Tabbi in the Omayed Mosque and the Tomb of Salahadin

I am still in Australia, still cold, and have decided to let you hear Tabbi's voice again for her second day in Damascus. I had meant to write up my visit to the Omayed Mosque, but time got away from me. I have combined her writing and my photographs It is long, and may slide into several sections so you may have to check this month's archives to read it all.

Tabbi's letter!

Our second day in Damascus was Friday, the Islamic holy day, so almost every shop in the Souq was closed. Hamadiya was eerily deserted, with little make shift stalls on the cobblestones selling mobile phone accessories, counterfeit jeans and other 'made in china'-esque wares.

The smell of the Souq was gone, the mix of cardamom, spice, cigarettes and people. But it was peaceful, and not too hot as we made our way to the mosque.

The Omayed Mosque requires women to be completely robed, so I stepped into the 'putting on special clothing room' (gotta love these Arabic translations!!) and donned a Star Wars costume (well, not quite, but I imagine looked very Obi Wan in the original movie in my long beige robes. Without the beard and white hair though…) and walked to the side entrance (to avoid the groups of Iranian Shiites clustered at the main doors).

(As a small aside here from Jenny – I went through the mosque several months ago with our third secretary from the Embassy in Cairo. When I asked him how I looked ‘robed up’ he gave me a puzzled look and said “Like Frodo!”)

We slipped off our shoes and entered. It is amazing how 8 years of absence makes you forget the impact of such a beautiful place. The sheer beauty of the mosaics on the ceilings in the outer courtyard, including tiny squares of real gold, would be impressive in itself. Coupled with the knowledge that it has been there for over 1200 years…it becomes truly awesome.

We wandered across the courtyard, the sun now rampant and hot, but the marble underfoot remaining cool, to the main prayer hall. The interior of the Omayed is impressive mainly due to its size – the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem is far more beautiful – but it was interesting watching the groups of people coming to pray. There are panels of inlay spotting the walls, small staircases inlaid with intricate patterns of different timbers and mother of pearl, all of which gleam softly in the mildly green light (green is the holy colour of Islam –at night all the mosques and minarets around Damascus are illuminated in green).

Although the mosque itself is Sunni Moslem, there was a Shiite Moslem sermon taking place among a group of visiting Iranians in a middle area. Interesting to watch, and Dad informed me that the Imam (preacher), describing the martyrdom of Hussein, aims to get people as worked up as possible, so they start weeping and wailing. We decided to walk away before he succeeded, as a group of about 40 weeping Iranian black-chadored women would be a considerable force.

Further down the hall is the shrine of John the Baptist, supposed to contain his head. It's a rather large structure for one head – a good 3 by 5 metres. I always wondered what a shrine to a prominent Christian figure like John the Baptist was doing in a Mosque. My trusty guidebook Dad explained that JtB was revered by Moslems as one of the many prophets (known as Nabi Yahya), among the likes of Jesus (Nabi Isa) and Mohammad, and that there is more about the Virgin Mary in the Koran than the bible (there is a whole chapter devoted to her, he thinks).

People were walking up to the shrine of John the Baptist and praying, rubbing themselves against the glass and trying to kiss it between the bars. Men in business suits were working themselves into a state, pulling at the bars and murmuring to the shrine. Religion is so interesting.

We left the main prayer area and went into the Shrine to Hussein, grandson of the prophet Mohammed, and the principal martyr for Shiite Muslims in their split from the Sunnis. Once again, the shrine contains the head of Hussein, in a disproportionate structure. The Sunnis apparently placed the head of Hussein in a Sunni mosque to rub the Shiite's noses in their power over them.

Traveling with my father is SO interesting!

We headed back toward the gate, where dad, in his socks, was attacked from behind by a vicious puddle (the source of much gentle teasing for the rest of the day) then walked out to Salahadin's tomb. The tomb contains two coffins – one which contains the body of Salahadin, the other a present from Kaiser Wilhelm when he was trying to ingratiate Germany with the Ottoman Empire.

