Back in Damascus. Back in Souq Saroujah. Back in El-Haremein. We got a shared taxi from Amman with a Spanish Journalist and an Iraqii student, studying at Damascus University. It was a lovely day to travel. Il fait beau; pleasant but not too warm. We had terrible hangovers though.
The border crossing was no problem. Just the mandatory information card you always have to fill in and get stamped at the Syrian border. We checked into El-Haremein and flopped. The rest of the day was spent dicking around online and grabbing some food. We had arranged to meet Rachel and her friend Natalie Christmas eve, in Souq Saroujah. That night I took myself to bed at a much needed early hour.
... It's Christmas eve night and we are all going to a party in the Christian quarter near Bab Touma. We caught a cab but decided to get out and walk the last 1/2 mile as Damascus is gridlocked, because I haven't been subjected to the usual, relentless, advertising and force-fed incessant consumerism through every available medium, I am feeling quite Christmassy. As we walk through the suburbs of the Christian area of Damascus I notice for the first time that white Christmas lights are everywhere. Hanging from the houses, flats, and windows like incandescent snow flakes. They are not akin to the uber-gaudy festive light displays you get in the UK. The ones that do grievous olfactory harm to one's eyeballs (not to mention peoples electricity bills). Instead these are elegant and so much more evocative for it. A group of people approach from out of nowhere singing. One is dressed as Father Christmas and is ringing a brass bell...
Christmas eve, morning
At breakfast we met a woman we'd sat with in Amman, both taking photos of the budding Jordanian teeny-boppers in the citadel. She was living in Egypt with her boyfriend but here in Damascus for Christmas. We also met a guy who knew Rachel and Natalie. We all went to meet Rachel and her Natalie for breakfast. Rach kindly offered to let us stay at her flat for Christmas. We took her up on the offer and spent the next week there.
We also discovered that the drunken promise made by us, nearly a month ago in a restaurant in the old citadel, was to be honoured. We were requested to cook for twelve people the next day. To be honest I was quite happy about this. I love cooking and hadn't done any for a while, and besides, I was dying to try out these Jordanian recipes.
We lugged our backpacks up to Rachel's flat and then met up with Natalie and her friend Leah. We sat down and had a chat about our Christmas plans. Party for Christmas eve, and then 6am Christmas day a bunch of Rach's friends had hired out a bus to take them to Christmas mass in Maalula. Then the Christmas dinner extravaganza - cooked by none other than the Chuckle Brothers. It was going to be fun. The rest of Christmas eve involved us running around getting last minute presents, deciding on a menu for the next day and then gaging the food needed for the amounts. Cooking for twelve or so people is an entirely different concept then cooking a meal for two. You can't just scale up everything - not when you don't have enough pots for starters. You just have to be creative.
... It is Christmas morning - around 7am. We are winding our way up into the mountains in a UN bus. There is a hotchpotch of people on this trip. Myself, Marcus, Rachel, Natalie, Leah, many of Rach's work colleagues and friends. Two or three people that were staying in the El-Haremein, a guy who has been walking from Canterbury to Jerusalem, an English guy who speaks fluent and who is studying the Quran in Damascus. A Swiss guy, shortly off to Yemen... the list goes on. We are heading for the village of Maalula. The main religion there is Greek Orthodox Christianity. The mass is being said this morning in Aramaic, the language of the people of Christ's time. As we approach the village nestled high in the mountains, the sun is beginning to gain height in the sky and firing the sandstone rock formation
s gold against the blue. There is fresh snow lying everywhere. It's amazing where you find yourself sometimes...We procured a lot of food. Fortunately Rach's place had a grocers and butchers next door to it. We also headed out down to the old city. Rach wanted to pick up a couple of presents and I wanted to get something else for Marcus. Neither of us were successful in our endeavours. There was another reason though. Marcus and I needed to take a short detour to catch up with an old friend.
... We have just popped into Ammar's hotel. He is out and about. I don't blame him to be honest: It's freezing in the foyer and the landlord looks about as much fun as herpes. I leave a note Ammar explaining we are back in Damascus and asking him to contact us. We head out into Straight St, which is still turned upside down and inside out. As we negotiate the rubble I hear a shout and looking up, I spot a familiar, welcome, face...
We nearly missed Ammar, who was not at his hotel. We left a message for him but perchance we bumped into him as we were leaving. He invited us in and we took tea in his room. It was bloody freezing. He gave us green tea and biscuits and made Marcus wear a big coat as he was looking ill again. Marcus wasn't to realise this yet, but his immune system took some punishment from the course of Norophlaxin he'd just taken. After Christmas day, he is going to ill for some time. It was great to catch up with Ammar. He was planning to go home to Baghdad finally! After Christmas in the New Year. I was very happy for him, if not a little worried. Per had left to spend Christmas, with his daughter, in Cuba.
We said our goodbyes to Ammar, we arranged to meet him over Christmas. Then we headed off, back to Rach's flat. We had more food to pick up and to get ready for the party that night.
The party was at a friend of Rach's, Darren, and was at his house near Bab Touma. It was a very chilled night. Everyone was in a great festive mood. There was a veritable banquet laid out for us, including bailey's coconut balls and eggnog! God that stuff is potent.
... We are all on the rooftop of Darren's building. It is 11-a-something a clock. We are all pretty merry. We have come up to catch a view of Damascus on Christmas night. It is quite beautiful. White Christmas lights adorn all the surrounding houses and buildings. In the distance Jebel Qassioun looms over the city. The stars are out and shining brightly and the moon is waxing lyrical and nearly full. We are ducking under a myriad of satellite dishes and falling over cables, trying to get together for a Christmas photo. Some idiot has given me the camera..
We headed back to the flat late that night and had the bright idea of starting to cook. We managed to put together a reasonable salad, tzatziki, and whipped mashed potato with walnuts, garlic, onions, and yoghurt.
... it's feck o'clock in the morning, Christmas day, we have decided to start cooking. Actually , to be specific, we started on the vodka and baileys, and then we started cooking. We are going quite a good job. Unfortunately, unbeknownest to us, we have left the drinking water tap on and positioned on top of a chopping board. After we are to crash out later the water will kick in and start to flood the kitchen. Lucky Rach and Nat are early birds...
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