Gaziantep, Turkey

25th to 28th August 2010

We hitched a lift with a small Turkish guy through the Turkish border who disappeared before we could say thank-you. The travel costs were a shock to the wallet after Syria but we got a bus from the town near the border to Antep, home to the finest kebabs and fistikli (pistachio) baklava in the whole world, and therefore my new favourite place.

We met Bekir, our host for the city, in a small internet café, from where he drove us to his shared flat with two other guys who were completing their military service. He was really friendly and knowledgeable about Turkey and we talked a fair bit about the differences between Syria and Turkey. On the way to meet him we had a good walk through the city to get to somewhere relatively central and I was bowled over by the number of girls and women wearing short sleeve T-shirts and no headscarf, shock horror! It was a revelation and a very welcome one at that, Syria had felt a little too claustrophobic and far too uptight to really enjoy it especially at the end of three months in relatively strict religious Muslim countries. On the way we stopped off to try some baklava, it looked like a small slice of cake, apparently they call it a carrot slice, and it was heavenly. Unfortunately for us, unlike in Syria where they charge by the weight and so sometimes give away one or two pieces for free, the shops in Turkey charged by the piece – it was a slice of heaven and I spoke about its amazing crispy, syrupy goodness the whole way to the internet café That's how good it was.

Back at Bekir's place which was about 20 minutes out of the centre in one of the many new colourful high rises, we had kebabs, fizzy pop and Efes. Oh sweet God, beer. It didn't take much for it to go to my legs but I savoured every drop, travelling through the Middle East doesn't mean you have to be abstemious but we came damn close, too close for comfort. We sat out on his balcony which was deliciously cool, everything seemed instantly better on leaving Syria, most importantly the weather and we were only a couple of hundred kilometres from the border. Even immediately after the border, Turkey was greener, olive trees and plants in the same soil as a few miles back in Syria. We slept in Bekir's bed, he vacates it in Summer and sleeps out on the balcony where it is even cooler.

From Gaziantep, Turkey

The next day he showed us into town, we jumped on a bus and went to a small restaurant for breakfast.

From Gaziantep, Turkey

He ordered a local dish which wasn't available everywhere because of Ramazan, made of a thin flaky pastry with fresh cream and crushed pistachio inside, it actually looked pretty disgusting and although it was heavy for breakfast it was beautiful. I felt my arteries clogging up and cursing me while I chowed down and avoided Djalma's eyes – who cares if he doesn't want a fat wife – we were only going to be there once and I intended to make the most of it. After getting a fresh juice (disappointingly expensive especially after Egypt) in an effort to control cream based damage we headed further into town, Bekir took us into a small bazaar, showed us round helping us to get a sim card after we lost our phone in Aleppo and then left us to it while I went shopping.

From Gaziantep, Turkey

I bought a new dress which was close fitting enough that I couldn't indulge too much in baklava land. He showed us to a small restaurant that specialised in rolled sandwiches, filled with a chickpea paste, salad and chips, a nice change with kebab land stretched out ahead of us. Feeling enormous we headed back to his flat and chilled out for the rest of the day.

We had the next day to ourselves and at midday we headed out to the park grabbing a beautiful kebab, smooth melted cheese and perfectly cooked tender chicken with pickles and tomatoes wrapped up in a thin crispy bread/pastry. Perfection, we cooled our heels while we sat and ate it in the long park that runs through the city, a wide green belt with lush grass, fountains, benches and plenty of trees for shade. I had a little Portuguese lesson which Djalma translated from European to Brazilian Portuguese from the Ipod. We decided to wander round the city a bit more, the wander eventually turned into a search for beer and we found a small bar with an enclosed courtyard, perfect for trapping smoke and another lesson. We sat had a couple of beers, our eyes popping out of our heads when the bill came. A couple of sprites and the same of Efes was extortionate but we paid up and went in search of some baklava. We stopped at two places, I had decided that the baklava in Imam Çaģdas, the number one restaurant for baklava, would need something to compare it too and I intended to do as much background research on other baklava establishments as my husband and waistband would allow. Both were good although I think that the cream in one wasn't meant to taste like sour cheese...

From Gaziantep, Turkey

We found a small minibus which was supposed to be going in our direction and hopped on, after a good 20 minutes passed and we didn't recognise a sausage we decided to leave it in God's hands and stayed on, hoping that it would end up among the right apartment blocks, if we recognised them before it was too late. We eventually ended up where we were meant to be and chilled out back at Bekir's place.