After stripping off my robes, and having another delicious cup of Toot Shami, we meandered over to the Azem Palace (now owned by the Syrian government and turned into a folk museum). By now it was very hot. We walked through the deserted areas of the Souq into the old Jewish quarter of the old city. After years of pressure from the United States on the Syrian government, the Jewish community were granted freedom to leave Syria (travel had been the only restriction on the Jewish population until that point, introduced in response to the Israel situation and fears of espionage activity against the state). Unfortunately, once freedom was granted, the Jewish community in the States put a good deal of pressure on the Syrian Jews to leave – thus the old Jewish quarter is full of abandoned houses, formerly pristine and grand, slowly crumbling.

We ducked into Antiquo for shai and to say goodbye to Mohammed, then grabbed a taxi to the Damascus museum.

The Damascus museum was great, full of interesting objects (including statues from the Mari's – the first civilization, back in 3500BC) and a fabulous courtyard outside, where we sat and reminisced about the Middle East, and in particular the depressing lack of tourism to Syria, as its such a great place, incredibly cheap and interesting.

It became too hot to do much else, so we napped, headed to a local chicken place for dinner (about $4US for the two of us) then decided to get a cab up the mountain behind Damascus (Mt Cassioun) The view up there was unbelievable, the sun was setting, casting apricot light everywhere, and locals were everywhere with their picnics and families, enjoying the cooler mountain breeze and the view.

Be warned – restaurants up there, despite Mt Cassioun being a local paradise, are tourist trap, over priced, scheming and all around un-Syrian!!! As a Syrian friend put it, 'The restaurants are up there to rip off Saudi's going for illicit purposes.'

Highly unimpressed! So unlike the incredibly trustworthy, honest and kind Syrians.

Rant over. Sorry.

The following day we headed to the Saddlemakers Souq – full of

interesting leatherwork, saddles and glitz for horses. Then we hopped
into a cab and headed to NAI.

In Syria, there are no laws prohibiting pirating music. NAI is a store that has taken advantage of this for years – fabulous CDs, covers and all, for $3US each.

I stocked up. To the point where we had to get them delivered so we wouldn't be lugging them around all day. My father made subtle digs at the fact I am enrolled to study Intellectual Property law next semester and I should feel more guilty. But I don't, as the Syrian government is proposing copyright regulations which would see NAI closed for good. I'm merely taking advantage of a limited opportunity.

How is buying pirated CDs any different to purchasing $3 imposter perfume anyway?

We headed back to Souq Hamadiya where I bought a pair of Roman style sandals and some uber comfortable though kind of daggy moccasins for $6US. I'm wearing them now.

After Sfiha for lunch, and another couple of cups of Toot Shami, we headed back to the hotel.

Then I became sick. We're not sure what did it, as Dad and I ate the same things everywhere we went, and he was unscathed. I am taking a positive outlook on the experience – now that I've had this I am likely to develop immunity to the bug responsible, thus I am now fully able to enjoy the Middle East again.

I was lucky we were flying back that night, and although the flight from Damascus to Cairo was uncomfortable, I was able to stumble home into a comfortable bed and my own ensuite, and have a doctor visit the residence yesterday. It’s not a bad place to be sick, and its nice to have my father here to look after me and make sympathetic noises.

Since returning to Cairo I've done relatively little except rest and recover. Tonight we are going on a Felucca ride down the Nile which is very exciting. Tomorrow I'm going to the dentist which is not.

Tabs (in the State of De Nile)

Tabbi Goes to Cairo - and Damascus

I am in Australia at the moment, demonstrating a little, teaching a little, freezing – frequently – and seeing family again.

My timing, as always, is atrocious. I had a commitment for the Sydney Quilt Show, and one for July. I didn’t even realise initially that this was the only time that Tabbi could use her reunion fare. She is an Arts/Law student at ANU.

Only a few days after I arrived in Australia Tabs left for Egypt.

The only slight advantage to that, as far as my blog is concerned, is that her emails home are much more interesting than my life here. Same places, different voice.

I have her permission to quote some excerpts so here they are. Square brackets are my bits of explanation.

