from the vault: damascus before the strife
When I visited Damascus in 2009, the most dangerous thing I encountered was the food. Thanks to a couple of plain almonds served on melting ice, I spent the second night of our three-night stay on the toilet with my head over the sink. Let’s just say it was a bonding experience for me and the two girlfriends I was sharing a room with at the Talisman Al Ameen (a stunning boutique hotel that been host to British Vogue just week’s before).
It was a school-girl error – C’mon, Kate, melting ice, what were you thinking! – that dampened my spirits, but not my enthusiasm. Both before and after this unfortunate incident, we explored every nook and cranny of the old city. We visited churches in the Christian quarter and artists studios and other treasures in the neglected Jewish quarter. At the impressive Umayyad Mosque we donned Ewok-like robes and walked barefoot across the patterned marble floor. As we rested by a pillar, a girl named Jihad and her mother sat beside us and extolled the virtues of Islam in broken English.
It was getting lost in the maze of tiny streets, however, that was the most enjoyable. The higgledy-piggledy ancient houses stacked three stories high. The bakers selling steaming hot flat breads at lunchtime. The watermelon wagons manned by whistle-blowing blokes with cheeky smiles. The girls with the waist-length hair. The children with their quick grins. Years on, this is what I remember.
What struck me most about Damascus was the overwhelming sense of freedom and tolerance that pervaded daily life. The people were kind, generous and seemingly happy. It breaks my heart to look back at these photos. I can’t help but wonder what has become of these smiling face given the country’s current strife. I hope with all my heart that they are safe and sound and that the conflict is soon resolved, though I know that in reality that this is unlikely. I’m grateful I had the opportunity to go when I did, and hope that one day it’ll be safe enough for me to return.
