suburbs) at bay as long as possible. I fear sauntering among the stalls in crowded markets,
invitations to drink a cup of tea and spend a quiet moment chatting
with locals will soon be a thing of the past. In this part of
the world political leaders are elevated to an almost cult-like status
and Lebanon's current president Saad al-Hariri (son of the assassinated
Rafiq Hariri) and a host of other political personalities kept a
watchful eye on us as we strolled through the streets of Tripoli.


Somewhere north of Tripoli on the old coastal road we rolled up to a
military checkpoint manned by what looked to be a small battalion of
soldiers. Trucks and taxis were backed up and when we made our
way to the front of the line and spotted a young man in khaki armed with
what must have been a bomb-detecting device carefully scanning a
vehicle.
"Papers, Papers," came the request. But when we produced our
passports they were merely given a cursory glance and then returned.
"Papers, Papers," came the order again and our path was blocked.
We eventually gave up and a taxi driver led us
back to the main highway. When we asked him about the road block he
just went "boom, boom" and mimed a bomb explosion. I guess peace
in Lebanon is tenuous at best.

Although Lebanon is a fascinating country and the people are friendly and hospitable, it was with a sense of
relief that we crossed the border back into Syria. No more
reminders of war and destruction, no more kamikaze drivers and no more
overpriced supermarkets. We were still dogged by the unrelenting
rain, but Syrian hospitality being what it is, we never worried about
finding a warm spot to spend the night. In Syria it suffices to
turn off the main road around sundown and wander around any settlement
and before long someone will appear, make a sleeping gesture and lead
you to his home. Only once did we have to actually
askfor
accommodation and this was in an area populated by Orthodox
Christians. We turned up at a small village church just as
evening mass was being said and as soon as the priest spotted us after
the service he immediately took us under his wing and guided us to his
home. Coming from Africa, life in Syria appears quite
comfortable. Even in villages there's running water and
electricity, everybody's got satellite TV, most families can afford to
have a fridge and a washing machine, indoor plumbing is the norm and
many people have computers and internet access. Father Elias had
studied theology in Athens and spoke excellent English which was a
change from our usual village contacts. Since we don't speak
Arabic, and not a lot of villagers speak English or French, we
usually can't get much beyond basic politics (thumbs down for
Bush, a so-so gesture for Obama and thumbs up for Sarkozy) and a lot of
smiling. It was nice to have an actual conversation for a change.
While we never encountered military checkpoints in Syria, the authorities
do keep a watchful eye on the country and Father Elias 'did the right
thing'
and informed the police of our presence in the village. Soon after, a
couple
of officers turned up on his doorstep and we were obliged to show them
our passports and national identity cards. In the morning after a
breakfast of tea and sweets Father Elias presented us with a miniature
nativity scene as a souvenir of our stay in his village. It was a
thoughtful gesture.


Once you get off the main highways, Syria offers some spectacular rural
scenery with tiny villages dotting the countryside, friendly herd boys
calling out greetings and locals inviting you to drink tea all
day long. Many won't accept your polite refusal and once when we
stopped for directions, two chairs, a table and the tea-pot where we
whipped out with such miraculous speed that we simply had no choice but
to drink yet another cup of tea. Stopping in at bakeries and
sweet shops for a slice of cake our some calorie-rich baklava almost
always ends up with the proprietor refusing payment. Once a woman
saw me eying some sweets at a market and then came running after us,
calling out to Eric "Sir, sir here are some sweets for your sister."
The kindness is genuine and the hospitality we have encountered
in the Middle East is without comparison in the rest of the world.



Syria is full of sights to visit and we had a tough climb in a driving rain up to the fairy tale castle of
Crac des Chevaliers. The Roman Ruins at Apamea were another highlight as was wandering
around the wind-swept
Dead Cities on
the way to Turkey. I think we've visited more 'tourist
attractions' just in Syria than we have in all of Africa. But one
of my favorite ways to spend a day is just to meander around the local
markets and the one at Aleppo is a maze of alleyways where you can lose
yourself in the sights and sounds of the Middle East. Here the
past meets the present and people watching is at its best.
Not surprisingly, it has been the people we've met who have made the
past month so memorable. Real adventure is a thing of the past and the
ease
of cycling in this part of the world is making progress painfully slow,
if that makes any sense. We find ourselves wanting to stop at
every supermarket just to check out the amazing selection of available
products. If we're cold or wet there's always someone to welcome
us into their home. The interesting sights make us want to linger
rather than push on ahead. Our biggest struggle has been against
the elements and we're anxiously awaiting warmer spring
weather. Time is
running out and if we hope to reach France by mid-May as planned, and
we've really got to get a move on. But I've been saying that for a
couple of months now, yet again I find myself extending my stay 'just
one
more day' at the home of some friendly couchsurfers. Enjoy the
moment as they say.
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