My Yellow Brick Road

Through the window of that cramped white cab I stared at the too plain, too identical scenery, a dull horizon separating blue from brown, we were crossing the borders of Jordan to Syria. My great aunt, endlessly investigating the backgrounds of the other passengers, like she always does. But you see, that time it didn’t bother me, their voices blended into the melodies of The Beatles that I had hoped would provide me with enough isolation to get my imagination going. I had no intention of enjoying that trip. It was only for the sake of her –my great aunt- she needed the company until we got to her brothers’ house, then I could do what I pleased. Or so I thought.
Damascus; one of the oldest cities on earth, with the hustling cars and people, the wonderfully colored souqs, streets and marketplaces, the neighborhoods dating to as far as the Ottoman Empire. Wherever you turned your head there was a marvel to behold. But then, my marveling had to be paused. For there we were, in front of that hideously new bus station, which served more as an eyesore than an indicator that we had arrived. My great uncle greeted us warmly, and asked us if we had been starving from the long journey, a very Arab gesture, whenever there is an opportunity to eat it becomes a feast.
So we embarked upon this too long adventure for a first day. We threw our luggage into the car, and left it where it is, because well, let’s face it, who in their right minds would drive anywhere in the heart of Damascus?
I can’t begin to describe how heavenly the food tasted. We walked all the way to a little alleyway to find this little deli restaurant, stuffed our bellies with a ridiculous amount of sandwiches and headed to our next activity, planned by our awesome tour guide!
We walked for hours, from an ancient neighborhood to the other, my uncle endlessly fascinating me with the amount of history he gulped in only a year into moving to Damascus, all those beautiful houses, some of which had been turned into restaurants, with their lovely fountains, and wonderful colors, and unique windows.
We walked for hours, drank from the waters in the awesome clay jars left on the streets for the thirsty passers by, and ate enormous amounts of food, sweets and incredibly delicious local ice-cream called Bakdash.
As it turns out this would be a journey I will never forget after all.