Final Blog

Final Day in Damascus. We can’t believe that two weeks have gone by so quickly. We leave tomorrow at 7:30 a.m. to Paris then on to Atlanta. It will take a while to comprehend all we have experienced here, but the most profound impression is how warm and generous the Syrians are. We assumed the folks we would be working with would be friendly, but everyone we’ve met from cab drivers to our hosts at the hotel to the guy who runs the fast food restaurant around the corner has been so warm and generous. Although Syria doesn’t have the same level of wealth as the U.S., it is obvious the Syrians enjoy life.
Language has not been a problem. Many Syrians have a bit of English and are more than happy to practice. What can’t be said is usually be worked out in other ways. We have seen many foreign visitors, but few Americans, which is a real shame. This place offers everything from 2000 year old Roman ruins to a mall that would fit nicely in Buckhead. Moving around the city is a breeze, unless you actually watch the cab driver weaving through traffic bumper to bumper—and horn to horn—with hundreds of other cabs. Even Jill was able to sit back and relax—well, maybe not relax, but not screaming hysterically.

Jill had her final session with the administrators who had come from around Syria to learn about inclusion. They worked hard trying to integrate the concepts of inclusion into an education system that until now has not provided disabled children with access. These people realize the difficult task ahead of them, but most seem ready to take on the challenge. After the session, there were gifts, photos and hugs. They all seem to appreciate the effort Jill has made to explain inclusion and provided a process.

We have met so many wonderful people it is sad to realize we will not see them on a regular basis. But there is always email and AAMAL, the organization that brought us here, is already working on ways to bring us back. This was a trip of a lifetime for us. To be in Syria, to work with some outstanding teachers and media people, to make what we hope will be lasting friendships and to realize, yet again, what a small world we live in.

P.S. Jill is on her way out to go shopping with the vice-president's (not Biden) daughter-in-law. Her husband, Ali, the vice-president's son is the man for whom we have been working the last two weeks.

Our Hotel

We have been at the Hanania Hotel for over a week now and loving it. The hotel is just inside the east gate of the old city, down a cobblestone alley lined with small shops and an even smaller alley to its front door. Like most of the restaurants in the old city, our hotel is a converted home built around an open courtyard. There is a narrow entrance way that opens into a marble plaza with tables. In better weather, breakfast is served there. The rooms (nine total) hang precariously over the courtyard, reached by steep stone steps and balconies. Everything seems made from stone, even the insets for holding artwork. There is art everywhere. Our small room has five pieces of original art as well as a vase that must be a couple of hundred years old in what can only be described as a ‘shrine.’

The room is twice the size of a good cruise ship room, but gives us plenty of room. The walls are stucco, the framing heavy wood, open beam ceiling and heated marble floors. The bathroom is wonderfully appointed with rain shower and plenty of hot water. The most incongruous piece of furniture in the room is the 40” LG flat screen TV. That and the fact we have wireless internet.

There is no restaurant at the hotel, but they do serve breakfast. Each morning, we work our way down a narrow flight of stairs to what must have been a storeroom with arched stone walls and ceiling. Breakfast includes juice, coffee, rolls, yogurt, olives, cheese and hard-boiled eggs. The young man who serves is so nice as are all the people working here. We dropped off laundry yesterday morning, expecting it may take a day or two, but it was returned neatly folded last night. The people who run the place seem very relaxed, but they are also extremely efficient.

Even though we are in the middle of a sea of houses, it is surprisingly quiet in our room except for the occasional vendor hawking wares. The first day we passed through the alley, all the shop owners wanted us to come in. When we told them we were here to teach Syrian teachers and media people, they immediately dropped their ‘sales mode’. Now they just wave and smile as we pass.

Surprise

So we met the man who owns our hotel today. He’s a radiologist and a good friend of Tarif Backdash, an internist and the person responsible for us being in Syria. Seems every doctor we meet has four or five jobs. After a few minutes, he asked if we would like to accompany him to a Syrian Orthodox shrine in the mountains. But of course.

Ayham Adib bought the hotel two years ago and renovated it himself. It’s only been open a couple months, but has already been written up in the NY Times.

Anyway, he first took us on a walking tour of Bab Touma, which is the north gate of the old city. The gate itself dates back to Roman times and portions of the wall still stand. As we dodged cars on the way to his SUV, he explained that in Damascus, there are ‘spontaneous’ crosswalks, just like driving is ‘spontaneous.’

We wound our way into the mountains northeast of Damascus—these are the mountains that separate Syria from Lebanon. The trip took an hour and we ended up on top of a ridge at a huge building clinging to the side of the mountain. It is the convent of Our Lady of Saydanaya, and as Ayham explained, people—Christian and Moslem—come from all the area to offer prayers. The convent itself was established in 547 AD, but expanded over the centuries. The main attraction is a painting of Mary they say was painted by Luke—as in Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. As part of the experience, you go into a tiny room that has an ornate cabinet where the painting is housed and light candles. Quite the mystical experience.

Our Day

First, a notice to those who may be following our blog. Unfortunately, we are not able to access blogspot here, but Seth has agreed to post for us. So we can’t respond until we return. (By the way, every young person here knows how to circumvent the blocks placed on Facebook, etc. We went into a shop the other day and a young boy was playing on a handheld. I asked if he was playing a game. He said, “No, I’m on Facebook.” Ah, technology and youth).

Our Day. Each morning, our driver picks us up in this fancy car with the AAMAL emblem on it. We think this might get us through traffic a lot faster than other cars. He whisks us to AAMAL headquarters, which is a very modern, all-marble building guarded by two ‘suits’ in sun glasses. A little woman immediately asks us what we want to drink and brings tea and coffee to wherever we are.