[A PS to Bob’s announcement that she had arrived……]

Just a little PS from your sister/daughter - this is the most beautiful incredible house and I am besotted with it!! Particularly the garden - its just incredible!!!!!!! Awesome!!! You'll love it bro. I keep on telling Dad how beautiful it all is - like a gushing schoolgirl. But its fabulous! Love the sour cherry juice mum - delicious!

We're off! So exciting. Mum, i couldn't figure out how to text you
from the Egypt mobile - if possible can you send me a text so I have
your mobile number with the proper configuration in front? Thanks!

and it's hot!

[On arrival – with an almost imminent departure for Damascus, Syria……]

Hello everyone, really quick update just to let you know I've landed, that the house is INCREDIBLE and gigantic and straight out of Agatha Christie.

We're off to Syria this afternoon - exciting but I'll be wrecked. So good to see my darling father again!!!

Airports are funny things. Dubai was fabulous for its contrasts - Woman in the full all black not even eyes showing Islamic dress standing next to a bleached blonde euro-trash fake tanned cuffed shorts and midriff top. Odd. and a younger girl wearing an all hot pink hijab (traditional Arabic dress and headress) was like Britney Spears doing Islam

Love to all, sorry so brief but I NEED to have a shower!!!

[This one is as it arrived – and as I have struggled with other keyboards I am letting it go without the spellcheck and edit!]

…… apologies for any typos - foriegn keyboard. Arabic letters not English so I'm going bu feel.

Writing from the lobby of the Sultan hotel. The internet offered is behind the front desk, located next to a television playing the Arab version of video hits. It’s quite mesmerising. Songs sound the same, and the film clips feature bare arms as the height of sexiness. And the men are wearing Turkish Aladdin-esque pants.

Very entertaining.

The man at the front desk stumbled out as though I woke him up, and went through his morning routine in my presence - deodorant applied and morning 2 cigarettes consumed. Now he's mesmerised by the music videos - who can blame him?

The Sultan is a rather basic and uber cheap hotel - in a great location - 5 minute walk from the Souq (the main shopping market of Damascus, and one of the most incredible places I know) and resides above 2 Shwerma places (the original and the best form of what Australians call 'kebabs' in the Ali Baba sense), a baklava shop, and a sfiha place.

Sfiha cannot be described - its far too good for my feeble words. Come to Syria and try it.

Today we will go to the Souq, wander The Street called Straight, and just enjoy our visit to the worlds oldest consistenly occupied city. I'm waiting for Dad. The jetlag is in minor swing, and I woke at 5am bored and with nothing to do. Woke dad at 7am and he should be down to join me shortly. In'Sha'la.

Photos will be taken, but due to my lack of a digi-cam I will upload them on my return.

I should run, internt is not cheap. But before i do, may I advocate diplomacy as a career option to everone. It has been so nice to be swung through airports - no queing, to have a driver navigate the crisis that is Cairo driving, and having a father who has (and I quote) "A pass that gets me anywhere"

The house in Cairo is incredible too. You are most welcome to come and visit.

Love to all, sorry for dull email, but nothing has really had a chance to happen yet ;)
Tabs

[The first Syria email]

When I left Canberra it was 5 degrees, raining and icy. When I arrived in Egypt it was almost 7 times that. Ouch. * The English voice-over on the Egypt Air flight to Damascus ended with a memorable "We hope you will endure your flight" - I found this highly entertaining.

*Upon arrival in Syria, I noticed some considerable changes had taken place in the 8 years or so since I last visited. The taxis, for example, are now newer cars, and they all have doors!! My fears based on adolescent memories of clinging to the car seat as a smoking driver screeched around corners through obscene levels of traffic were appeased! There was still plenty of smoking and screeching, but it wouldn't be Damascus without it.

* Mobile phones have become as prevalent in Syria as smoking. People are addicted. Cannot resist turning them on as we fly, despite warnings, for fear someone might call them. 90% have the same Nokia ring tone. It’s very disconcerting.

Damascus is the world's oldest continously occupied city (a title it vies for with Aleppo) and highlights how young a country Australia is. Houses are built onto the remains of Roman ruins everywhere, and among the 1970s apartment blocks are buildings that have been there for over 500 years. Everytime my father and I walked anywhere I'd keep stopping to admire. Made for some slow walking, but how could anyone just rush past such stunning buildings of marble and inlaid Islamic patterning?

