Friday, 22 August 2003 Jaramana, Syria
97 degrees, SUNNY!

Wake up at 10:30 AM. Breakfast in the courtyard. I'd be happy with just tea and a hard boiled egg, but the dishes full of food are already piling up on the kitchen table. Lots of people in the kitchen, Ghazwan and his family, Ommee, Ebbie, Marlin, Naeif and I. We eat an enjoyable breakfast with Ommee only plying me with extra food once after I consume my two hard boiled eggs. Naeif has a full schedule of family visits today, which is no surprise, and I don't plan to even try to talk him out of it. After all, this is his first visit back home in five years, so I've got to let the hometown crowd gaze at his sweet face for awhile.

Meanwhile, Marlin, Thuraiya and I have our own plan - Dimashq al Khadeem, khawa wah shay! (To the Old City for nargilah, coffee and tea.) Thuraiya takes us to al Bal cafe, where we came once on my last trip. It's blissfully cool inside, and I dub it the "Fairouz Cafe" as Syria's answer to Madonna seems to be a favorite on the music system. Ah, back in Dimashq with my girls, I have really missed these two, more than I realized. We spend hours dishing, drinking tea and mango juice and smoking nargilah. After that, we walk out of Old Damascus, into Bhab Touma (the 2nd Gate - Damascus is made up of 7 gates, entrances into city areas) to search for shahata - plastic sandals worn in the hammam - not to be confused with shakuhachi - japanese flutes. We find some delightfully garishly colored, squishy sandals, and I buy three pairs (for me, and a pair for brother and sister in law) for 250 S.L. (about $1.25 per pair). Thuraiya skillfully negotiates the best price, not the arajnabee (foreigner) price. That task done, we head back to Jaramana.

When we get home, there is some waiting around for no apparent reason (to me). It's very hot out, so maybe we're just waiting until the heat dies down in an hour or so. I finally get intel that the plan is to go to a restaurant for dinner, the whole mess of us, for dinner around 5 PM. This is an "arabic appointment", however, and therefor subject to change or whim.

We all pile into the Ghazwan's ancient VW microbus around 7 PM and go to an IMMENSE restaurant, called al Essar. There are fifteen of us, Ghazwan, Firaz and both their families, me, Naeif and Ommee. The lawn chairs are in the back of the microbus, and we head out for an adventure. This restaurant is in somewhat of a rural area, and there are several of these large outdoor restaurants one right after the other, all packed. I'd gone to one last time I was here, but it was winter, so we sat in the indoor section and there were not as many people.

This place is unbelievable. There are probably a hundred tables spread all over an outdoor area that has a gigantic waterfall on one side, which cascades down into several pools with smaller fountains. All the tables are set around these pools, and there are tiny bridges between the pools that the waiters are practically sprinting over and back, serving all the customers. Palm trees are everywhere, and bushes with flowers. We sit upstairs on a sort of courtyard overlooking the main floor. I have never seen a restaurant like this in the States, it's just spectacular. There is a massive screen near the waterfall, and Arabic music videos play. The tables are covered with dishes, everyone is eating and smoking nargilah and having a great time. For the children there is a large play area - I mean LARGE play area, that has a merry go round, bumper cars, bumper water cars, a crazy slide, a ball room and even a cotton candy man! There are a LOT of kids at this restaurant, but there is no screaming, no visible tantrums that I can see. The children are all well mannered and doted upon by their parents. This restaurant caters to a largely Muslim crowd, therefore there is no alcohol of any sort served. It's not really missed by me, though, as it's such a beautiful place, under the stars with a cool night breeze.

If Americans could see through my eyes, the Middle East, there would be no wars. We'd all just be sitting at one of these restaurants eating all together and singing in broken Arabic to popular music videos. Do you hear me, George Bush? You should be listening to me. You'd have never started that illegitimate war based on lies if you could really meet these people and spend time with them as I do. Arabs are not MY enemy.

After we get home, I need to run out and get some conditioner for my hair, which has gotten pretty dry from the sun and the weird water here. Naeif and I walk thru Jaramana, find a little shop with grooming supplies, and some surprisingly nice makeup. Naeif handles the transaction for me quickly, and we exit the store, only to have me wham my forehead into the metal door cover that has been pulled down a third of the way over the door. Silly me, I stepped under it as we entered, as they were just about to close the store. Nonetheless, it startles me as head meets metal, and I let out an abrupt blue streak of some decidedly American utterances. . . .

If you forget any grooming things, rest assured that you can find whatever skincare or hair care you need here - or a very reasonable facsimile thereof. There are high end products here from Italy, France, Germany - anything that a well groomed girl needs. And I noticed that the black pumice stones they use here for removing dead skin on the heels work way better than my metal "cheese grater" that I brought with me.

After that, it's time to go back to Naeif's house, for some biera and nargila with the fabulous Ghazwan and everyone hanging out at the house. My darling friend Ahmad shows up, and we try unsuccessfully for a couple of hours to get online with the iBook. It's fruitless, and I decide to bring the computer to Kabra in a couple of days.

Another visitor to the house is a Druze (more on the Druze later) religious man from the village of Jaramana. He's wearing the traditional Druze attire, and it's quite an honor for him to visit - he is, of course, a relative. Normally, when meeting people, you stand up, say "Ahlen!" ("welcome" or "greetings") and shake their hand. I follow this procedure and don't find out until AFTER the visit that women are not to shake hands with the religious men. Naeif's whole family think it's hysterical that I made that mistake of grabbing his hand and shaking it, and have all kinds of fun laughing about this. I start to imitate my gaffe, with increasing embellishments, including a pantomime of wiping my nose THEN reaching for his hand. Naeif's mother is howling with laughter by this time. Naeif's entire family are Druze, but they are pretty relaxed about the stricter customs of their faith. They seem to have the right ideas about religion, which is: make foreigners feel welcome, enjoy each other's company, kiss and hug the adorable kids a lot and serve lots of delicious food, and indulge their crazy new sister in law's adoration of Syrian beer.

Have I mentioned that I'm the first foreigner EVER join Naeif's family? I have no peer - Naeif's family goes back in Syria all the way to before the French occupation. 100% Arabs all of 'em, until Naeif dragged in the crazy American. To his family, I might as well be from Mars, what with my strange habits, love of traveling alone, obsession with the internet, no interest in cooking and crazy clothes. I seem to come up with one outfit each visit that causes absolute befuddlement. Last trip it was my roomy black harem pants I'd picked up in Morocco - which are the same pants the Druze religious men wear. This time it's a pareo - large square scarf - that I tie on as a skirt. At least they are all amused, and not horrified.

Naeif's brothers get LOTS of mileage out of this "handshake w/ religious man" story throughout our visit, and I can tell they are relating it yet another time when I see them laughing and imitating my handshake. I'll take a little ribbing about it, I think it's pretty damn funny too!