Our translators are waiting for us—these folks are remarkable. Not only do they translate, but they are able to convey the emotion behind the words. They are so sweet and want to help in any way they can.

Since many of our trainees have never even been around someone with a disability, they are in awe when we explain that the disabled are first and foremost people. As Richard’s translator, who is disabled, says if we can just raise awareness, we have done our jobs.

At the end of the day, our driver brings us back to the old city where our fabulous hotel sits and we collapse for an hour. When we say ‘old city,’ we’re not talking ‘old Roswell.’ The walls of the old city have been around for centuries, most homes built before 1800.

Now it’s time to find a restaurant for dinner. Wandering out into dusk, we walk the narrow streets of the old city crowded with shops, people and, unfortunately the occasional car trying to work its way through roadways just barely wide enough to pass.

We have had fabulous meals everywhere. At first we thought we might have to jump a taxi to find restaurants, but there has to be 20 within a short walk of our hotel. Each is set in what was once an old home, the main dining area in what had been open courtyards. Because the weather is still cool (by the way, I saw lots of snow on the mountains west of the city today), the courtyards are covered. But we can just imagine what it must be like to eat under the stars here. Guess we’ll just have to come back. Every restaurant has a full bar, but Jill has made it her mission to teach every bartender in town how to make a martini—so far not too successfully.

Dinners aren’t cheap. We typically pay around $50 a meal, but since the embassy is picking up the tab, we aren’t too worried. The food ranges from very good to fantastic. It seems to be a blend of Syrian cooking overlayed with French. And they always provide dessert. Usually a plate of fruit, but last night they brought Napoleons and what had to be home-made ice cream. Even Jill, who NEVER eats desserts had to try it.

Although we are really enjoying ourselves, we also think we are doing important work here. And by the responses of our trainees, we believe we are making a difference—if only to change attitudes about Americans. But the bottom line is, we want to change attitudes toward the community of disabled in Syria.

Our New Friends.

Although Jill has another week with her trainees, I finished my workshop today. The director of AAMAL asked me to have coffee while my participants were working on results and asked if I would be willing to do another training next week. Since Jill will still be training, I said yes.

I need to talk about the folks in my workshop. Most were from Syrian media—radio, TV, newspaper & web. It was a great mix of senior and young reporters—most of the young being females who spoke perfect English. If I could only clone these people and bring them back to Atlanta. They were so involved, so sincere and so eager to advance the image of the community of the disabled in Syria. They were so inquisitive that I only got through half of the powerpoints I had created. But it doesn’t matter because the discussions were so intense and exciting, we ran two hours over each day. After the session, they received lovely certificates and crowded around the stage for pictures—of the group, of one another and of me.

I was taken by the seriousness with which they participated in this workshop. It’s clear the media here is desperate to cover a population that until now was hidden from sight. What made the experience even more poignant was that my interpreter, Hazem, is in a wheelchair. One of the young girls came up after today’s session and said it was the first time she had interacted so directly with someone disabled and realized that she was looking beyond his chair to see the person. A great Ah ha moment.

Given the people I met this week, I think Syria’s media is in great hands.

Shopkeepers

The old city has thousands of tiny shops selling everything from souvenirs to spices. There doesn’t seem to be a central location for those who are souvenir shopping, and locals and tourists mix easily in the streets (dodging cars that seem to be weaving through what should be pedestrian walkways). The shopkeepers seem in no hurry to sell anything. No hard sell here. In fact, several times shopkeepers have left their small stores to show us around. When we do stop to look, it’s as if they are more interested in talking than selling—a really pleasant experience.



We pass one shop close to our hotel and the owner stepped out to greet us in perfect, Brooklyn-tinted English. He explained he had lived in New York for many years but decided to return to Damascus to run his family’s business. Instead of trying to sell us something, he wanted to know why we were here. He suggested places for us to visit and even invited us back to his house for dinner. I can’t imagine the owner of the Gap in one of our malls doing that. Maybe we need to bring some of these folks back with us and open a customer-service training program.



Jill plans to do some serious shopping this weekend, but for her, this is like dropping a kid in the middle of Disney World and saying have fun. I’m afraid she will overload with all the choices. Her one big purchase—a scarf—took almost 15 minutes. The shopkeeper wanted to show her everything in the store, and when he found out she was here to teach, immediately cut the price in half. So much for haggling.

Traffic.

It appears that most roads in Damascus have 3 3/8 lanes, although there are no lines on the road. And no stop lights. And no cross walks. Consequently, drivers use speed, guts and horns to navigate. And pedestrians tend to walk into the flow of traffic as though not realizing a huge bus is about to run them down. It would be fascinating if it wasn’t so scary. But nobody seems to notice the suicidal traffic patterns. Oh well.

Another good day of training. Jill did find out that her training has been cut by another day. Since her people come from all over the country, they didn’t want to go home, come back for one day, go home again and then come back. Who can blame them.

We finally get our missing piece of luggage. The agency where we are working has sent someone to pick it up. Nice to have people with pull around. In Arabic, it’s called wastah—big shoulders.

The rains have stopped and there is a beautiful blue sky. Not supposed to rain for the rest of the week, although it doesn’t seem to slow anybody down.

After several tries to find a Syrian restaurant that serves something other than French food, we were told by a young Danish couple staying at our hotel on a short vacation from their jobs in Ethiopia about a lovely Syrian restaurant that actually serves Syrian food. Yeah, your read right—Danes from Ethiopia visiting Damascus.