I got up early (having been woken at dawn by the awful wailings of the muezzin - they sounded more like the moanings of a flock of disgruntled sheep) and went for breakfast - one dry roll washed down with unsweetened tea. I took a second roll for later sustenance. Then I checked out and took a taxi to the Meridian. The driver was one of a rare species - he actually used the taximeter. He was Lebanese (I guessed this from the Lebanese flags in his rear windows), and was listening to some strange music - sounded more like someone bemoaning the fact that he came home from a bad day at work to find his wife had run off with the postman and the Israelis had bombed his house. I picked up my car, only to find that the 405 needed servicing, so I was given a wreck of a Jetta instead. Pity they had one, otherwise I might have been given an upgrade. This wreck had all the basics - 5-speed, air conditioning, a radio cassette system. But only a quarter of a tank of petrol, which I found a bit frightening - I didn’t want to run out before I got near a petrol station. This prospect paled into insignificance alongside the thought of the drive out of Damascus.
The guy said not to worry about the petrol, there were stations just down the road. So he waved me off, and I made my first tentative automotive moves in Syria. Fortunately, the left-hand drive gave me no trouble at all, which was just as well, as I needed all my wits about me to ward off danger from other road users.
Driving in Syria
I headed North, towards Homs, and then I had fun trying to make sense of Syrian sign-posting, which is nothing short of abysmal (well, I suppose they did inherit it from the French, so what do you expect?), as I searched for the road to Tartus. I found the road, eventually, and, after a while, long after I thought I had missed the turning, I got to the road to the Krak des Chevaliers (Qala’at al-Hosn), and followed it up - you could see the Krak from miles away. I began to understand its importance. The road got steadily worse as it wound through numerous villages. It was in one of these villages that I had my only problem with the left-hand drive - I clipped a vehicle which was blocking the road, because I forgot I stuck out much further on the right than I was used to. No damage, though (I think), so I didn’t bother to stop. Eventually I arrived at the Krak, and was promptly pestered by a cripple who appeared to suggest that he’d guard my car for me. How kind, I thought, now bugger off.
Krak des Chevaliers was built by the Knights Hospitallers in 1109 in a near impregnable position. The crusaders had to build strong fortifications in the Kingdom of Jerusalem, as their manpower was insufficient to hold the territory by the maintenance of field armies alone. In its 160 years in crusader hands, it was steadily improved, and presents a classic example of Frankish castle architecture of the 12th and 13th centuries. Saladdin marched his forces up to besiege it, but when he arrived there he took one look at it and marched his troops away again. He deemed it impregnable. The Mamluk sultan Baybars was only able to take the castle by trickery, after a long siege, in 1271.
The fee to get into Krak stood at 200 Syrian - another victim of the recent overnight price hike. However, I was willing to pay this to get into the best crusader castle, indeed, pretty much the best castle at all, in the world. I passed on the offer of a tacky T-shirt or a guide book. Anyway, I needed the toilet, so I wasn’t going to hang around the souvenir shop. These squat loo things become an interesting proposition when you have a water bottle, torch, etc. draped from your belt, and you have diarrhoea, and there is no lock on the door, and a French tour party arrives to use the toilets! I clambered up the passage way to the moat within the curtain wall, and onwards to the tower which bore the brunt of the Mamluk attack, and which was rebuilt by Baybars after he captured the castle. The quality of the workmanship was vastly inferior to that of the crusaders. I mounted the ramparts, and walked around the curtain walls of the castle, admiring the view within and without.
Having done a full circuit of the castle, I entered the inner part of the stronghold. I left the companionship of the French tour party, and ran into the back of a German group instead. To get away from these, I mounted the highest tower, the view from which was stunning - all the way to Homs in the East, to the Anti-Lebanon mountains in the South, and to the Mediterranean in the West. Krak des Chevaliers guards the only significant break in the mountains between Antioch in the North and the plains of Judaea in the South. Due to its presence in this location, crusaders in Homs could instantly send signals to Tartus, on the coast, 120km away.
The Syrians evidently get their concept of health and safety measures from the Turks. The tops of these towers had no barrier, no parapet, no signs warning you of the possible consequences of going too close to the edge. Most people sat at the top of this tower, dangling their legs over the edge and admiring the view. It was while sitting here that some demographic facts struck me: While all of the tour parties I had encountered were French, German and Italian, most of the individual travellers were Anglophones.
I left the castle and strolled down the road at the back of the castle, in order to obtain the best view of the castle (and photograph it). Then I returned to my car, tipped the cripples who were "looking after" it, and headed off. I wanted to find the Assassins’ stronghold at Masyuf. I enlisted the help of a couple of locals, but, of course, the map only served to confuse the poor blighters. They said to take the Autostrada towards Tartus, and then to turn right somewhere. I tried. The view as I came down the road, through the gap in the mountains, the sun reflecting off the Mediterranean, was magnificent. I turned right off the road somewhere, and headed inland. The road was slow, and went on forever, so, in the end, with the sun starting to set and the warning never to drive at night ringing in my ears, I turned tail and fled in the direction of Tartus. I figured that a fast dash along the Autostrada should get me to Hama before nightfall. Wrong. As it turned out, I got to Hama about 10 minutes after sunset, and it gets very dark in Hama as soon as the sun has disappeared behind the mountains. The time was about 5.15 in the afternoon, and it was already dark. This is a downside of going to Syria in autumn which I had not considered.
I eventually found Qwatly Street for my target hotels, the Riad and the Cairo. Both only had shared rooms left, which I considered a bad idea, with the state my bowels were in. However, the guy in the Cairo (soft-spoken, with good English) told me that his uncle had a new hotel, the Noria, just across the road, and would I like to take a look? The place was nice, although at $25 it should have been, so I took it. The bathroom had a sit-down loo, loo paper, the sort of squirty-jet-thing which Arabs use in preference to loo paper, and a bidet - now that’s what I call luxurious! Having written some postcards, I went out to get some food.
Within 5 minutes of leaving, I was struck by the urgent need to go to the loo. Back to the hotel I went. As I left for the second time, I pretended that I had come back for my phrase book (there’s no need to lose face, is there?!). The girl behind the counter asked to have a look at it (I was quite surprised by her - dressed very conservatively, yet spoke excellent English - never judge by appearances!). She seemed to find it highly amusing (people tend to find phrase books amusing - I’ve observed this in Czechoslovakia and other places). My second venture outside was more successful, with me purchasing a coffee pot for $11, having considered buying a water pipe. I also decided to risk a sandveech, a decision I was to live to regret, and not only because I managed to drip fat all over my blue trousers, thereby putting them out of action for the remainder of my trip. After enjoying (or not) my shawarma, I went back to the hotel and went to bed.
Last Updated on 09 November, 1999