All around the city were pictures and replicas of a famous mosaic called Gypsy Girl and so we decided to visit the original in the Mosaic Museum, unfortunately we got there 5 minuted before it closed for lunch. We sat and waited in the cool canteen attached to the Museum only to decide that we couldn't be bothered to go and look. We headed back to the park before meeting Bekir for lunch at Imam Çaģdas which we deliberately left till the last day so it wouldn't spoil all the baklava we intended to eat. It was a beautiful restaurant, big and airy and stacked full of trays of different types of baklava smelling like what I imagine heaven to smell like. We settled at a table upstairs and Bekir recommended some dishes, we chose and waited in anticipation. We tried a turnip yoghurt drink chilled with ice, surprisingly good but it didn't stop me ordering a sprite just in case it tasted as bad as it sounded. Our meals came and we were not disappointed, we shared everything which was just as well because I wouldn't have wanted to miss out on either of the others lunches. Before enough time could elapse for me to feel full, we were choosing baklava, I was practically salivating on the menu, fortunately Bekir chose a selection taking the trouble of deciding out of our hands. Djalma and I shared bites of about five different types of baklava all of them gorgeous even the pistachio paste stuff – a little green log very similar to marzipan except without the almonds. The baklava was so good I ordered a carrot slice, it was enormous and I closed my eyes to fully appreciate everything my mouth was experiencing. It was so light, so crispy, so sweet but not too sweet and full of pistachio. I could have eaten more but that would have just been piggy, although at that point piggy was looking like a good trait. I didn't eat anything for a long time after that, not just because I didn't have room but because I wanted to savour every last crumb.

From Gaziantep, Turkey

From Gaziantep, Turkey

After that incredibly good lunch Bekir dropped us off at a worryingly empty bus station where we waited for the minibus to Halfeti.

The rest of Syria - Lattakia and Aleppo

Lattakia which also along the Mediterranean Coast was damn hot.

From Lattakia, Syria

We got a taxi as Djalma and I were feeling a bit dodgy and after an exasperating conversation with the taxi driver who had no idea about how to read a map or where the, well known, hotel was, we ended up in the budget hostel where Tintin fans sleep for free. We arranged to sleep on the roof, for free the first night, and then passed a fair bit of time in the living room which served as the reception trying to get cool. We spent the next the next three nights at that hotel, taking it easy because my poor baby couldn't keep anything inside for long. It was me who ran round finding food, not an easy task during the day in Ramadan, and trying not to get ripped off. The last day we had a good look round, despite me insisting that there wasn't much to see Djalma really didn't want to leave without having a good walk round the city, it took hours, was achingly hot and put me in an awful mood. After it we both decided that it was pretty ugly and not really worth visiting, but at least now we knew for sure and not just from me going out to try and find food.

From Lattakia, Syria

We left that afternoon and got the train to Aleppo, an absolute mission, it was supposed to take three hours but after an hour long stop in the middle of no-where and goodness what else causing delays, it took five. We arrived in Aleppo in the early evening and set about finding a hotel. No-one that we stopped and asked for help was very friendly including nearly all the hotels we stopped at, in the end Djalma found somewhere on the terrace and after a bit of persuasion that let me sleep up there as well – apparently it was men only.

From Aleppo, Syria

In the morning we were on a mission to find food, it took us an hour to get something to eat and it was right next door to our hotel – how irritating. In between Djalma had found us a room with air-conditioning and we moved our bags there, we headed back to the hotel to wait out the heat of the day in the comfortable chill of heavenly air-conditioning. We went out around sundown, the place was like a ghost town, which was just as well because everyone we had met so far, with the exception of the one guy Djalma had spoken to, was exceptionally grumpy and/or rude. We wandered around the old part of town which was really quite pretty, looking for a restaurant to have dinner in. Aleppo is the food capital of Syria but we didn't find much to back that up, we left one restaurant because one of the waiters threw a menu at us, what a plonker and wandered the streets increasingly hungry trying to find somewhere we could afford to eat. Despite numerous suggestions on my part to get a little baklava or two to tide us over until we found something more substantial to eat Djalma made us wait, I found a little kebab joint and we sat down, famished, to eat a tasty, spicy kebab wrap. Fortified we continued wandering around and finally stopped for some sweets. A point to note if travel in Syria, pastry shops sell by weight and if you only want a piece of two, you usually get given it for free, which is not the same case in Turkey where pastries are sold by weight or piece and are considerably more expensive. The next day was much the same, we stayed in our room and left at night.

