Ibn Ibn Battuta

A Return to Damascus

With my Syrian visa about to expire and a long weekend approaching (due to ‘Eid, the festival at the end of Ramadan), I thought it would be a perfect opportunity to return to Damascus and see some friends from this summer.

The weekend turned out to be quite surreal – with nearly all of my old friends gone and the city dampened by a dreary winter drizzle, Damascus looked less familiar than I had expected. When I visited her home in Bab Tuma, Ra’ife was her old cheerful self, asking questions about life in Amman and cajoling me for speaking like a Jordanian. Her mother, too, seemed the same – the silent presence in the room,

Battling the Sun to Explore Bosra ash-Sham

The streets of Bosra ash-Sham (بصرى الشام - that’s the Syrian Bosra, not the Iraqi one) were empty, seemingly abandoned, today at midday. A few men dozed in the shade of produce shop awnings, concentrating studiously on moving as little as possible. The ground shimmered all around us, as it had among the tumbled columns and stone walls behind us. We trudged, panting, from the ruins toward town, in search of bottled water. Our checkered kuffiyehs kept our heads enveloped in a feverish swelter, but we preferred them to the direct sun.

A Castle, a Column, a Kurd

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Friday morning, prior to the noon prayer, is a poor time to visit anywhere in Syria. I learned this lesson on Friday in Aleppo (a city known in Arabic as Halab, حلب) after catching a bus north from Damascus the previous evening.

After hearing tales of Aleppo’s lavish souqs - the only markets in Syria that could rival those of Damascus - I found the passages deserted, the shopfronts shuttered, and the awnings flapping silently in the warm, pungent breeze. All of Aleppo was resting at home, preparing to go to Friday prayers.

I meandered through the covered alleyways, zigzagging through the markets

To Ma'aloula and Deir Mar Musa, in Search of Spiritual Roots

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Life hasn’t slowed down much lately. This weekend I went with my Australian housemate Julian, and two German friends named Marion and Christina, to two fascinating sites just a short drive north of Damascus.

The tiny village of Ma’aloula (معلولا) is famously known as one of the last places in the Middle East where people still speak Aramaic, the language of Jesus and most everyone else in his day. We didn’t notice anyone speaking Aramaic, but we were there!

Relearning Patriotism the Syrian Way

A belated “Happy 4th of July” to everyone. A few friends and I celebrated last night with some beers and wine, just sitting on one American girl's rooftop looking out over the neighborhood. Here in Damascus, the weather is beautiful at night - it always cools down to about 70°F/21°C, with a great breeze, so it's very pleasant. No fireworks though.

On this occasion of great national pride back in the US, it’s worth mentioning the strange ways in which Syrians express their own peculiar – and largely artificial – patriotic zeal. Patriotism in Syria is required – not everyone really wants to have a picture of President Bashar al Asad in their living room, in their shop, in their classroom. But such is the cult of personality that the regime has built up – fail to worship the dear leader enthusiastically enough, and your life will be made very difficult.

The Ummayad Mosque: "Matchless and Unequalled"

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The Ummayad Mosque is the hub around which Damascus revolves. During my time here thus far, I’ve spent several afternoons and evenings propped against a column in the vast open courtyard, reading, people-watching, and enjoying what seems to be the one place in the city where I am permitted a measure of relative tranquility. The cool stones also offer a welcome break from Damascus’ stifling midday heat.

Crac des Chevaliers: In the Footsteps of Crusaders

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Yesterday I spent the afternoon climbing around the majestic Crac des Chevaliers (قلعة الحصن, also spelled Krak des Chevaliers). The iconic hilltop citadel, located several hours northwest of Damascus, towers over the coastal plains north of Lebanon.

A fortress of some sort existed on the site for centuries, but the existing castle is the work of an order of Christian knights. During the Crusades, it was the Knights Hospitaller who conquered the hilltop and refortified it as a base of operations, and for obvious reasons. Looking around from the castle’s walls today, the place appears completely impenetrable from all sides. Even the strongest of armies would have been

Getting to Know Old Damascus

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In every way, Damascus could not be less like home, but despite my anxiety during the trip here and first several hours in the city, I have come to really enjoy it, and am adapting to the new climate, schedule, political atmosphere, and people here.

Damascus' Old City certainly does not want for sights to explore. In fact, I am quickly learning why Ibn Battuta raved for page after page about the city after his travels first brought him here, in 1362:

Open-Air Evenings Under the Grapevine

Since moving in to Ra’ife’s home ten days ago, I have already begun to develop a routine.

Each evening, after a long day of Arabic classes and sweltering heat, a small group of us walk down the lane to a local falafel shop to pick up sandwiches, then grab several beers on the way back. We sit at the table in Ra’ife’s courtyard, eating, bantering, working on our Arabic homework, comparing our lives back home, or, more commonly, just digesting our days here in Damascus.

Nothing in Life is Free, but Life in Damascus Comes Close

A few days ago, I walked to an ATM in the morning before class to withdraw some cash. I had to pay Ra'ife my rent, which covers my small room with a bed, desk, and dresser, as well as the use of the kitchen, shower, and laundry machine. For my small room, the monthly rate is 6,000 Syrian lira or US$120, though Ra'ife charges up to 7,000 lira or $140 for the larger rooms. Once I had also paid her for providing me with lunch each day, my total came to US$125.

Aboard the 'Ship of the Desert' in Palmyra

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On Friday the University faculty organized a day trip for the students in my program to visit Palmyra, in the heart of Syria's barren eastern desert, halfway between Damascus and the Euphrates River.

Known locally as Tadmur (تدمر), the city is over 4,000 years old, and at one time served as the Roman empire's greatest eastern stronghold. In addition to acting as the first line of defense against Persia's armies, Palmyra flourished as a trading post, situated as it is on the intersection of several major caravan routes.

What remains of the once lavish city is still impressive. In all directions rise

The Frustrations of Arabic

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Here in Damascus, I am struggling quite a lot with my Arabic, much of which I forgot since classes ended at Georgetown back in early May. My professor there, Dr. Margaret Nydell, offered me a very brief list of basic Syrian colloquial Arabic phrases that has proven invaluable in communicating here.

My third day of Arabic classes at Damascus University has just ended. I’m in Level 2 of the university’s system (in a program organized by Ohio State University) and think it’s a decent fit, though challenging. Our teacher, Boshra, hasn't said more than four or five English words in the past three hours. Back at

Finding a New Home in Bab Tuma

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From the start, Nicholas was my savior in Damascus. A friend of a teacher of mine, Nicholas was studying in Syria on a Fulbright grant, and I had contacted him before I left. 

He agreed to meet me at my hotel and show me around during my first evening in the country. He led a dizzying tour of the Old City, including what seemed like a mad, swerving dash through the main market - Souq al-Hamidiyyeh (سوق الحمدية). I ran to keep up with Nicholas, and several times pressed myself against crumbling walls as cars sped through the narrow passages, inches from my toes. The shock of the

Destination: Damascus

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On Friday, I left America behind via a one-way ticket to Damascus, Syria. For the next year, I'll be living, traveling, and studying Arabic in the Middle East.

When my flight arrived in Damascus Saturday afternoon, the first thing I noticed was the heat. With almost no humidity, the dusty air parched my nostrils and mouth before I had even left the airport. The Syrian customs officials stared blankly at my passport for long intervals, and performed several half-assed searches of my bags before releasing me to the cacophony of the airport's public hall. Outside, the dust hung like fine powder, tinting the arid