Middle East Part II : Syriasly Cool

The next Middle Eastern leg was to one of the most wonderful (and certainly one of the least touristic) places we have been - Syria.

The journey there alone was quite something. I could only describe the common forms of transport know as Servis' as “Scoobie Doo Mystery Wagons” capable of speeds well beyond their appearance on roads resembling open strip mines. Bags haphazardly strapped on the top aid aerodynamics considerably and the bag straps endlessly banging on the window and roof settle the nerves to no end. 

Sometimes Arabic pop music is played to distortion when it suited the driver, other times you just listen silently to fellow passengers of whom none spoke English. Add to this a seemingly endless barrage of border checks filled with moustached men floating on paperwork, several unexpected detours for cigarettes / batteries / potatoes and then, finally, being dumped on the outskirts of a destination straight into a bunch of crazed taxi drivers and you have an unforgettable cultural voyage. Insane as it all seems at first, it is an experience that fast becomes the norm here in any length of stay.

The final destination was Damascus; specifically the “Happy Nights Hotel” situated above a men’s club, beside the main motorway and right next door to an under construction Mosque that looks like it will rival to the size of the Pentagon. Consequently, despite the hotel’s name, I guarantee nights were happier spent away from the hotel.

At the heart of Damascus lies a labyrinth of streets layered upon other streets over countless thousands of years. Markets of melodramatic sellers flog everything from exquisite metal wares, to mountains of saffron (that we could only dream of the street value of back home), to some of the most elaborate party pipes you have ever laid bloodshot eyes on. Intertwined in the old shadowy alleys are remnants of even older Roman ruins which just further heightened the epic sense of history as we waded through hordes of children practising their “Hello, how are you?!” greetings.

Christmas Day was spent in Damascus. Though the original plan was to make it to Bethlehem for this occasion, the fact it sits in the West Bank and Israel being on Syria’s “not cool list”, it didn't seem like it was worth the hassle or risk of being turned around or spending Christmas in a cosy border interrogation room. In any case the Christian Quarter in Damascus was lit up beautifully with Christmas lights so it was certainly very cool to celebrate the day in the oldest city on Earth instead.

Of course being the oldest city in the world means, Damascus has had plenty of time to get recipes right. The food here was unforgettable example of Middle East cuisine; something I ended up having a dangerous love affair with. Intestinal battles followed laced with epic “out of body experience” food poisoning. At one point I thought I was going to die right there in a bathroom still thinking about how awesome the food was and unfair that it should end in such digestive contortions.

Even the bread is more than just a mere staple here. No one in the Middle East would be caught dead eating anything other than the freshest most delicious bread, lovingly served from tiny little “hole in the wall” bakeries scattered throughout every town and city. When the morning bread session is over, the bakeries kick it up a gear and conjure delectable pastries in the afternoon that people queue as fervently for as if they were free concert tickets. After you taste them you can understand why!

Shwarma is another staple. It’s essentially the “anything goes platter”; an awesome mix of all sorts of hot foods that you can just tuck into anytime, anyplace. It’s comfort food at it’s very best and each region has their own variation (which is naturally always the best), adding a few local delicacies in the mix. One of the favourites was Kibbeh – little fried balls of various beans. Someone informed later that it is a holy food that represents Jesus getting stabbed in the ribs by Roman spears. Lovely!

Want something to drink? How about some tea? How many sugars would you like, three or four? Regardless of what you answer you will seemingly get about six, and you’ll be cordially offered relentless cups of it – splitting your pancreas clean in half. Arabic countries have a long history in Alchemy and Chemistry and these guys have truly mastered the art of reaching sugar saturation point in a cup of water.

Last but not least, and possibly the pièce de résistance of Middle Eastern cuisine, Sayadiyeh. This is a seafood dish par excellence. It makes my mouth water now just thinking about it. It makes me sad that I probably won’t find it again for some time.

