From the northern deserts to the souks of Aleppo, from the filthy freeways to the ambling streets of old Damascus. From Madame Olga to Larry. Everything I saw and every person I spoke to in Syria now seems like a dream, an oriental fantasy.
Passing the border south of Haran was truly stepping into a political twilight zone: the posters of Our Great Leader, Hafez al Assad were plastered all over the border police headquarters, Hafez surrounded by roses, Hafez rising victoriously over a modern and bustling city, Hafez with rays of yellow light beaming out from that over-sized head.

Later, when we got to know the Syrians and love their art and culture and food and manners; when we got to know the man-in-the-street and respect his hospitality and vitality, that's when we really began hating Hafez al Assad and his sons, Twiddle-e-Dee and Twiddle-e-Dum (of blessed memory), for what he has done to this brilliant land of desert and minaret, of warmth and kindness.
Also, I have trouble forgiving Mr. Assad his physical and moral resemblance to Monsieur Sot, my ex-neighbour in Chalopin. The same friendly external relations. The same filth and vulgarity. People of Chalopin, beware!
To tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth, my blessed and beloved homeland, Israel, was something of a disappointment after having spent one week in Syria. I mean, we have been travelling East, no? I mean, the name of our bloody car is East of Eden, and coming into Israel after going through Eastern Turkey and Syria is like flying directly back to Europe or America.

In Syria no street signs were straight or illuminated. Very few were in Latin letters. Cattle crossed the Aleppo-Damascus freeway and the shoulders were like death valley. Drivers never put down their brights at night; fields and vineyards were littered with plastic bags.
Your Visa card is of virtually no good, although merchants and hotels will accept it at the 'official rate'. There are no A.T.M.'s. And this is what we had come for, this is the East we had been dreaming of: loud, raucous, anarchic, delicious, unpredictable and - of course - cheap! But to be perfectly honest, somebody is paying for all this third world exoticism, and it would be out of place to blame the Israelis or Americans or Europeans for wanting - and creating- a better life for themselves. The Syrians dream of having the same comfort as the Israelis. Their gain would be our loss and the country would loose so much of its charm, like Israel which has covered the Dead Sea with cement and Plexiglas. We will have these same thoughts as we break further towards the East and see face to face just who is walking on who's back.


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