Travelling with my Dad - Middle East expert and all round legend - gives depth to everything. It's fantastic.

OK, I apologise in advanced for the longwinded ambling nature of this e-mail. We have done so much over the last 3 days that I will break them into 2 e-mails. If you only have a moment to check your e-mails, save these until later in the evening when you can have a nice cup of tea and a leisurely read. Or you can just skim it ;)

DAY ONE
Dad and I had breakfast, then started with a saunter to Souq Hamidaya - the main souq (marketplace) of Damascus. As we headed toward it I noticed a structure down one of the connecting roads. After a typical "What's that Dad?" we detoured down to the roundabout containing a tall memorial in a park with picturesque bridges and fountains. We sat on a bench and I was treated to my own private lesson on Martyr's Square (which is actually a circle) - a tribute to the site where the Ottoman's executed Arab nationalists prior to the first world war. The brief history/politics lecture provided a foundation for much of the rest of the trip, including an appreciation of the differences between the Shiites and the Sunni branches of Islam.

We left Matyrs square and made our way to the souq, passing windows and windows of baklava, plump with green pistachios and gleaming with sweet syrup.

There were a large number of Iranian Shiites heading towards the souq. Wrapped in their all black synthetic fabric chadors; the site of them is sympathetically painful - it was over 36 degrees that day, and I was sweating in a skirt and short sleeved shirt.

Souq Hamadiya is a large cobble stoned pedestrian area, a frenzy of life and marketing, thriving with locals and foreigners. It is covered by a corrugated iron roof, punctured with bullet holes which produce shafts of light like little stars on the cobblestones. Its all wonderful and overwhelming. Store owners treat guests and special shoppers to little glasses of highly sweetened black tea, known as 'shai'.

At the souq we head first to Stephan’s - the shop containing the most exquisite Damascus silk, made by hand in the traditional way. After shai, I was treated to a tour of the backroom, where the silk is made. Creating a basic design using 2 colours of thread will produce 1 metre a day. A more complex design, using 6 colours takes a day to produce less than half a metre. Its a slow and tedious process, and the threads are so fine no modern day machinery can wield them.

It is truly glorious fabric.

As we continued down the cobblestones of Hamdiya we treated ourselves to a Syrian ice-cream at Bakdash - delicious waffle cones of welcome cold vanilla dipped into a crust of green sweet fresh pistachios and almonds. 50 cents apiece.

Next stop was Faisal's - a shop owned by a man named Faisal who has an incredible collection of antique embroidered Palestinian/Arab bedouin dresses and gorgeous old jewellery. We had some shai, then toured his shop and admired his wares. I purchased a Turkoman silver cuff with agate stones, over 60 years old.

At the end of the cobblestones the corrugated iron roof gives way to a row of ancient Roman columns under blistering sunshine. Dead ahead is the Omayed Mosque which, together with the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem, is one of Islam's holiest sites. Built over 1200 years ago, it is unbelievable; but we visit the mosque later in our trip, and I do not want to get ahead of myself.

In front of the mosque I saw what quickly became an obsession – my first Toot Shami stand.

In Syria (and throughout the Middle East) there is a high risk of ameoba. Bottled water is safe, and to protect yourself from the risks of a painful bout of dysentry all travellers are advised to avoid salad vegetables that retain a high water content (like lettuce and cucumber) and to avoid glassware (as it is potentially just rinsed in local water) and to order all drinks 'bidoon thelj' – ‘without ice’.

The piles of fresh lush dark mulberries at the stall were too tempting so I took a chance. Dad, ever the sceptic clicked his tongue at me and muttered warnings along the lines of 'You have no-one to blame but yourself if anything happens'. I offered him a sip. He gave in and tried it and ordered his own cup. We'd go down together! the juice was like drinking a liquid mulberry pie - tart, mouth-watering and sweetly berried. The ying-yang of sweet and tang. Just awesome.
Its my new all time favourite drink.

After indulging ourselves, we headed across the square to the left of the mosque to Hassan’s. Hassan is an old family friend, with a thriving store in a great location. More shai was consumed, then purchases were made.

