Mt Sinai, Egypt

When traveling and even retelling adventures you always come across people who inspire a journey so vividly described that it ends up on your must do before death list. Syria more specifically Damascus ended up on mine after a few nights in a cold dublin hostel over a guinness or two, talking to a fellow traveller.

So as my sandaled feet hit the dusty pavement I was transported into another world only to look up and find myself face to face with a goat who seemed to be missing his body, A butcher shop had never looked more savage.
My senses tell me I have stumbled into an unfamiliar surrounding. The sweet smells, mixed with vivid colours and cobbled streets of the largest undercover souk. One of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in the middle east has drawn me in. I wonder dazed at the sights, shops full of gold, vendors with cheeky smiles selling blueberry juice so sweet and sickly as it trickles down your throat, ice-cream with pistachios that cascade over the chocolate dip and melt as soon as you walk out of the shop. The walls are lined with Hijabs rich in colour, chador’s and kaftan’s lightly floating in the breeze. As I wander through what seems like organised mayhem I notice that as an older woman is making her way down the street, I can see flashes of what I imagine to be a stunning leopard print dress covered by her full length black chador. The underclothing now becomes more predominant in my eyes as I take in my surroundings more clearly, whilst being stared at for being such a white girl.

Then the world stops and in the middle of this bustling city I have found solace. Encased in the stunningly crafted Umayya Mosque I done a cloak out of respect to cover my hair and body and remove my shoes which I will later have to pay for their return. The tile floor feels cold under foot even in the open courtyard where a lone wash basin sits undercover. Pillars line the outer square and a mesmerising pattern draws you in every direction. Children play by hiding secretly behind the large timber doors or running in and out of the pillars and then a beautiful and haunting call to prayer starts and I pinch myself to know that I am actually here and I have made it this far to a country of unimaginable profound beauty, with a history that involves crusades, castle stormings and religious endeavors. All of which can be told to you through song and possibley an arabic story teller in a cafe around the corner and down the street while you sip on potent black coffee and suck on a double pomme shisha.

By Jessica Bellamy