In fact it’s a genuine travesty that there is just so much Middle Eastern dishes that haven’t infiltrated our homes in the west. I guarantee you they are worth the effort to track down if you have the opportunity. Do note however that I’ve also probably got the spelling of all of these foods wrong too = converting Arabic vowels to English is more of an approximate art form than a science.

Besides food, Syria of course offered wondrous places to see. The Umayadd Mosque was beautiful (and has a massive courtyard constantly and meticulously polished by small children rolling/sliding around in it for fun every morning), desert roads traversing old towns of traditional Syrian mud brick houses (now with satellite TV dishes) that looked like something out of Star Wars, and Crac des Chevaliers was possibly one of the coolest “Life of Brian-esque” castles you could ever get lost in.

Perhaps the most noteworthy site was not a building, monument or mountain, but experiencing a real story teller spin a tale over a cup of tea (sugar). Once upon a time these chaps were the main source of public entertainment in coffee shops but unfortunately are now a dying breed for one reason or another. A husky voice and a body bent permanently in a story book holding pose evidenced his lifelong passion to the art and his walking cane dramatically cracking down on the table of people not paying attention was priceless. Sure not a single word could be understand, but the way he wielded the words and entranced a crowd was something very special.

Syria, one day there shall be a return to brave your sugary treats again Insha’Allah!

Middle East Part I : Lebenezer Goode

At Christmas time an odd notion formed. Rather than sit in the comfort of a warm house and engorge on  silly amounts of food, a backpacking adventure around the Middle East somehow became the logical alternative. For a fleeting second there were thoughts you might have right now such as “why?” and “surely life is going to suck once you are dead right?”. Such musings were brushed aside, a mocking laugh was conjured at those sitting in the comfort of pool side hotels somewhere and instead a challenge was issued to experience an ancient area of the world few westerners ever make it to.

Yes, the west has a pretty dim view of the Middle East as a whole. In fact if you were to believe the media you basically expect to land at the airport, walk outside, be kidnapped and then appear in a grainy hostage video shortly thereafter. Such sensationalisms could not be any further from the truth. This Middle Eastern experience was so much more than one could ever imagine, may you enjoy reading about it, may it perhaps change a few minds ever so slightly along the way.

The first and most difficult hurdle was decided to go, that was conquered. The next was to actually escape the UK. Heathrow Airport was completely shut down due to snow and it took four days to escape England’s icy clutches. It was a pretty harrowing sight really, thousands of people camped inside the terminals on newspapers, more outside in makeshift tents at sub-zero temperatures. The flight was to Beirut, Lebanon and upon touchdown there were Palestinian refugee camps in better condition than those at Heathrow. It was also a balmy 22 degrees too; a thing of utmost beauty.

Lebanon is a very picturesque country, surrounded by epic mountains that make for impressive views but also sadly trap all of that loving exhaust and dust in for you to marinate in. Seeing the actual horizon is impossible, seeing the sun fade into a reddish brownish ball at sunset is beautiful but disturbing at the same time. Possibly no place on Earth bar Mexico City will benefit from the electric car more.

Beirut is surprisingly cosmopolitan in nature; it is sometimes called the ‘Paris of the East’ and if you dig deep enough into the layers of dust permeating everything you can start to see why. Walking along the Mediterranean water front, enjoying a drink with the waves crashing right beside you in the afternoon sunlight watching people of all sorts walking and jogging by – in Beirut - is a scene you just can't picture until you are here. Sure the Holiday Inn has a massive chunk taken out of it from a missile and bullet riddled walls here and there are not entirely comforting, but generally everything feels much more sedate than you steel yourself for. The folk here are most certainly not anesthetised to their recent troubles, but they seem to want to move on and be done with conflict – which I got to tell you is tough with military checkpoints at almost every intersection.