From Aleppo, Syria

Our last day in Aleppo we ventured out in the morning to see what the souqs held before we left for Turkey. A big mistake, I was fed up of Syria and was as grumpy as the poor locals fasting and I'd had enough of being openly stared at despite Djalma being around, mind you, Djalma was considerably more upset about the latter than me. We wandered through the not-so-crowded streets dodging, or trying to, the squirts from water bottles – they might not be allowed to drink between sun-up and sun-down but nothing in the book says anything about a thorough soaking to keep you cool. The thing that did was an unintended squirt that caught my camera, Djalma flipped his lid and the man got a good squirt back before we left. Talking about it, we decided that all the kicking back and the heat and everything wasn't doing our sense of humours much good and we left the souq to grab our bags and head for border. Roll on Turkey!

From Aleppo, Syria

From Lebanon back into Syria

Day Seventy-six, we walked through the town (Baalbek) to try and find the minibuses to the border and from there to Syria, having decided that they were much too expensive we decided to try our luck hitching. We got a lift with a couple of old boys and a woman, we squeezed in the back of their car and were driven to the junction of a busy road, in between we were invited to the driver's house for something to eat or drink. We waited at the junction for ten or so minutes turning down taxis and minibuses, our patience was rewarded by a young Lebanese salesman who took us all the way to border which was several kilometres further on from where he was going. We went through the convoluted process of leaving one country and entering another with a bloody long distance between the two – we ended up stopping a minibus and getting it to the Syrian border where we got another bus to Homs – the nearest and biggest city from the border.

From Crac des Chevaliers, Syria

From Homs we got another bus to Crac des Chevaliers an old and well maintained Crusader castle. It was interesting to explore but I wasn't feeling so great and so we didn't stay as long as we would have had I been feeling better. At that point it felt like Djalma and I would be forever be taking turns to be ill, we decided to leave at head for Tartus, a 'relaxed' town. The minibus driver was a greedy pig and wanted far more than the usual fair seeing as it was all tourists wanting to go down. It was getting late in the day and there weren't likely to be any other buses around until the next day but we decided to walk down the hill the castle was on and try our luck hitching instead. It took a while so we stopped off for some nuts and water to keep us going – not the best move with dodgy bowel movements – but we eventually got a lift in the back of a small pick-up truck, possibly the most fun ever! We sped down round the hill and I let out my hair – a big mistake when it came to combing out the knots and washing it but the wind in my hair felt so good I didn't regret it at all.

From Crac des Chevaliers, Syria

They dropped us off near the main road running along the coast where we picked another lift within minutes. The man who stopped to pick us up was not like many of the people who usually stop to pick up hitch-hikers, we sat in the back with a woman who was well presented but didn't say a word or smile, and he drove like he was possessed. He had an expensive car so it didn't feel like we were going as fast as we were but he swerved around other vehicles without any attempt at being smooth – I remember pushing toy cars round obstacles in the same way he was driving – and it made me wonder whether I would throw up or crap my pants in his car, I was back to not feeling so great, rubbish. We arrived in Tartus, what was once a sleepy port town had now expanded and was rather big and unfortunately quite uninteresting. We walked round until we found a hotel we could afford that let enough air in to be comfortable and lay down glad to be out of his car and off our feet. We talked and the subject came round to food and I got it into my head that nothing but spaghetti bolognese would do, that was enough to send my wonderful husband out into the night to search for my stomach's desire. He came back well over an hour later with enough food to feed at least four people and we tucked into garlic bread and spag bol, leaving more than half for breakfast the next morning. We stayed in that hotel for three nights giving me enough time to steady my bowels and feel confident enough to leave the safety zone of a nearby toilet for more than five minutes. On the last day we walked round parts of the old town but there really wasn't much to look at and hardly anything was open, we said goodbye to Tartus and headed to a castle on hills by sea that I can't remember the name of now.

