Entering Syria

I wake up in my dingy bedroom roughly 8feet by 10feet and am wondering what i was doing here. to get to this point in Turkey i was coming from Malatya where i purchased the wrong bus ticket, after a game of charades at the bus station trying to explain in English to the non-english speaking Turkish bus attendant that i wanted to go to Antakya not Goziantep, i gave up and sat quietly on the bus until it rolled to a stop 3 hours later. More charades ensued and i got my point across, i was out to the boarder town and arrived at 8:40pm.

I hate these towns, filled with scammer, con artists, and people just trying to make a buck, i typically dismiss them and head across the boarder as quickly as i can but this was different, this was Syria and i know that as an American i had some waiting around to do at the boarder (to obtain a visa) and didn't want to show up late at night and turn it into a overnight stay. Forced to enjoy my last night in Turkey i wandered around eating some more Kebabs before dragging my sorry ass back to my terrible little room. I woke at 7:00am and walked out to the taxi/bus stop and was assaulted by taxis offering me outrageous prices for a ride to Aleppo, Syria. Ignoring them i took a stroll to a huge fruit and veg market getting lost in the screaming and shouting and chaos of the market. I picked up some baked goods knowing my next few hours may be long and painful and headed back to the buses, where i purchased my ticket and was off.

It is rummered that Americans can wait up to 9hours for a visa, just getting to the boarder after 9am, could take up to 4 hours of bumper to bumper traffic, so getting on my bus early was a must. As I pulled out of town i looked out my window at the shops to see spinning chicken and lamb kebabs, rotating whole chickens over coal fires, a man selling Simits (bread) on a large wood platter carrying it on his head, i soaked up the last minutes of Turkey and began to prepare for what lay ahead.



40 minutes on the bus and i watch the scenery change driving from city, to small towns, through olive grooves and finally out to the rural country side, i look up at the rocky hills and immediately notice a Guard Towers perched overlooking the valley. my eyes followed the landscape down which opened up to fields that eventually lead to the side of the road where weathered concrete pillars held countless strands of old rusty barbwire. A few miles down the road the rusted barbwire was accompanied by fresh barbwire and more guard towers, i took a wild guess, i must be getting closer to Syria. The bus drove on and i can see the frame of an old broken down stone building, seconds later we rolled under a big red sight that said "Good Bye," i was leaving Turkey and heading into the middle east.



The bus stops and the 14 passengers are ushered off in an unknown directions. No one speaks english but true to all countries you need a exit stamp so i cued up as the others foolishly walked past the long lines. minutes later i was through the line waiting for my fellow passengers who just then had realized they needed an exit stamp. Now back on the bus crossing over "no mans land" (neutral zone) and on to a large building where yet another much anticipated game of charades would be followed by the painfully long visa process. I got lucky, I was assisted by a Syrian man who was attempting to get his Turkish friend through the same process, neither of us had visas, but for me it was a bit of a gamble, where for him it was simply time. At first i thought i would be in and out in no time at all, my Syrian friend was being overly helpful, but then all of a sudden everything came crashing to a halt, the power turned off. As if this is a common occurrence everyone quietly walks away from the crowded visa window, i was next up and was hesitant to sit down but following the others i too shuffled away as there was nothing i could do but wait. I wait patiently by my self, thinking where the hell am I? Thinking how on earth can the power go out at a military base, a boarder crossing? More people begin to come in, more tour buses arrive and i begin to get overly anxious, i begin to fidget waiting for the sign of power to bring life back into this building. 30min. later i saw the flicker of a light, the fan started to tic and pick up speed, the quite stale air burst into a sweaty frenzy as we all dash forward pushing towards the window. i lost out in my spot by one position but quickly payed by 16usd, got my much needed paper stamped and ran over to yet another officer for more question and answer on why i'm coming to Syria. NOW that the waiting game began.

I sat for 1 hour, 2 hours, my bus had left me as all the other passengers had their visas in 30 minutes, i watched crowds of people come and go, a full building of commuters, boarder crossers filling the room and then draining back out. More buses showed up and Arabs all pushing each other back and forth holding there green USD in their hands and screaming in an unfamiliar language, to pay there stamp fee and get thier visas. It was a scene out of the every day life of a wall street stockbroker but instead of buying stock all they wanted was to get in front of the next guy in line and make their way across the boarder, i sat and watched in amazement truly observing a culture I had never seen before.



More buses come and go and i sit longer, i sit on my back pack, i sit on the ground amongst the stale cigarette butts, spilled chai (tea), i sit amongst the flies which relentlessly land on any piece of exposed skin. As if waiting wasn't torture enough, the flies certainly increased my insanity levels. 3, 4, 5 hours tick by and finally a man comes and gets me, hands me the passport and pushes me towards another line.
An Arab man with a thick black mustache and a tan uniform sat behind the desk blankly looking at me, cigarette hanging between his lips with a long cone of ash still clinging on as it continues to burn longer. he grabs my passport and begins clicking away at the computer. a cup of chai on his left and a large fat immigration guard on his right methodically flipping through passports stamping them, then throwing them into a pile. sweat dripping off his round face onto the desk or what ever he was working on. I looked back to the man with my passport continuously clicking away, i looked up at the lights on the ceiling and all i can think is please let the power hold out for another minute or two. Again, back to my cigarette smoking immigration officer to see the long ash had hit the desk next to my passport, but this didn't matter because in his hand was an inked up stamp, he smacks it down on an already cluttered passport page. No smile, tight lips, dark eyes, and a thick black mustache, he looks at me and nods his head as he passes it over through the window..... I'm IN.