Damascus back to Turkey

From Damascus we head into the desert towards Palmyra. The first day of cycling appears to take us past some sort of military base, because every time we stop to eat something or go to the loo, someone mysteriously appears in a car and tells us politely but quite firmly to move on...
100km later we are getting pretty exhausted by this (and pretty desperate for a pee). Thankfully the police at a checkpoint are very happy for us to camp in their garden and even help us pitch our tent and bring us tea! Probably best not to turn left here....

The next day, open roads, gentle gradients and, for once, a tailwind enable us to zoom 140km through glorious desert landscape. We arrive in Palmyra in time for sunset over the magnificent ruins . What a day!

Palmyra. Well what can we say..... Go to Syria.

Bedouin boy souvenir seller using my binoculars.
Bedouin girl souvenir seller.

Whilst Palmyra was absolutely magnificent, it was one of the few places in Syria where we encountered begging. Many children asked us for sweets , pens or 'money money', including the kids above. In the desert, near Palmyra, quite a few people approached us for food or water or money or asked us to give them our sunglasses or watches. The presence of flashy tourists is an understandable temptation, but most people who were begging did not appear to actually need or really want the things they were asking for, with the possible exception of requests for water by some Bedouin herders. If we were asked for somethıng that we did not want to give (basically anything other than food and water) we tried to explain why we did not want to give it away and most people accepted this. We actually ended up having some good conversations with some of the people, but we did feel depressed about the damage that tourists (ourselves included) can inflict on a country just by being there.... and we made sure we were carrying surplus water!

We end up staying in Palmyra for a total of five nights because the weather turns very 'Scottish' after two days. We make one false start into the desert, but turn back after twenty km and spent three further days in a campsite talkıing to various 4x4 overlanders travelling to Africa.

Swimming pool tent...

After this rain, the campsite owners took pity on us and let us stay in their living room!

We finally set off, into the desert again, but the wind is still annoyingly strong. We spend a couple of hours hiding in the living room of a petrol station owner, who, of course, says we can stay with him, but the weather improves and we set off again.

We ask some Bedouin if we can camp near them (still worrying about wild dogs....). A twelve year old girl dressed in a beautiful embroided dress and Bedouin headscarf brings us tea. Later we sit in the family's tent, in which a man lives with his two wives and 7 children includıng a 3 month old baby . We all sit around the stove as the wind howls outside.
Bedouin tent in background (Sorry we don't have more photos, but we have only been taking photos of people if they ask us to, as many people in Syria are quite sensitive about being photographed).

The next day we stop at a village to ask for a shop. There is no shop, but a man insists on giving us breakfast. A huge family sit round and watches as we tuck in. Later, one of the boys rides Helen's bike.

A hour later we are stopped by a policeman... to have tea.

We pass through a really isolated desert plateau and then drop down into some villages. At every village hordes of children shout and run after us and people invite us for tea... by now we have perfected a symbol for 'I am very sorry but I must keep goıng as it is getting late' ( hand on heart, point at wrist and then at the road...). We cycle on past a family who are beckoning madly from a small hill and feel very guilty. We need to make some progress because our visa runs out soon.... In the next village we have to stop because some small girls are about to run out into the road at us and there are lorries near. The family insists we must have tea. We must have dinner. We must stay the night. We put up some resistance but, they really want us to stay and of course resistance is useless. 'Wonderful' we say, and it really is.

The family and one odd-looking pasty Bedouin. All the women including the grandmother who must have been at least 70 sat on the floor. Helen was made to sit on a chair and grandma would not accept the offer of her chair.

The children...

The next day we cycle to the ruined city of Rasafeh.

Then we visit the school of a headmaster we met the day before.

As we head north and hit the Euprates, the sky suddenly turns dark orange and before we know it we are in the middle of a sandstorm. In fact a sand and plastic bag storm ..... rubbish is a real problem here.

We ditch our sightseeing plans, because the strength of the wind has reduced us to walking (again!) and head in the opposite direction, with the wind (scarily quickly) to a grimy hotel in the town of Ar Raqqa.

The next day the wind is still far too strong and we reluctantly resort to a minibus to get us to the border. Before we know it we have left Syria.

We have so many conflicting emotions that we can't formalise very well. We can't help feeling angry about many of the ways of treating women here. We feel depressed at a seeming total lack of opportunity for young unmarried men and women to socialise together in any way. We feel uplifted and very humbled by people's kindess. We feel warmth for the sense of family unity in Syria. We are stunned by how different cultures can be. Syria has not only been the most fascinating country we have been to so far, but also the one where we have felt the most welcome and safe.

With this turmoil of emotions we cycle on towards Sanlıurfa, but we don't have long to dwell on things before we hear a man shouting at us. We wave politley but we think we need to keep going. Now he is shouting madly and running towards us. Helen turns round to look at him and crashes off the road in the process. No escape! We stop for tea, which turns into lunch which turns into staying the night . Mustafa and his wife Hatice are so kind. Hatice dresses Helen up in some of her clothes and then we are taken all around the villiage to meet umpteen relatives and see the schools.

Our wonderful hosts:

Extended family (a fraction of it!):

People seem to like making us do silly things!

Girls night in while the men did 'man-things' together.

We drag ourselves away reluctantly after an extended breakfast the following morning and head to Sanıurfa.

Harran (of Abraham and Sarah ) on the way to Sanıurfa:

Sanlıurfa

Portly sacred carp (it's a long story)
That's quite enough for now folks....!