On a practical note though, these checkpoints don’t seem to achieve much other than slow traffic (they merely say hello and wave you through with a twitch of an M-16). Actually, I take that back, slowing traffic is a brilliant, wonderful thing. Being the first part of our journey, this was the first exposure to driving in the Middle East, which is a combination of a rickety roller coaster ride and Grand Theft Auto the video game. A car driver here embarks on their journey protected by no road rules; only a love affair with the horn, whatever safety systems are afforded by a 1970’s Mercedes Benz, a mound of good luck charms and a level of spatial awareness hitherto unseen in any mortal.

Basically there is one lane on the road, cars going both directions then “fill” that lane as it seems appropriate. If you need more overtaking space, you just make yourself another lane – and since you created it, the people coming 100kmh in the other direction are supposed to admire your cunning tenacity and give way. This, naturally, doesn’t always happen and side to side neck whiplash occurs as your car darts back into safety of more established lanes.

But it gets better. Typically the major roads have no breaks in the concrete median strip/wall for miles. What this means is drivers who pull onto a road that want to only go a few minutes down the road in the opposite direction to the flow of traffic on their side of the median strip simply drive against the flow of traffic down the hard shoulder. If they want to overtake each other then they just “make more lanes”. Knuckles … going … white …

Oh wait, there’s more. If you have the misfortune of still being stuck out in a car after nightfall, a new driving technique comes into play. When approaching an intersection you just turn off your lights to see if any other headlights are coming, if not you just cruise on through. It’s a foolhardy practice at best when you consider pedestrians, but when you realise that the entire nation is doing it, the possibilities dawn on you. Knuckles … fluorescent … white …

Lebanon boasts remarkable sights. Baalbekis arguably the most impressive Roman ruins in the wild you can find; greater in scope and scale than Ephesus in Turkey, more intrepid and personal than the Colosseum in Rome. Sitting amongst the stones in solitude, imagining what the place would have been like thousands of years ago is uplifting.

Also impressive was the ruins of Anjar; arguably the world’s oldest shopping mall. Here amongst the sprawling columns of a long forgotten Arabic trading centre, thousands of pots and chests have been recovered showing it as a crossroads for rare and exotic goods from Africa, Asia and Europe. Quite simply superb to ruin hop through.

Somewhat surprisingly, nestled away in the beautiful Bekaa valley between the Lebanon and Anti-Lebanon mountain ranges, lay a few hidden vineyards that make incredible wines. A legacy from French occupation, the Lebanese people have continued this tradition with gusto. One such winery, Ksara, possessed a maze of natural caves underneath where years and years of future wines now lay in rest maturing. Much of it was taste tested, it helped mentally prepare for more excitement on the roads.

Sadly, time in Lebanon was limited due to the Heathrow debacle. This time was long enough to be able to identify a car purely by it’s exhaust perfume but certainly not long enough to see all this small land has to offer. Lebanon is modern and the people know how to enjoy life but at the same time has some issues with their southern neighbour that become apparent with a mere scratching of the surface in a conversation. It’s infinitely less dangerous then you would believe and a place to remember. I’d hoped to be ‘Phoenician’ on a witty double entendre here with a Lebanese context but nothing came to mind really. 

Danish? Yes please!

Sticking out of the top of Germany and a stone’s throw across the water from Sweden lies Denmark. It’s a cute little country that boasts the world’s oldest flag and seems to be a series of islands mainly made of pig farms.

The original goal for visiting Denmark was predominantly based around my kindred urge to visit THE Legoland. Unfortunately it didn’t quite work out (basically the bank account would have transformed to a  burning crater) but a visit to the great Danes happened anyhoo. I mean, who could turn it down with tourist promotional brochures that said it would “Denmark will almost dazzle you”. 

Before I begin recalling the Danish adventure in earnest, let me remark that getting to Denmark from Germany is perhaps the coolest train ride on the planet. Basically, the train tracks go to the edge of the Baltic Sea, at which point they put the entire ICE train on a boat (with you still on the train!) and take the train across the sea where it can recommence it’s journey on the other side. It was really quite cool.