The next stop was Obeid's - known for its fantastic hand crafted gold jewellery. The gold in the middle east is purer and thus has a fantastic rich buttery colour. Obeids makes by far the BEST shai in the souq - the water is boiled with cinnamon and it’s truly delicious.

While at Obeids my father's mobile rang. The phone call we had been dreading - the embassy in Cairo had been advised he was required to return to present his ambassador's credentials to the president. However, the Egyptians would not say when, only that it was to happen next week. This meant no Aleppo visit, and that our stay would be cut to 3 days. It was unfortunate, but unavoidable. We decided to spend the time we had enjoying Damascus, as there is plenty to see and do in 3 days in the city.

Next stop was the perfume souq. It costs $3US for the Syrian perfume vendors to replicate any fragrance you desire in oils – I stocked up. I now own almost perfect replicas of Chanel Chance, Dior Addict, YSL Cinema, Nina Ricci 'Love in Paris', Burberry Brit, and Givenchy Hot Couture. Dad said if I buy any more Customs will catch me. We went and had Sfiha for lunch. Delicious.

So we did our bit to keep the Syrian economy afloat. The final destination of our trip was a walk along the 'Street called straight' of biblical fame, ending at Antiquo.

When I was a little girl and we'd visit Damascus, Antiquo was always my favorite shop. Not really because of the stock, but the wonderful pair who ran it – Ahmed and his son Mohammad. Ahmed died a couple of months ago, but Mohammad now runs the store as his own.

He has a fantastic sense of humour. My favorite story is of a time a lady came in wanting "something to put money in." at which point he promptly turned to her and opened out his pocket.

He hasn't changed at all. When he asked what we would like to drink I responded Shai. To which he answered, "I'm sorry, we only have tea today."

We sat under the fans and reminisced, finding a photo of Ahmed and Dad when he was first posted to Damascus back in 1979. I tried to pay for a lovely little turquoise brooch, but Mohammad insisted I take it as a gift.

By now it was 3pm and stinking hot. As we'd been active since 8am, we decided to head back to the hotel for a siesta.

At 8pm we went to the most exquisite restaurant. An old arab house (over 100 years) had been renovated to create incredible ambience. Coupled with delicious Syrian food, finished with a giant mug (think Oktoberfest) of Toot Shami – it was truly a perfect evening.

And that is just day one!

Don't worry – I'll keep the following days somewhat more brief for you.

I am, unfortunately, sick at the moment – must have picked up a bug in Syria, so there might be a considerable delay between e-mails.

Snippets

Four days ago I was walking in Zamalek. It is school holidays now in Egypt, and the most vividly obvious sign of this is the absence of tooting cars blasting horns outside my house from one thirty to three as parents and drivers signal their children for pickups. Add in the cars that are just blasting because they want to get through, and the occasional one that comes the wrong way down the one way streeet I live in - and there are usually a lot of horns. I don't miss them at all. I have managed to get to a stage where I turn my music up and sometimes can be almost unaware of it. Sometimes I am annoyed - but it is not helpful, as it churns me up and does nothing to the hornblowers!

Back to the subject. I was out walking - and that is always inevitable, as without any parking on the island I walk everywhere. The aching muscles of the early days have gone now and I am undoubtedly fitter. The doctor who took my blood pressure the other day asked why I was taking tablets as my blood pressure was normal. I was tempted to say that that was probably because of the tablets, but just made a mental note to check it in Australia.

I walked past a couple of highwalled building with guard boxes. The guards wear white uniforms now, with crossed black strappings like bandoliers across the chest and black belts. I often think it looks like a design for a flag, with the black diagonal cross on white. I used to wonder why the guard groups seemed to have changed. When I arrived it seemed that all the men with guns were in black. It took a while to realise that it was actually the same men in different uniforms. Some of these guards are excellent and some are not. I have occasionally - well, maybe even often - seen them asleep in their guard boxes, sometimes looking disconcertingly dead with a white handkerchief spread carefully across the face to reduce the light.