From Lattakia, Syria

We managed to get a lift from a really friendly guy with a young son who was too shy to do much but look at us and then hide when we caught his eye. He spoke great English and insisted on giving us the rest of his bread – it was sweet and made only during Ramadan and was particular to his village. He took us all the way up to another castle, this one was near the sea and was supposed to have beautiful views. The castle was shut, as we expected, but the views weren't as good as we had hoped – the rolling hills were covered in half pipe tubes covering, as we found out later, tomatoes. Djalma was feeling loose in the stools, poor baby and he divided his time between sitting outside the front of the castle and going to the toilet which was, thankfully, still open. We started walking down as there wasn't much happening at all to give us much hope of a lift, and minibus stopped to pick us up. The driver was young and drove a wee bit too quickly with some gangster beats blaring out while we raced downhill, however come prayer time he turned the tunes off and we drove in silence missing the sound of Fergie and Will.i.am singing about how they had a feeling (which I am now listening to as I write this).
This time we stopped a lorry – the second of our trip. We both were looking forward to it the moment he started slowing down, screeching to a halt on the side of the road and we weren't disappointed. Mohammad was so friendly and within minutes of us getting in to the front with him he was on the phone to his wife and checking that some visitors wouldn't be a problem. He smoked a lot 'to stay strong' and drank some water – okay for lorry drivers during Ramadan apparently and chatted to us, mainly to Djalma the whole way back to his house.



We pitched up at his house, his wife, Mona and his four kids waiting to greet us. Despite assurances to the contrary only one of his kids spoke really good English, Layla, I think the rest understood but weren't as articulate as her. They were a lovely bunch and made us feel very welcome, I sat and watched TV that I didn't understand while Mohammad, Hassan and Djalma went for a swim in the sea, when they came back Mona put out a spread, some meatballs in tomato sauce (sounds like stuff my brother lives on but in a completely different league to Sainbury's passata sauce and nasty pork balls), fresh flat bread and yoghurt drink that she had made. It was gorgeous, one thing I can't understand is why plain old tomato sauce tastes so good in the Middle East, the tomatoes are really good but even so it is still a mystery, and Djalma and I tucked in like we hadn't eaten all day. I sat and spoke to Layla who was such a lovely girl and, through her, the rest of the family it was so lovely to be included in a family again. After a time Mona brought out a sheesha and we all sat and passed it round, all of us except the children and before long Djalma and I were yawning and went to bed. The family stayed up, Ramadan is much like the Summer holidays and they stayed up most of the night talking, eating and watching T.V. We slept in Amelle's bed, all the girls (although most of the girls were too old to be counted as children) slept in the same bedroom but during summer when it's too hot the family sleeps in the living room, so we had the warm room to ourselves, squeezed on the same bed we sweated while we slept but we slept quite well. In the morning Mona put out breakfast for us, we had fresh bread, home-made jam, butter, salty cheese and coffee which was so strong it had me zinging. Mohammad took us in his lorry to Lattakia where he was picking up a load of clothes to head somewhere else, we said our goodbyes and headed into town.

From Jableh, Syria

Day Seventy-two and a bit more - The rest of Lebanon

It's been a while since I could be arsed to write and there's a fair bit to catch up on...

From Baalbek, Lebanon

After the last entry we spent another two days in Bcharre – Djalma had a nasty case of the shits and so needed to rest up in close proximity to a toilet. We left on day 74 and hitched a lift on an enormous lorry, we had to climb 5 steps to get into the front. The guy picking us up spoke about five words of English, was devoutly Christian (read anti-Muslim), chain-smoked heavily and chatted to us in Arabic and, at times alarmingly, with his hands. It was Djalma's dream come true, riding high up, King of the Road, in a big lorry and I have to say I was loving it as well – it made getting from A to B so much fun despite bouncing all over the place every time we went over a dip or a bump no matter how minor. He was going to drop us off in Baalbek so we could see the ruins but told us it was rubbish and so we rashly decided to go with him to his final destination, Zahle. It turned out not to be the best decision ever – I got a headache and was feeling dizzy and out of breath, not the best conditions for a walk in the heat carrying a backpack. We got possibly the most deliciously tangy and chewy lemon sorbet ever – only a single scoop, but it was a massive serving and put a smile on our faces and a spring in our steps – while it lasted. We decided to head straight to Baalbek, find a hotel and get some rest. The first night we had the place to ourselves, the old man we woke up to show us the rooms disappeared around 9pm leaving us on our own, it was quite eerie and I asked Djalma to accompany me to the toilet at night, but the enormous hospital beds were good and we slept soundly.

From Baalbek, Lebanon

We tackled Baalbek the following day having missed it the evening we got there – it closes at 5pm – good to know. Not ones for sites of 'significant historical interest' we spent most of the time sitting and talking – mainly about travelling together and the strains it was putting on us, we also talked about curtailing our trip to lessen some of the stress I was feeling. After the talk we wandered round a bit more, making the most of our admission fees and taking some pictures, we left as the attendants were starting to shoo everyone out and wandered round a bit more before heading back to our hotel room for films and sleep.

From Baalbek, Lebanon