If you have not heard it, the Danish language sounds a little like a happy children’s song. People chirp it rather than say it and the inflection flies up and down the octaves every second word. It was not my first encounter with it, having met a very friendly Dane in Germany a year ago who laughed hysterically as I writhed about contorting my face in attempts to pronounce the simple phrase “Rødgrød med Fløde” (red pudding with cream). The sound required is perhaps best likened to Goofy clearing his throat.

I was assured that this was more than just an entertaining Litmus Test for tourists, it was actually the case that this phrase was used to weed out foreign spies in WW2 as no non-Dane seems to be capable of conjuring these unearthly sounds.

The adventure in Denmark was relatively short, only really visiting the capital Copenhagen; quite a nice city that has a love affair with copper roofs here and canals. It’s also fairly quiet in tourism terms too, I guess it has big prices and doesn't really have any Colosseums or Arc de Triumphs ... but it most certainly has one attraction worth the pilgrimage – Tivoli Gardens.

More than making up for the sad Legoland omission, Tivoli Gardens is a collection of some of the most antiquated and death defying fun park rides in the world, centrally located smack back in the middle of Copenhagen. Who could forget the rollercoaster still driven by a guy on board with a big lever, or the excruciating Hans Christian Andersen “experience”, or the gigantic spinning seat on a flimsy chain ride possibly built in the early steam age that shatters perceptions of real fear, and I especially cannot forget the male fertility destroying ride in the far back corner now known only as “the ride that shall not be named”. Stay the hell away from that.

Danish food isn't really that amazing unfortunately, although there was a local food fair that sold some traditional cold Herring dishes which were quite ... special. I certainly also enjoyed watching the free kitchen demonstration – it was the closest thing we have experienced to the muppet Swedish chef in real life. Additionally and amusingly the Danes have some great names for everyday foods – for example their name for mashed potatoes translates as “burning love”. Awesome.

Denmark was a good bit of fun but you know, even though Legoland didn't materialise due to financial concerns, the bank account was still a smouldering crater after going to Denmark. A cheap place it ain’t; when I saw there was actually some money left after the visit I was almost dazzled.

The thing I like about Bavaria …

Is that it’s so … Bavarian. This is the place where typecast waitresses carry far too many jugs of beer whilst wearing a wholesome smiles (in fact, it’s probably also one of the few places on earth where women are depicted just as much as men in beer ads, chugging down said massive glasses with all the social grace afforded by drinking a litre of beer). It's the place where little hats with feathers sticking out of them and lederhosen sporadically appear amongst the populace in all their stereotyped glory. The place where dinner and a show involves being fed inhuman amounts of meat while watching a guy jiggling some bells on a table. It’s here that everything everybody *wants* to represent Germany actually steps up and represents and it’s cool to see. Even if only a small part of Germany.

The visit here was roughly a week or two before the official start of Oktoberfest which is really a blessing in disguise as it meant prices were ‘not-yet-jacked-up’ so one doesn’t have to sacrifice their left nut/breast or firstborn to secure accommodation at late notice. Oktoberfest (in case you live in a cave) is that wondrous time where Bavarians unite from all around to appreciate their beer, food, culture and each other’s company over the course of three weeks in massive tents. Foreigners now also come from all over the world and appreciate the beer part more than anything else and proceed to fill the streets of Munich with their corpses. Truly magical. 

Near Munich, is one of the coolest castles ever built and the namesake of a favourite German restaurant back in Australia - King Ludwig’s Neuschwanstein Schloss. Supposedly the place that inspired Walt Disney’s castle, the semi-random layout of this castle’s parapets, walls and towers give it a feel of being certainly lifted straight out of a fairy tale. Perched on a rocky outcrop, surrounded by picturesque pine forests and waterfalls, set against a backdrop of snow capped mountains, Neuschwanstein is testament to one King’s love affair with folk stories, swans and Wagner … combined with the crazy intent (that can only come with being a king) to possess a stupidly difficult and expensive to build holiday home in the forest. The project sent him bonkers and bankrupt but the net result is an awesome castle that throngs of tourists will appreciate for a long time.

