Negotiating rides

Taxis in Syria are the cheapest form of tranport, that is, if you know how to wrangle with the taxi drivers. Each taxi has (or should have) a meter, and the fare is determined by the length of time you spend in the taxi. To put it mathematically: cost of fare=length of time in taxi. This uncomplicated formula seems to work in many of the countries I have visited. However, the equation cannot come into play if the driver fails to turn on the meter. If you arrive at your destination and the meter has not been running, the driver can insist on any price he wants. Of course, you can pay only what you believe he is owed, but that could result in angry cursing. One night, a driver actually followed me, crossing over two lanes of traffic and shouting, "Unti haram!" (You are bad/wrong!) Better to avoid any scenes by only entering vehicles with openly operating meters.

The other day, I watched as a taxi pulled up to the curb and a young Syrian women paid the driver 25 Syrian pounds. The meter read 22. Figuring that the cab was safe, I jumped in the back and directed the driver to my destination. "Shuggal aadaad?" I asked, pointing to the meter. (Does the meter work?) The driver raised his hands to the sky and glanced upwards. "Inshallah!" he said. (God willing.) As I had just witnessed the metered working, I decided to insist. "Inshallah. Walakin, shuggal aadaad?" (God willing, but does the meter work?) He shrugged. "La." (No.) "Khalas," (Enough) I said, pointing to the curb. I wasn't going to play his game. Scuttling out of the taxi, I threw one last disapproving look at the driver. Again, he shrugged. It was clearly out of his hands.

Litter management

One day, when leaving a building, my colleague asked the guard if there was a trash can where he could throw away his candy wrapper. The guard extended his arm and said, "Give me." Then, he opened the door and threw the wrapper onto the street.

Beginning my blog

Today I strolled into the Internet cafe and situated myself before an open computer. Clinging tendrils of smoke curled around me as more than 2/3 of the cafe puffed away on their imported Marlboros. I longed for the restaurants in Denver where smokers are not allowed to be within 25 feet of the building, much less butted up against me, straining my lungs with their fumes.

For the first time, I found myself able to log onto the blog I had created more than two months ago. Before, when I typed in my address, I brought up a screen that said, "Error! Access denied!" This afternoon, miraculously, I have been invited to reenter my domain.

And so I begin to recount my adventures. I have been in Damascus now more than three weeks, and in that time, I have survived 20 days in a 2-star hotel, meandered along the winding, crumbling streets of this ancient city, eaten in the looming courtyards of three-hundred-year-old homes reborn as restaurants as well as street stalls hawking savory shawarmas, found my footing at my new post, survived three infections (respiratory, gum, and gastrointestinal, respectively), stumbled upon a lovely apartment for rent and snapped it up, and recently began the process of settling into my new abode. My impressions of the city are that it is warm, welcoming, and relatively easy to get to know. For someone with no sense of direction, that is saying something. That of course doesn't mean that it hasn't taken me several attempts to locate my own apartment after viewing it twice before renting it. One night I circled a small intersection near a magazine stand before a young man with excellent English offered to take me to the cafe not far from my place. As it turns out, the cafe was just around the corner. (Those of you that know me are well acquainted with the fact that it takes me 2-3 years to get to know how to maneuver the streets of any city, and by that time, I'm ready to move on...)

I hope that I may now begin to post a few times a week, and once I figure out how to download pictures, I will give you a glimpse of the sights I have seen since my arrival.