Our guards have suits, and are very, very professional. There are not so many of them, and I now know all the names unless one is away and there is a short term replacement brought in. Ahmed is very tall and strong with a square jaw and seems more stern than the others, but his smile utterly alters his face. Bedawy is friendly and always smiling, and really lights up when you talk to him. Hamed (who I think is possibly Mohammed, or very like an earlier guard with a similar name) is balding, shorter and nice. Then there is Ayman - who actually starts with a letter we don't have in English - an ayn - which sounds like an a somewhat gargled in the back fo the throat. Every time I am tempted to laugh at a friend from another country who inadvertantly mispronounces a word to create a real howler I think of how I must sound to Arabs when I try to make this sound.

The short machine gun slung over the shoulder under the suit somewhat spoils the line of the jacket, particularly from behind, but they are nice men.

I am actually getting around to a little incident I saw! As I walked past a guard box I noticed a little girl sitting in there with a guard in white. Around the corner outside another building there were two guards, and two children. One was sitting on the bench in the box while his shoe was being firmly laced by one of the guards. My first thought was that the guard had noticed that his lace was untied as the child walked past. Then I realised that that was unlikely. This wasn't a street child. He was probably six, somewhat chubby and obviously well fed. He was overdressed - even wore a jumper and it was thirty seven degrees!

Then I realised what had happened. With economic changes in Cairo, more and more women are joining the workforce. This was Dads bringing the children to work. I found it oddly endearing that so many men with guns had small children with them.

I have been asked by the American University of Cairo to hold an exhibition of my work in September. I wish it was a bit further away so I could supply a bit more new work, but it is still nice to be planning a show. I was talking about the talks they want me to give - one floor talk, and a lecture to the full time students. I had pointed out that my move into textiles from painting had given me a way to earn something towards the family income with teaching which would not have been possible in painting, and suggested that that might be something to point out to the students.

Then the lady who manages the gallery made a comment that stopped me in my tracks, metaphorically, at least. She pointed out that the students at the American University do not ever really have to earn an income, and the problem is supplying enough activities of interest to stop them from being bored or getting into trouble. For me, this is a really mindblowing idea, that people could have enough money not to need to work, and how that affects the way the group is handled. A lot of students study art, as it provides and involving activity, which is of high status, even for women, and absorbing. Because fees are high at this private university, it naturally selects for these students.

I am in Canberra now. I arrived last night, after a very long twenty seven hours from doorway to doorway. I am weary, but not as tired as I expected to be!

One last snippet. On the plane coming into Canberra they were going through the safety checks and the usual little talk beforehand as we taxied out to takeoff. I was sitting there thinking how lovely the Aussie voice is - that light and rather natural way of speaking with the warmth of our 'tipping-up at the ends of words' accent. Then the Chief steward said, "You can undo your seat belt by lick...sorry, flicking the buckle" - and the whole plane broke up in helpless laughter. The man beside me muttered that he didn't think he had that much physical dexterity, and I said that people would have to do each other's. There were obviously similar comments going on around the plane as there were scattered bursts of laughter for some time. Even later there ws still the odd choke as someone got the giggles.

It was a lovely homecoming!

Mucking around in boats

I have been longing for a ride on a falucca. This is a very elegant Egyptian boat with a single A-shaped sail. At least, they look incredibly elegant out on the water. Close up I have decided they have the width and solidity of the older Manly ferries. It doesn’t go with elegant, ponderous might be better, but they can really move on the water. Even better, this is the sort of boat trip where you can take a camera, and wine, and a picnic as even though a felucca can heel over occasionally it is very rare for one to actually tip.

So – I took a camera. We have had a few trips away from the city recently, and yesterday – for my driving practice – I went out to a club near the road to Alexandria. Looking up, the sky was blue. Looking over to Cairo showed a heavy grey pall over dulled pale gray buildings in the smog. I find it a bit worrying – supposedly the second worst (if I can say such a thing) smog in the world. Mexico City is supposed to be the worst, but it is graded on proportion of oxygen to junk, and they are so high that they have less oxygen. I cough in Cairo, and it tends to ease when I am away.

Fishermen

Fishermen
Originally uploaded by jennybowker.