Higher up in the mountains nearby is the Eagle’s Nest, a scenic lookout perched in the clouds on the edge of a mountain. This place was actually built for Hitler as a birthday present for his 50th birthday (note to friends: start saving up for my 50th!), though it’s a shame no one really bothered to check if Mr Hitler was afraid of heights or not beforehand. Consequently he didn't really visit much which, in hindsight, is a blessing otherwise it probably would have been leveled. The views across the Bavarian Alps from the top are absolutely spectacular, made all the more enjoyable by a fresh brew at the restaurant! The all-brass elevator carved deep in the middle of the mountain for the final ascent is quite the feat of engineering too.

A little more solemn an experience; nearby lies Dokumentation, a memorial, housed above the Hitler’s emergency underground government bunker complex that now details the horrific loss of life suffered during World War 2. The bunker itself is open to the public and I must admit it is probably one of the creepiest places in the world. Inside is quiet, dark, cold, grim, cavernous and scarred with calcified drippings of nature’s reclamation. Several elevator shafts drop even further into the mountain into bleak abysses, always with that dripping …

Beside mountains and caves, literally and figuratively, Bavaria also has superbly azure lakes, gorgeous to behold but bestowing a thousand frozen deaths with but a kiss of our mortal flesh. Hiring a boat is the much better option. Simply consume two beers and a dozen sausages to strengthen the body prior, row to a quiet spot avoiding rocks and other boats, pull up the oars and soak up the sun - Wunderbar! When you realise you only have 30 minutes until the boat shed closes, row back like Popeye on speed!

In this little Bavarian sojourn much sausage was experienced (in fact from the oldest sausage kitchen in the world at Regensburg), beers of epic strength and volume were consumed, sun and rain was absorbed in equal proportion, I deployed my average Deutsch skills to practical effect and a stein was finally purchased for the pool room. One and all great achievements!

But on top of all of this, was the experience of something else all together amazing and shocking. An anomaly I had previously believed impossible in Germany; a failed/cancelled train followed by a very late train. This was something common in far away lands, but not here, NEVER here. If tourists are annoyed, the locals are furious. There is absolutely no more a perturbing thing to a commuter here then public transport failure; it means someone somewhere has let their guard down and allowed disorder to creep into the system and affect every day people. Perhaps a little comically, one gets the strong feeling that failure is so rare here that when it does occur, it is as if society is unraveling right before everyone’s eyes. At the very least it certainly came across as a stellar occurrence compared to the UK where a train runs on time only if the planets are all in alignment …

With these dark days of German transit chaos behind, the Schlafwagen was boarded, destined for the northern marches …

The Nether Regions

As much as we all dream of running in clogs through green fields littered with windmills and tulips, the intention for visiting Holland was quite simple really; to see the bizarre and amazing spectacle of Amsterdam.

Many of you who have adventured here will attest to the fact that there isn't anywhere else even remotely like it. Proudly 60% above sea level since the 1950's, Amsterdam has grown from a quiet town into a sprawling maze, the key characteristics of which hit you almost immediately upon exit of the train station; the canals, the boats, the trams (and the connected overhead mess of electric cables), the orgy of bicycles locked to every possible stationary object and of course the nebula of weed fumes emitted from the small amry of students and party go'ers loitering at the front door.

Upon this city descend Europe's unwashed hordes, all contributing to and wanting to smoke a bit of the reputation it deserves. Generally you can rate the "liveliness" of a place by hostel dorm sleep patterns and given the fact dorm rooms always seemed to have at least 1 person asleep at ANY time of the day this was a strong indicator.

First things first though, let's talk bicycles. I mentioned the bike orgy at the train station right? Well that's just a sign of things to come. Amsterdam is riddled with bikes. You really have no idea how many of these contraptions (that seem to look like they are dated back to pre-WW2) are blasting around the streets of Amsterdam at breakneck speeds. The most dangerous of these are ridden by girls with supreme confidence in their ability to steer one handed, whilst talking on the mobile phone, carrying several bags of shopping and wearing heels and a skirt. As an Australian, crossing a road where people drive on the right is already a challenge, now split the car traffic to a fast lane and side lanes, and then add two tram lines in the middle, surrounded by this afformentioned bicycle onslaught on both sides and suddenly you are in a game of Frogger trying to cross the road.

Anyway, assuming you are not killed immediately by the roads, the Amsterdam experience can then commence and commence it should with the marijuana muffin, AKA the space cake. It really tastes exactly as one might expect it to taste, like a joint thrown into a cupcake, and it has the sinister effect of just making you hungrier the more you eat it. You can then top that off by smoking a freshly rolled bit of green if you are not wasted enough and then laze around in street bars joining in the national sport of "people watching". Afterwards comes an inevitable march to a pizza or kebab shop (which are here both booming industries), but you must try to retain enough sanity to avoid the little "coin operated food poisoning box" shops the Dutch seem so keen on.

After the wacky tobacky, the next step is satisfying the ultimate intrigue you fight so hard to hold back since the sun set; seeing the red light district. To many travellers it is the holy grail of the Amsterdam experience for which you can never really be prepared and we knew it was going to be all hands on deck too given the navy seemed to be in town. So after a few pints of Dutch courage, you cross a few tram tracks, a few canals, a few drunken sailor corpses and find yourself in a section of town bathed in red neon, quite literally the red light district described on the tin. Here, you can go an enjoy a live sex show or even become part of one if you're feeling really perky. If that is not your thing, alley ways are lined with row upon row of ground level windows, inside which near naked prostitutes show their .. wares .. to passers by and invite you in for a quick bit of fun described by locals as "not really that bad for your health". It's quite disturbing, awesome and surreal to see this and no photo can do it justice. To be honest, attempting to take the photo is not really worth the risk either considering tourists are regularly hospitalised and deprived of their cameras for doing it.

Some might cringe at the thought of the whole affair but in actuality these prostitutes get paid well, they have a union, security, child minding services and pay tax. They even have a Prostitution Information Centre! The question of whether it is right or wrong is one of opinion but all in all it seems like a pretty decent deal for the ladies compared to their counterparts in other countries. Just remember though, if a child ever asks what that lady in the room is doing, the locals just say "she's getting ready to go to the beach!". Oh also, if you do come here and actually want to sample the product, make sure you choose a woman in a room lit by red lights, if it's lit by blue then that's not a woman. Probably also a good idea to stay away from the rooms with black-light UV's too ... I've seen CSI, it might be scary what collateral stains from previous customers you'll see in there.

Now that I look back, a lot of the experience in Amsterdam now seems a little hazy to me, I think there was a visit to Anne Frank's house and some pancakes in there ... and lots of boats .... and some falaffels ... and some market squares. Perhaps uncertainty of memory is the sure-fire way to know you've actually "experienced" Amsterdam though?

Until next time, here are some English to Dutch translations for you. You might be suprised you how close the languages really are!

English: How late is it?
Dutch: Hoe laat is het?

English: Where is the train?
Dutch: Waar is de trein?

English: Thank you
Dutch: Dank u

English: Oh, and the toilet is stuck
Dutch: Oh, en het toilet is stuk

English: Can I see it?
Dutch: Kan Ik het zien?

English: What is that?
Dutch: Wat is dat?

English: Sorry
Dutch: Sorry

English: Call a doctor
Dutch: Bel een dokter

It's uncanny!